Then his eyes found mine in the mirror.
He didn't look away. Neither did I, for exactly one beat too long, before I crossed to where Priya was waiting to adjust my collar.
The problem announced itself quietly and inconveniently, the way these things always did when my body decided my brain's opinions were irrelevant. I felt it the moment I stopped moving—a warmth, a heaviness, the early pull of arousal that had no business being here, in this room, in this context, at all.
I adjusted my jacket. Shifted my weight. Ran a quick inventory of everything currently wrong with the fourth line's defensive-zone coverage until the problem receded to something manageable.
It took longer than it should have.
Priya stepped back, looked me over, and nodded. “Good.”
“Coach looks good,” Hartley said, from behind me, and his voice was entirely neutral, which somehow made it worse.
“So do you,” I said, because lying would've been stranger, and also because apparently I had no functioning sense of self-preservation.
He was pulling the slate shirt on now, and I watched him button it without watching him button it, the way you learnedto track peripheral motion on the ice—aware of everything, committed to nothing.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, which was not entirely true but was the only acceptable answer.
Theo appeared, did a final check on us both, made one small adjustment to Hartley's hair that he endured without complaint, and then pointed toward the door.
“Good,” he said. “Don't sweat through the shirts. Drink water. You're both going to be fine.”
Hartley glanced sideways at me as we walked out. There was something in his expression that he was keeping carefully neutral, a controlled blankness that I recognized because I was wearing the same one.
“Not a word,” I said.
“I haven't said a single word.”
“You're thinking very loudly.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, low enough that it stayed between us: “Priya does that shoot with every team. It's just the job. Doesn't mean anything.”
I wasn't sure if he was reassuring me or himself.
“I know that,” I said.
“Right.” He pushed the studio door open. “Just making sure.”
June's voice calling from the studio interrupted the moment.
“Gentlemen? We're ready when you are.”
Taylor startedwith the easy stuff, and I was grateful for it.
I could handle this.
“Good. Now Jace, turn slightly toward Grant. Grant, relax your shoulders. You look tense.”
I tried to relax. The shoulders stayed where they were.
“Okay, let's try something more natural.” Taylor lowered his camera. “Jace, say something to make him laugh.”
“I don't think that's physically possible,” Hartley said immediately. “Coach doesn't laugh. He just has different degrees of not-frowning.”
I felt my mouth twitch despite itself.
