She considered her options. Something ridiculous? A photo of herself making a face? A glitter explosion? A motivational poster with a kitten?
No.
She scrolled through her camera roll until she found a sketch she'd done the previous week, late at night when she couldn't sleep. A rough pencil drawing of a figure on ice, caught mid-motion, powerful and graceful and unmistakably him. She'd meant to throw it away because it was too personal, too revealing of how much attention she'd been paying to him, but something had stopped her.
She set it as his wallpaper and slipped away before anyone noticed.
He didn't react immediately. She spent the rest of the day in a state of low-grade anxiety, half-expecting him to storm into her workspace and demand an explanation. Instead, nothinghappened. Practice ended and the team dispersed. She worked on preliminary sketches for the mural until her eyes burned and her hand cramped.
At eight-thirty, she finally packed up and headed for the parking lot. Her camper was waiting in its usual spot, tucked behind the arena like a colorful afterthought. She was halfway across the asphalt when she heard footsteps behind her. Heavy footsteps.
She turned to find Tarmek walking towards her, still in his practice clothes, phone in hand.
"You changed my wallpaper," he said.
She considered denying it, then decided there was no point. "I did."
"To a drawing. Of me."
"Technically it's a drawing of a hockey player. Could be anyone."
His eyes bored into hers. "It's me."
She swallowed. "Yes. It's you."
He looked down at the phone, then back up at her. In the dim glow of the parking lot lights, his face was impossible to read. "Why?"
Because I couldn't stop thinking about the way you move on the ice. Because you're the most fascinating person I've met in years and I don't know what to do with that. Because I'm supposed to be temporary and you feel like something permanent and that scares the hell out of me.
"Seemed funny at the time," she said weakly.
He studied her for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned and walked towards her camper. She scrambled to catch up, her shorter legs working double-time to match his stride.
"Where are you going?"
"Your lights are out."
She blinked. "What?"
"The exterior lights on your camper. The ones by the door. They've been out for three days." He reached the camper before she did and knelt down beside the electrical panel, pulling a multitool from somewhere on his person. "The connection is loose. I noticed it on Tuesday."
"You—wait. You've been checking my camper?"
"Someone should." He didn't look up. "It's not safe. This parking lot isn't monitored after midnight."
"I have locks. And pepper spray. And a very aggressive attitude."
"You have a door that a strong wind could knock down and a habit of staying up until three AM with your headphones on." He made an adjustment, and the exterior light flickered to life. "You wouldn't hear someone coming."
She stared at the top of his head, at the long dark hair pulled back from his face, at the focused furrow of his brow as he checked the connection one more time.
"Have you been watching me?" she asked quietly.
He stood, tucking the multitool away. "I notice things."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have." He met her eyes, and there was something vulnerable in his expression, something that didn't match the imposing bulk of him. "You work late. You forget to eat. You leave doors unlocked. Someone should—" He stopped, and his jaw tightened. "Someone should notice."
