“I'd like that,” I say.
We hold eye contact across the table for a long second, and I'm the one who looks away first because if I don’t, I'm going to say something I'm not ready to say.
The check comes, and Logan takes it before I can reach for it. I argue. He ignores me. He puts his card down, and that's the end of that discussion.
We walk out of the restaurant, and the cold air hits us, and I pull my coat tighter. The street is quiet, and the city feels far away even though it's right there, humming on every side.
“I had a good time tonight,” I say.
“Me too.”
“We should do this more often.”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” I say, even though I know that the more I see him, the more I’ll get drawn back in.
We stand there on the sidewalk, and the air between us is charged with everything we didn't say over dinner, and I need to leave before I do something reckless.
“Goodnight, Logan.”
“Goodnight, Jasmine.”
He steps toward me and kisses my cheek. His lips are warm against my skin, and he smells like cedar. He holds the kiss for a second longer than a friend would, and when he pulls back, his blue eyes are right there, inches from mine, and I stop breathing.
Then he steps back and puts his hands in his pockets. “Text me when you get home,” he says, voice soft like it was all those years ago.
I nod and shove my hands in my pockets so I don’t reach for him. “I will.”
I turn and walk to my car, parked halfway down the block, and I don't look back because if I look back I'm going to walk right back to him.
I get in the car and sit behind the wheel and press my fingers to the spot on my cheek where his mouth was.
My phone is already lighting up with the group chat. I ignore it. Clara has texted too.Well???
I type back:Scary
She responds immediately:Knew it. Tell me everything tomorrow.
9
Logan
It's eleven in the morning, and I'm standing in my kitchen drinking coffee and scrolling through hockey news on my phone. The Chargers won last night against Detroit, which means they'll be riding high when we play them tomorrow.
Their top line combined for seven points, and their goalie stopped thirty-eight shots. I make a mental note to talk to Cole about their power play setup on the bus.
My phone buzzes with a text. My heart skips a beat when I see Jasmine’s name.
Good luck in Chicago tomorrow. Play well and don't let anyone throw food at you ;)
I smile then type back:Lol thanks. What are you up to?
Jasmine: At the office. Buried in the sportswear contract. Wilder wants the framework by the end of the day and I'm on my fourth draft.
Me: Sounds like you need coffee.
Jasmine: I need a miracle. Coffee would be a close second.
As I take a sip of my own coffee, an idea forms in my head. The team bus doesn't leave from MSG until two. I don't need to be at the arena until one-thirty at the latest. I have time.
