“Why?”
I gesture vaguely between us. “Because of… this. We barely know each other. Don’t you think this is a little weird?”
“You were fine with me staying before. I was gonna sleep where, on this loveseat?”
I blink. I hadn’t quite thought through that before. “You’re not sleeping on my couch.”
“Then you’re coming with me.”
We lock eyes, neither of us backing down. My stubbornness meets his stubbornness.
Finally, I sigh. My shoulders slump as exhaustion wins out. “Fine, but it’s only for tonight.”
“Of course,” he says too quickly.
“And don’t get any ideas.”
He holds his hands up. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“One night,” I repeat.
He nods. “Just one.”
But the way he says it tells me he’s already thinking of a plan past tonight. Somehow that both comforts me and scares me more than what happened in the alley ever did.
He stands and grabs my keys, waiting by the door. Something presses in my chest, something I don’t quite have a name for.
I grab my backpack from the hook by the door and lay it open on the loveseat, staring down at the handful of things I own and brought with me. I grab a change of clothes—sweatpants and an oversized hoodie—along with my toothbrush, face wash, and makeup remover, stuffing them into a small pouch.
That’s it.
I zip the bag and sling it over my shoulder, suddenly aware of how temporary this space feels.
I can feel Cooper watching me when I grab my jacket, casting one last look at the loft. We shut off the lights and lock up. Outside, the cool evening wraps around me immediately.
Cooper leads us down the stairs and stays close beside me, too close, as we cross the parking lot. His hand hovers near my back without touching me.
When we reach his truck, he opens the passenger door for me before I can even reach to do it myself.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
He doesn’t respond, just simply nods as he waits until I’m settled before closing the door and rounding the front of the truck. As soon as the engine turns over, warmth spills through the cab, and I exhale for what feels like the first time in hours.
The drive back to the hockey house is quiet. Streetlights blur past the window.
When we turn back onto the street, I can hear the music and laughter before I see it.
Cooper slows as we pull up in front of the house, headlights washing over cars packed into the driveway and lining the curb. Someone shouts something from the porch, and it’s met with a roar of laughter.
Cooper reaches for the door handle, then pauses, looking at me one more time. That matters more than it should.
I nod.
He opens the door, the noise crashing over us as the music spills in. I climb out, keeping my backpack slung over my shoulder. My heart beats faster now, not from nerves exactly but from this feeling that I’ve crossed into something I can’t come back from.
Whatever line I tried to draw between us, I stepped over it the moment I got into his truck.
As we walk toward the house side by side, I know one thing for sure.
