I can't.
Yeah. After dinner?
Perfect.
I set the phone down and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
This is getting out of control.
And I have no idea how to stop it.
When I arrive at Adela's apartment that evening, something feels off.
I can't put my finger on what exactly. Her door is closed properly. The lights are normal. Nothing is physically out of place. But there's a tension in the air that wasn't here this morning.
She opens the door with a smile, pulling me inside and kissing me before I can say anything. For a moment, I let myself get lost in the warmth, the familiarity, the simple comfort of being wanted.
Then she pulls back, her expression shifting to something more serious.
"Your teammate was intense last night," she says casually, walking toward the small kitchen to grab drinks.
I freeze. "What?"
"I watched some of the game." She pulls two bottles of water from the fridge.
My pulse kicks up. "Which teammate?"
"I don't know." She hands me a bottle and opens hers. "The one who smiled after that brutal hit in the first period. He watchedthe crowd after he scored. It was…" She searches for the word. "Predatory."
The observation lands like a stone in my stomach.
She's noticing him.
Seeing what I've been trying to keep her from seeing.
"Yeah, the guys are competitive," I say, keeping my voice neutral.
"No, this one… it was more than just that." She leans against the counter, studying me. "This one looked…happy. Not about winning. About hurting someone."
She's right.
And the fact that she saw it, that she's putting pieces together, makes her exponentially more dangerous.
"Hockey's a violent sport," I say, deflecting. "Guys get aggressive."
She doesn't look convinced, but she lets it drop.
I follow her to her room. We sit on the bed — her bed, where just hours ago everything felt simple and good and uncomplicated.She curls into my side, her head on my chest, and I should feel relaxed.
But all I feel is alarm bells screaming in the back of my mind.
Her hand traces patterns on my stomach, and I feel myself responding despite the anxiety crawling up my spine. She shifts closer, her mouth finding mine, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in the physical pull between us.
But then I hesitate.
Not because I don't want her. Not because of rebound concerns or timing or any of the reasons I hesitated before.
Because being close to her right now feels like painting a target on her back.
