“Okay.” I nod. That’s it. I don’t make a face about it. “Good to know.”
“Most people are confused about the stuff I do.”
“I’m not most people. Ask Gary.”
“Why is that good to know?”
“Why do you think, Jasmine?” I stand and stare at her intently, challenging her to answer my question in her head.
She stands up fast, and for a second, I figure that’s it, she’s done. But she doesn’t go for the door. She grabs the back of her chair like it’s the only thing keeping her on her side of the table, and her voice drops low and shakes a little.
“This is a conflict of interest. A documented one.”
“Catastrophic,” I agree.
“My father will end your career.”
“Without breaking a sweat.”
“I don’t do this.” Her voice cracks right down the middle. “I don’t do reckless. I have never done one reckless thing on purpose in my life.”
“I know.” And I do. She built herself a careful little life with no doors so this exact thing could never happen, and she’s standing there holding a chair instead of walking out of it.
“Then sit down,” she says. “Tell me to sit back down, and we both pretend this never came up.”
“Not gonna do that.”
She sighs, “I know you’re not.”
I come around the table slowly, telling her with every step that she can call it, can tell me to sit back down, can put the table between us again. She doesn’t. Her chin’s up. Her eyes come to mine and stay there, which I’ve learned is one of the hardest things for her to do.
“Tell me to stop,” I say, close now.
“Stop what?” she whispers.
Then I kiss her.
It’s tentative at first until she kisses me back like she’s mad about it, both hands fisting my shirt, and every loud thing in my head goes quiet for the first time in years.
I get one hand in her hair and the other flat on the table by her hip, where she can see it, because I don’t want her to feel cornered.
She pulls back an inch. Breathing hard. Her eyes come up and stay on mine, and I know how that kind of intimacy is much more difficult for her than that kiss was. It makes me feel important. Warm.
“That was a mistake,” she whispers, and doesn’t let go of my shirt.
She’s lying.
“Worst one you ever made,” I tell her, and lean back in.
Her phone goes off on the table.
We both look at it. Face up, buzzing, lighting up the whole dim room. One word on the screen.
DAD.
The cock blocker himself.
She backs away from me like I burned her. Smooths her hoodie, her hair, her whole face, the mask snapping back into place in under a second. Just like that, I’m looking at the VCU ice hockey compliance officer again instead of the girl who kissed me like she’s been wanting to jump my bones for six days.
