He was just a hookup.
One night.
One sexy, awe-inspiring, memory-making night.
“It’s relaxed, and we’ve got coffee,” I’d tried to reassure him, gesturing to the small bar where the machine sat with the pods I’d stolen from Oli’s kitchen.
He hadn’t seemed convinced but settled into a lone chair anyway, placing a Storm hoodie in his lap as a makeshift barrier, and looked every bit the solitary figure, set slightly apart fromIan and Annabelle, who were so deep into their flirtatious banter I wondered if they needed to find another kind of room for privacy.
Ian was all confidence and charm, a glaring contrast to Craig’s reserve. He tossed his football lightly from one hand to the other, catching it and spinning it occasionally as he spoke. “Physics is all about understanding the forces of attraction, much like the one I’m feeling right now,” he said, winking at Annabelle, who raised an eyebrow, her posture poised and composed. She seemed amused by Ian, but every now and then, her gaze would cut to Craig, and she’d try to catch his eye.
Mine.
Craig watched them both, and then his gaze swung back to me, eyes clouding with an unreadable emotion. I could tell he was out of his comfort zone when his hands tightened around the purple material he’d folded and refolded, and he leaned back, trying to appear casual but only managing to present a picture of contained energy. He wore a Storm T-shirt that clung just right to his lithe, muscular frame, accentuating the build of a professional hockey player honed by years on the ice. His jeans were casual, and his purple Converse were adorned with the Storm logo, another nod to his team spirit. His brown hair was a tousled mess, with waves and flicks and curls that looked like they had been styled by his carefree movements rather than a deliberate effort, and he was so gorgeous.
I couldn’t help but notice the smoothness of his clean-shaven jaw, which made him appear young—vulnerable almost—and so damn handsome. A vivid sense memory flashed through my mind—of the faint abrasion of his stubble against my skin—and boom, I was fighting getting an erection in the middle of an academic meeting. I went through the entire lengthy theorem before I had myself under control, and realized he was staring at me, or rather I was staring at him, and he’d caught me.
He seemed slightly on edge, sitting with one leg crossed over the other, occasionally adjusting the material in his lap or running fingers through his hair. I wondered if sitting still was something foreign to him. What would he do while I was sitting reading? Would he go to the gym? Watch a movie? Would he want to talk? Would he hate that when we were in our house one day sometimes I needed to sit in silence, or would he curl up next to me and read something himself?
Also, why was I picturing us on a lazy afternoon in a non-existent house, in a non-starting relationship, with the sexy man staring at me?
I sent him a hesitant smile, and he returned it, although it didn’t seem entirely genuine. Maybe he could read my mind, saw my future-us imaginings, and was completely freaked out.
I caught myself fantasizing about leaning close to him, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence. The thought of kissing him sent a familiar warmth coursing through me, mingled with a pang of longing. The small room was filled with Ian and Annabelle’s chatter, but for a moment, it all seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the vivid image of Craig, his casual beauty, and the unresolved tension between us.
I wanted him.
So badly.
My watch buzzed with the alarm to start the meeting, and I snapped into motion.
“Hi, everyone, thank you for coming. We’ll start in a bit, but I just thought we’d go around the room and give ourselves an idea of who we are.” Craig sunk lower in his seat—I got that this meeting warm-up was shit, I hated doing it myself, but I needed everyone to understand what they were here to do, and this was the best way.
“I’ll go first,” Ian announced, and that didn’t surprise me at all. “I’m Ian, QB for the Lions, Go Lions!” He held up a fist—was he expecting me to bump it?
“Go Lions,” I repeated, and he seemed happy.
“So, I’m in the final year of my degree, physics, but I’m already on the books for the Seattle Sirens, so I’m pretty set for life.”
Unless he got injured, in which case he wasn’t set at all, but I didn’t want to burst his bubble.
“I’m Annabelle, last year, Chemistry, and I have my place on the Olympic team.” She glanced at Ian who seemed suitably impressed. “Plus, a post-grad at Cambridge. England I mean, not US.”
Then it was Craig’s turn, and I smiled in encouragement as he cleared his throat.
“Craig, winger, LA Storm, hockey.”
“And I’m Dr Jamie Hennessy, call me Jamie, and I want to thank the three of you for coming today.”
All three of them mumbled a hello.
“So, uh, this place is full of… equations and stuff,” Craig finally commented, his attempt at making conversation falling a bit flat as he gestured vaguely toward the nearest whiteboard laden with complex calculations. “I thought this was a physical thing.”
“Yeah, it’s a bit different from the ice rink or the field, isn’t it?” I responded, trying to bridge the gap between his world and this one. “But hey, it’s a change of scenery. Good for the brain.”
He offered a half-smile, still tense. “Sure, as long as I don’t have to solve any of that,” he said, nodding at the boards.
“That’s my job,” I reassured him, and Craig seemed relieved. I wasn’t expecting anyone here to understand what I was doing from a mathematical perspective, and I wanted Craig to relax, and what I said seemed to work. “So, the basic question I wasasking in my research was about the orientation of flight. Take for example, a football.” Ian perked up. “It starts with the nose up but then tilts forward by the time it reaches the receiver.”
