Eve’s muted observation cuts through my thoughts. I give her a sidelong glance, quelling the desire to brush hair from her face. I savor the warmth of her arm against the side of mine.
“Hey,” I say, equally quiet.
With a drowsy sigh, she sits up, stretching. She blinks a few times, getting her bearings. I flex my hand, already missing the connection.
My lips slide together as I consider how she’d react if I rest it on her leg. Not because I want it to lead anywhere—I do, more and more, but not now. I just like touching her.
She studies me while I turn down another road that leads in the opposite direction than her apartment.
“Why are we still driving around?”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
My throat bobs with the admission. Her soft laugh twines around my heart. I slow for the stoplight, turning my attention to her.
She smiles, resting her head against the seat. “That’s sweet.”
“Sorry. I’ll get you home.”
“No.” She reaches for the radio and turns it up a bit. “Not yet.”
“No?” I stare at her while the light changes, not putting my foot on the gas.
She holds my gaze. “Keep going if you want. I don’t mind.”
The corner of my mouth kicks up and my chest expands with a tender sensation. I turn left instead of right.
“Okay.”
She gets comfortable, tucking one of her legs up. It bumps against my hand. She says nothing when I slide my palm over her knee.
“Hungry? You slept through dinner.”
“Sure. Something with french fries, please.”
After we stop for food, we drive without a destination in mind. She holds my drink up for me to sip from and feeds me fries. It doesn’t matter that I could do it myself, I’m enjoying the small touches of her fingers against my lips.
My hand doesn’t leave her leg.
I take us down streets at random while she talks energetically with her whole body, telling me stories and getting lost in her side tangents. My smile is permanent. I absently rub her knee with my thumb.
Riding with her while she slept was nice. This is even better.
It feels like we’re the only two people in the world.
The arena is packed for tonight's home game. UMass is putting up a good fight, but we’re not backing down. The guys dressed to play on tonight’s roster are on fire from the moment they hit the ice for the first puck drop.
I keep an eye on our defensive pairs when they swap for their shifts through first period. They’re providing great support for Cameron’s first time officially tending the net in a game. My eyes narrow near the end of the period when Hutchinson takes a hit, the puck snatched away by their left wing that tears up hisopen lane. He evades Brody and Higgins. Cameron watches like a hawk to read him.
My fist presses to my mouth as he shoots. Cameron moves in a flash, sliding into the puck’s path to stop it.
“Way to hustle, Reeves,” I tell Cameron when he comes off the ice.
“Feels different than practice.” His eyes gleam. “Better, just like you said.”
The edge of my mouth lifts and I pat his helmet. “Good. Keep it up and remember what we’ve practiced.”
“Right. Thanks, coach.” He joins his teammates and they give him their own congratulations for a solid first period.
