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“I mean really text you. Not just the ice photos.”

“I’d like that.”

He nodded. Neither of us moved.

“You should go home,” he said. “It’s late.”

“You should too.”

“I will after I watch you get in your car safely.”

“That’s very sweet.”

“Crim called it territorial.”

“It’s sweet and territorial. You can be both.”

His mouth quirked up on one side. “Good to know.”

“Night, Brashe.”

“Night, Ellie.”

I walked to my car, feeling his eyes on me the whole way. After getting in, I started the engine and looked in the rearview mirror.

He still stood where I’d left him, watching.

I waved, and he waved back.

I drove away, his hoodie still warm around me.

Marzipan waited in my entryway, meowing loudly the second I opened the door.

I fed her and changed into pajamas but tugged the hoodie back on. The fabric smelled like him and me now, a combination that felt significant. I collapsed on the couch. Marzipan jumped up and settled in my lap, purring like an engine.

I stared at my phone. No text yet.

Marzipan headbutted my hand, telling me to pat her and stop staring at my phone.

More time passed. Still nothing.

Maybe he’d changed his mind. He might’ve realized I was more trouble than⁠—

My phone buzzed.

I lied earlier, he said.

My heart stopped but started again, running faster. About what?

I do know how to want something that isn’t hockey. I’ve been doing it for a very long time.

I couldn’t breathe. Marzipan looked up, annoyed at the disruption to her petting schedule.

My hands shook as I typed. What have you been wanting?

You. Since you walked up and asked about my god complex.

I set the phone down but picked it back up immediately. Marzipan meowed, sending me a scowl. Her tail flicked against my leg.