20
Sage
The bell over the door jingled just as I snagged the keys from the counter.
Aiden leaned against the frame, hoodie slung over his shoulders, hair damp at the roots. He was dressed in jeans and a hoodie, but it was clear he’d come from the arena the way sweat and adrenaline clung to him in a faint tang that made heat crawl along my spine.
“Catch the game?” He sauntered inside with that easy swagger that told me he was pretending to be totally chill when inside, he totally wasn’t.
“Nope,” I said. “Had to work late, then prepped for the convention.” My fingers brushed the side of my sketchbook on the reception desk by reflex, and Aiden didn’t need a second invitation.
I snapped for it at the same time he reached, but he was faster.
“Wow. This is a new one?” He flipped through the pages, pausing over some drawings longer than others.
“Careful.”
He traced a shadowed line with the tip of his finger. “This is unbelievable.”
“It’s all experimental at this point,” I said, fighting the urge to allow that look of awe to seep into my insecurities. “Pushing textures, color blending, all that technical stuff I’ll be judged for in Denver.”
In his distraction, I managed to snatch my sketchbook from his hands. But before he could protest, I gave his hoodie a tug and led him to the armchairs in the waiting area. He followed, sitting close enough for his shoulder to brush mine. His scent right under my nose stirred something in me I had no intention of acknowledging.
I cleared my throat and flipped the page to an intricate portrait I was still working on. “Micro-realism on skin is always a gamble. Everyone will be watching.”
“You can use my body to practice,” he said with a smirk. “In fact, you can use my body for anything you want.”
“You wish.”
Aiden let out a soft laugh and studied my work again. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about, just so you know. You’re one of the best I’ve seen, and I’ve been around.”
“Yeah, but you’re biased.”
He reached over to turn the page, lingering where his arm brushed over my breasts. That was the first tell. Not the quiet. He’d done quiet before. This was something else. Slower. Like he was buying time inside the space between one page and the next.
I closed the sketchbook abruptly and stood, the movement cutting through whatever tension had settled between us.
“Coffee?” I said, already heading for the back. “You’re obviously here for a reason, and I’m gonna need some caffeine while I wait for you to tell me what it is.”
The machine clicked on with a tired whirr. I filled it, measured by habit, not looking at him yet. Either he’d follow, or he wouldn’t. But right now, I needed something to do with my hands.
Aiden ended up following me. Steady footsteps crossed the floor, and stopped a few feet behind me. Close enough that the room seemed to shrink around us.
“You think you know me.”
“You look like someone canceled Christmas,” I said, fitting the carafe into place. “And unless I missed a rule change, first line center doesn’t usually come with that.”
Silence stretched just long enough to confirm it hadn’t been a throwaway observation.
“We won,” he said.
Water started its slow drip through the grounds. I leaned a hip against the counter, arms folded, and finally looked at him. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, forearms marked faintly from the game, a line at his mouth that didn’t belong to a guy who’d just lit up the ice.
“Yeah, I gathered that much.”
His gaze dropped to the counter, then lifted, not quite landing on me. “I don’t know what it is. I should be happy. I am. I’m crawling out of my skin with it. It’s just...” He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers dragging over skin like he could work something out of it. “Everyone’s acting like it means something now.”
“It does,” I said.
