I should wait, play it cool, text back in the morning when I’ve had coffee, and can pretend I wasn’t pacing my apartment thinking about her.
Instead, I type.
Reece:When?
The dots appear immediately. She’s awake too.
Ava: Tomorrow. My studio. 3 pm. Don’t be late.
Me: I’m never late.
Ava: You’re a liar.
Me: Only about things that don’t matter.
The dots appear and disappear three times.
Ava:3 pm, Steele.
She doesn’t text again.
And I don’t sleep.
The next day crawls by, with morning workout, team meeting, and lunch I don’t taste. By the time I’m walking toward Ink District Studio, my shoulders are knotted so tight I can barely turn my head.
The bell chimes when I push through the door. The shop smells the same, like antiseptic and ink, with something floral underneath. Ava is sitting at her station, sketching something intricate on her iPad. She doesn’t look up.
“Lock the door.”
I flip the deadbolt. “Little early for secret meetings.”
“Not a secret.” She sets the iPad down, finally meeting my eyes. “A conversation.”
She’s wearing black jeans and a tank top, hair pulled back in a messy knot. No makeup. She looks exhausted and absolutely stunning, and I’m so screwed it’s not even funny.
“Okay.” I lean against the door, crossing my arms. “Talk.”
Ava stands, putting the chair between us. Armor. “Last night was a mistake.”
“Didn’t feel like a mistake.”
“Reece.” My name comes out sharp. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I push off the door, taking one step forward. She doesn’t back up, but her jaw tightens. “You kissed me back, Ava. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
“I know what I did.” Her eyes flash. “And I’m telling you it can’t happen again.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my father’s star pitcher. You’re the face of the Wildcats. And every sports reporter in the city would eat this alive.” She ticks the reasons off on her fingers. “Most importantly, I don’t date athletes. This would end badly for both of us.”
“You done?”
Her nostrils flare. “For now.”
“Good.” I take another step. “My turn.”
“Reece.”
