“After skate.”
“That was not a meal.”
“I’m aware of the food pyramid, thanks.”
His gaze sharpened.
My mouth shut.
The silence that followed had hands.
He stepped aside as someone passed at the far end of the hall, one of the arena staff carrying a stack of folded towels. I shifted at the same time, trying to give space that wasn’t needed. The hallway narrowed for half a second.
My shoulder brushed his chest.
His hand moved on reflex, not grabbing, just catching my wrist to keep me from backing into the wall hook behind me.
It was nothing.
A wrist. A second. His fingers over my pulse.
My knees nearly forgot their job.
Declan’s grip loosened instantly, but he did not let go fast enough to pretend it hadn’t affected him too. His thumb rested once against the inside of my wrist, light enough to be accidental if both of us were liars.
His eyes dropped to where he touched me.
Mine did too.
The air got so thick I could barely breathe.
He released me.
I missed the contact before my skin cooled.
“Eat before you leave,” he said, voice rougher than it should have been. “There are prepared meals in the staff fridge. Take one.”
“I’m not stealing coach food.”
“You’re not stealing if I’m telling you to take it.”
“That sounds legally questionable.”
“Jace.”
My name, not Holloway.
Not loud. Not soft.
Enough.
I swallowed and looked over his shoulder because looking at his mouth was a bad plan and I had already proven I was a man of terrible plans.
“Fine.”
His attention moved over my face like he was checking for damage he couldn’t ask about. “And don’t drive if you’re this distracted.”
“I can drive.”
