I shift awkwardly under the attention.
“You’re welcome,” I say again, quieter this time.
She stares at me for another second like she’s memorizing something.
Then, suddenly, she leans forward and presses a quick kiss to my cheek.
My entire body goes still.
It’s fast.
Light.
She pulls back, cheeks flushed, smiling like she just got away with something.
“Goodnight, Jake,” she says.
Then she turns and practically skips out of the room, clutching the sketchbook and bag like they’re precious cargo.
Her footsteps fade down the hall.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at the doorway.
My cheek still warm.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
***
After practice the next day Petrov calls us together with his usual sharp whistle.
“Locker room,” he barks.
We file in, sweat-soaked and tired.
I drop onto the bench, reaching for a towel.
Petrov stands at the front, arms crossed.
“Listen up,” he says.
The room quiets instantly.
“We have a charity weekend coming up.”
Groans ripple through the room.
Petrov ignores them.
“Mandatory attendance,” he continues. “Players and staff.”
My stomach tightens slightly.
“It’s out of town,” Petrov adds. “Travel Friday. Return Sunday.”
He starts listing details. Events. Appearances. Press.
Then his eyes land on me.
