I hate that I liked it.
I hate even more that I’ve caught him looking at me three times since we sat down.
Not glaring.
Looking.
Different thing.
Very, very different thing.
I pick up a fry and drag it through the ketchup slowly, more focused on the feeling of Jamie watching across from me than whatever bullshit Cooper’s talking about now. I bring it to my mouth and swipe my tongue along the end first, catching the extra ketchup before taking a bite.
When I look up, Jamie’s still staring, catching my every move.
“So then she says, ‘I don’t date hockey players,’” Cooper says, leaning forward like this is about to be profound. “And I’m like, okay, fair. But what about defensemen?”
Bennett loses it.
I stare at him in disbelief. “That was the line?” I ask.
Cooper points at me. “It worked.”
“It absolutely did not. That makes zero sense.”
“She gave me her number, man.”
“That’s called pity, Cooper. Learn the difference.”
Bennett wheezes harder, nearly choking on his drink, and Kowalski reaches over without looking, and slides a glass of water toward him, like it’s pure muscle memory. Like we all watch over Bennett because he has no survival instincts.
He probably should have someone hold his hand crossing the street.
Across the table, Jamie’s mouth twitches. The smallest fraction of a smile. Barely. So fast I almost miss it. But I don’t. Because apparently I’m watching his mouth and counting the fact I’m up to three smiles now.
His eyes flick to mine.
I raise my brows like,what?
He looks away first, reaching for his water, but there’s color creeping up the side of his neck.
Oh.
Interesting.
It probably means nothing.
Jamie Nash seems like the kind of guy whose body reacts to any human emotion by overheating. Anger, embarrassment, mild inconvenience. Maybe laughter if he ever allows himself to experience joy.
Still.
I keep watching.
Not obviously.
Jamie says something low to Kowalski, who nods, serious as always. Then Jamie looks down the table toward Bennett, focused on whatever random girl Cooper is talking about now.He’s doing the captain thing without making it look like the captain thing. Keeping track. Noticing who’s quiet, who’s too loud, who’s halfway into their second beer when Coach definitely said one. Like part of his brain is always monitoring the room whether he wants it to or not.
Jamie catches Cooper's hand halfway up flagging the waitress. Like he’s psychic, he pulls Cooper’s hand down before he even has a chance to say anything.
