“Can I ask you something?” Carter says, spinning his water glass between his palms.
“Depends on the question.”
“Why PR? You said you used to model. That’s a hell of a career change.”
I smile, remembering that early morning conversation at his house. “I got tired of being looked at. I wanted to be listened to.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Modeling taught me how people see what they want to see. PR taught me how to shape what they see. It’s control, in a way.”
“You like being in control.”
“Don’t you?”
“On the field, yeah. Off it?” He shakes his head. “I’m learning that some things can’t be controlled. Injuries. Age. Scandals started by dancers who want a payday.” His eyes find mine. “Chemistry.”
My pulse kicks. “Carter.”
“What?” He leans back, all innocence, but there’s heat in his gaze that’s anything but innocent. “I’m just making an observation.”
“A dangerous one.”
“Yeah.” His voice roughens. “It is.”
The check arrives, saving me from having to respond. Carter doesn’t even look at it, just slides his card to the waiter. We stand, gathering our things, and walk out into the night.
The parking lot is dimly lit, shadows pooling between the few remaining cars. Mine is closest, and we stop beside it. I fish my keys from my purse, hyperaware of how close he’s standing.
“Thanks for dinner,” I say. “And for being good at the hospital. Those kids will remember today for the rest of their lives.”
“Thanks for coming.” He steps closer, and suddenly there’s barely any space between us. “And for not running when I asked.”
“I should have.”
“But you didn’t.”
No, I didn’t. And standing here now, with the night air cool against my heated skin and his eyes dark with something that makes my stomach flip, I’m not entirely sure why.
A puddle sits between me and my driver’s side door, courtesy of the afternoon rain. I start to step around it when Carter’s hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady, guiding me to the side.
The touch is casual. Protective. It shouldn’t send electricity racing up my spine. Shouldn’t make my breath hitch. Shouldn’t make me want to lean into him and see what happens next.
But it does. All of it.
I pull away, maybe too quickly, fumbling with my keys. “I’ll, um, see you tomorrow. Practice at two, right?”
“Right.” His voice is rough, strained. “Drive safe, Olivia.”
I slide into my car, hands trembling slightly as I start the engine. He doesn’t move, just stands there in the parking lot, hands in his pockets, watching me like he’s trying to memorize the moment.
I pull away, checking my rearview mirror once, twice, three times. He’s still standing there, a silhouette in the dim light, until I turn the corner and he disappears from view.
My apartment greets me with blessed silence. I drop my purse on the counter, kick off my sandshoes, and head straight for the bedroom.
The closet stares back at me, innocent and damning all at once.
It’s just a work dinner, I’d told myself earlier.Professional. Nothing more.
But I’d spent twenty minutes choosing what to wear. Twenty minutes deliberating between the black jeans and the dark jeans. The fitted t-shirt versus the slightly looser one. Casual, but not too casual. Professional, but not too buttoned-up.
And then I’d added earrings. Just small ones. Gold hoops that caught the light.
