“Yeah?” The admission made my pulse kick up in ways that had nothing to do with the performance. “Why's that?”
“You. This.” He said it simply, like the honesty wasn't a big deal. “The second we cleared the locker room, there wasn't anywhere else I wanted to be.”
My face was doing things I couldn't control, so I took another drink of water and looked away at the string lights above us. “That's — yeah. Okay. I'm glad you came.”
“You already said that.”
“I meant it twice.”
He laughed, low and warm, and we kept walking.
Eventually we found ourselves near the game section, rows of booths offering overpriced attempts to win stuffed animals and cheap prizes.
“We should play,” I said, already veering toward the ring toss before Rook could object.
“These games are rigged.”
“Obviously they're rigged. That's what makes winning satisfying.” I handed over cash to the bored teenager running the booth and grabbed the rings. “Watch and learn, Kincaid.”
I threw the first ring and missed by a mile. The second one bounced off the edge of a bottle and rolled away. The third didn't even make it to the targets.
“Wow,” Rook said, grinning. “You're really bad at this.”
“Shut up. The rings are weighted wrong.”
“Sure they are.” He paid for his own set and proceeded to land two out of five, which was objectively better than my zero. “It's all about the wrist angle.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don't.”
We moved through the games systematically, competing over basketball tosses and balloon darts and a strength-test hammer that Rook absolutely destroyed while I came in at a pathetic mid-range. By the time we'd exhausted most of the options, we were both laughing and talking shit and carrying a ridiculous stuffed elephant that Rook had won and immediately handed to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“This is the dumbest prize I've ever received,” I said, tucking the elephant under my arm.
“You're welcome.” He was smiling, and the expression was so open and genuine that I felt my chest tighten with want I couldn't afford to name. “You hungry? We could grab food.”
We found a food truck selling poutine that was probably terrible for us and sat on a bench near the edge of the fair, eating and watching people drift past in the warm glow of the string lights. The conversation flowed easy, jumping between hockey and music and the chaos of our respective lives, and I let myself pretend for a while that this was normal. That we did this all the time. That the ease between us wasn't complicated by years of grief and wanting and all the shit we still hadn't said out loud.
“Where are you staying tonight?” Rook asked eventually, wiping his hands on a napkin. “The band got you a hotel?”
“Yeah, our manager booked us at the Marriott downtown. You?”
“That's where the team's staying.” He looked at me with an expression that was equal parts amused and resigned. “What floor?”
“Seventh.”
“Of course you are. We're on seven too.” He laughed, shaking his head. “What are the fucking odds?”
“Apparently pretty good.” My pulse kicked up at the realization that we'd be sleeping a few doors down from each other, separated by nothing but hotel walls and increasingly fragile self-control.
We headed back to the hotel together, the band and the team naturally clustering into their own groups but with enough overlap that nobody questioned why Rook and I were walking side by side. The lobby was busy with guests and staff, and we made our way to the elevators in a pack of loud voices and laughter that made the space feel smaller than it was.
Rook and I ended up in the elevator alone after everyone else peeled off on different floors, and the second the doors closed the air between us shifted into thick and charged that made breathing feel difficult.
I was acutely aware of how close we were standing. How the space suddenly felt too small and too intimate. How I could smell his cologne mixing with the faint scent of the fair still clinging to both of us — sugar, cold night air, the specific warmth of a crowd. Standing next to him in this box of mirrored walls, I could see the tension in his jaw from three different angles and none of them were easier to look at than the original.
Rook was staring at the elevator doors like they held the secrets of the universe. I could see him fighting with himself about a thing he wasn't saying, and I wanted to ask what he was thinking but didn't trust my voice not to give away how badly I wanted him.
