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His thumb strokes my knuckles in the familiar soothing rhythm. “I meant it when I said we can keep this professional, Amanda.”
I nod, but my heart is a traitor, reveling in the tenderness of his touch. It clings to the hope that maybe there’s something real here beneath our ruse.
“Good,” I say, even though part of me screams it’s anything but. “That’s how it should be.”
He leans closer, and I catch the faint scent of his cologne, sandalwood, my new favorite scent. His proximity causes a delicious shudder to heat my body and awakens the earlier ache that went unsatiated.
“Sometimes I wish…” He trails off, then shakes his head as if dismissing his own thoughts.
A silent question lingers on my lips. Dare I ask? I’m dying to know his thoughts. But I don’t. Instead, I let the space fill with our shared uncertainty, with the weight of unsaid words.
“Blake?” I lean in, too, emboldened by the honesty in his eyes.
“Never mind.” He flashes a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes like before.
I study him, the way the dim light dances across his features. There’s something comforting about the lines of his face, the sincere set of his mouth. At this moment, he’s not the untouchable hockey star, just a guy standing in front of a girl, equally lost.
My chest tightens, silently acknowledging the fragile thread weaving around my heart. Each beat reminds me that Blake isn’t just a simple equation I can solve or an assignment I can ace. He’s a variable I never accounted for.
“Let’s get back,” I suggest, the words sticking to the roof of my mouth. He nods but doesn’t move.
“After this.” He erases the distance between us. His breath mingles with mine, mint and something darker, more intoxicating. I’m reeling, heart pounding like I’ve sprinted the length of a hockey rink. But before we touch, his phone vibrates and breaks whatever trance was between us.
“Yeah,” Blake says. His gaze flashes to mine. “Juliette left? When?”
My heart skips a beat. The implication hits me—a fundamental shift in our dynamic, something beyond our staged romance. I glance at Blake, whose attention flickers toward the bar where the girls had been sitting before settling back on me, his expression unreadable.
Ryan’s words are a cold splash of reality—Juliette left—and it snaps me back.
A laugh bubbles out of my throat, tinged with hysteria. That near kiss was all a charade. Blake’s hand still rests on mine, thumb moving in slow, comforting circles. It’s all pretend, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
BLAKE
My thumb swipesacross the screen over the message, ‘Meet me after work?’ It hovers there, mocking me with its unanswered status. I jam the phone into the cup holder and grip the wheel tighter, the leather squeaking under my palms. The engine purrs as I weave through the Cessna U campus, but it’s Amanda’s silence that roars in my ears.
It’s Tuesday afternoon, so she’s at work and likely busy. I left Andrew and Easton playing Xbox. Ryan didn’t come back to the apartment after practice. An occurrence that’s been happening more and more. I’d ask him what’s going on, but I have my own shit to deal with.
Like this next PR stunt Coach sprung on us after practice, leaving the guys grumbling. The administration is throwing a dedication ceremony for Coach because of his hard preparation for getting to the D1 level. We’re expected to be there for photos. Usually, it wouldn’t be a big deal, but it falls on our rare Saturday off and the same day as the Delta Sigma Pi party. The ceremony will conclude way before the party starts, but it would’ve been nice to have an obligation-free day for once. We’re expected to dress up and play nice for any of the donors who decide to show.
But that’s not what has my fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against the steering wheel. Nope. That would be having to ask Amanda to be there.
And why would a player’s girlfriend need to be at a dedication ceremony?
More fucking PR.
It’s total garbage the extent they’ll go to push their narrative. I shouldn’t complain. Happy donors equate to significant improvements. The baseball field facilities had an upgrade not long ago, but how many players had to keep their images pristine to get it?
I don’t mind Amanda being there. In fact, I rather enjoy it. But it’s the assumption that I can’t behave without a sitter. Like, I’ve never done anything majorly wrong. Blame security for allowing Tarantula Girl through. That was hardly my fault, but that isn’t what has me on edge. It’s the fact that IwantAmanda there. We have fun together. I can be myself around her. When she looks at me, what we have between us feels real. And I swear those inquisitive eyes don’t miss a thing. Do they see through me? See through this relationship that’s felt anything but fake lately?
I pull into the parking lot near the bookstore and spot a space that’s too tight, but I take it anyway. Engine off. Silence. No reply yet.
“Come on, Amanda,” I mutter to no one, rechecking the phone. Nothing.
I shove the car door open and step out, the late afternoon heat warming my skin. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I start walking, each step crunching over the gravel path.
Her laughter rings in my head, the sound from Saturday night when we almost … Yeah. That. I wanted that kiss.
