The sand's cool through my shoes. The bar noise dulls behind me, swallowed by the steady rush of the ocean. She doesn't hear me coming until I'm right beside her.
"Hey."
She startles, then relaxes when she sees it's me. "Hey."
I hold out the beer. She takes it, fingers brushing mine, and that same jolt I've felt every single time since the conference room runs straight up my arm.
I don't comment on it. I just turn and look out at the water with her, letting the silence stretch between us.
"You know," I say, "I was only thinking earlier about the last time we were both here together…"
"You mean when you picked me up with aSex on the Beachand completely ruined my entire life plan?"
I huff a laugh. "I prefer to think of it asenhancingyour life plan."
"Of course you do." She takes a sip, her eyes drifting back to the water.
I lean my forearms on the railing beside her, the wood worn smooth under my hands. For a second I just let the silence sit, the ocean filling the space between us.
But it doesn't feel right. None of this feels right.
I study her profile in the dim light. The tightness across her lips, the way she's gripping that beer a little too hard.
Then the image of her standing up in those stands, on a goddamnphone callin the middle of a hockey match, enters my mind.
This isn't the same girl I bent over a desk. This isn't the one who giggled us out of that building and laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes.
This isn't even the same person who drilled me into giving the worst fake interview I've ever had in my life.
What's gotten into her???
"You should be in there," I say, tipping my head back toward the bar. "This victory is just as much yours as it is ours. More, honestly. We just skated.Youfilled the building."
"I know." Another long sip from the bottle. "I, um… I just needed some air."
It's a fine answer.
And maybe if I were talking to any other person, that answer would be enough.
But here's the thing about Josie Whitfield.
From the moment I met her, this has been the woman whomoves.She talks with her hands. She laughs at her own jokes. She steals your fries without asking, then acts insulted when you point it out.
She's a force of nature in constant motion.
And right now she's standing dead still.
That's not peace. I know what peace looks like, because I've been doing it my whole damn life.
This is somebody holding very, very still so they don't fall apart.
"So," I say carefully. "You gonna tell me why you look like welost?"
She turns her head, and for a second her guard's down. Her eyes are glassy, her face straight, and she opens her mouth like maybe she's actually going to tell me.
And God, she's beautiful like this.
Not the polished, on-the-clock beautiful she wears to work.Realbeautiful. Like how the lights catch the softer colors in her hair, and how she's done her make up different for the game tonight.
