Chapter 5 #2
He laughed then too, low and real, and it hit me harder than it should have because Cade’s laugh didn’t match the rest of him.
It wasn’t cold or polished or practiced.
It warmed his whole face for half a second, softening all those perfect sharp edges until he looked less like a mythical god and more like a twenty-two-year-old guy sitting on my couch, genuinely amused.
That was dangerous. So much more dangerous than him being hot. Hot I could handle. Funny was where women made mistakes.
I took a sip of coffee and tried to remember every single reason I did not date athletes. The ego. The cheating. The attention addiction. The way girls became accessories, distractions, problems, or trophies depending on the season.
And then there was Luke, Luke who had taken every warning sign and carved it permanently into my nervous system.
I needed a normal man someday. A boring man. A man who owned sensible shoes, called when he said he would, and thought ESPN was something restaurants put on in the background, not a belief system.
The last thing a girl like me needed was Cade Mercer on my brain.
Cade Mercer, who watched me like every thought crossing my face had become the most interesting thing in the room.
“What?” I asked.
His head tilted slightly. “You disappeared for a second.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I blinked.”
“You checked out.”
I laughed despite myself. “You’re dreaming.”
“It felt real.”
“You engineering majors are so used to always being right you forget you’re just a guy who voluntarily enjoys math.”
“It’s structural reasoning,” he defended with an effortless smile.
“It’s wizardry with student debt.”
His smile grew, and this time I let myself look at it for half a second too long.
Huge mistake.
He noticed, and not in the creepy way. Not like he was cataloging every tiny move I made for control. More like his attention stayed on me because he couldn’t quite help it. Cade didn’t scan me. He focused. There was a difference, and that difference unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.
He wasn’t looking around my apartment like he was bored or waiting for something more entertaining to happen. He was with me. Fully. Like being distracted by anything else would take effort.
“Back to my vision,” I said quickly.
“Please. I’m emotionally invested now.”
“You are not.”
“I could be.”
The words were light but his voice wasn’t.
I cleared my throat and reached for a cronut because apparently sugar was my crutch here.
“Human-interest stories only work when the connection feels real. I don’t want scheduled interview blocks where we sit across from each other like strangers and you give me polished answers about discipline and leadership and overcoming adversity. ”
“Those are my best answers,” Cade said, reaching for a cronut before pointing half of it at me like he was genuinely defending himself in court.
I snorted softly into my drink. “I’m sure they’re very inspirational.”
“They are,” he replied with zero shame. “I’ve made grown men cry.”
I leaned back against the couch, narrowing my eyes at him suspiciously. “Were they your coaches?”
His mouth twitched. “Some.” He took a sip of coffee before adding, “And a few freshmen.”
A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. “Terrifying.”
“Leadership comes naturally to me.”
“I think what you mean is intimidation comes naturally to you.”
Cade grinned then, slow and warm enough to make my stomach betray me all over again. “That too.”
I let the quiet hum of my apartment settle around us while I searched for the right words.
No neon. No sticky bar tables. No drunk college kids screaming over beer pong.
Just morning light, warm coffee, sugar glaze on my fingertips, and Cade Mercer sitting in my living room like he had stepped through some invisible line and neither of us knew what to do about it yet.
“I want the version of you people don’t see,” I said finally.
“Not in a gotcha way. Not because I think there’s some scandal hiding under the Mercer name or whatever.
I just think everyone already knows the public stuff.
Captain of the Fury. NHL prospect. Engineering major. Rich family. Big future. All that.”
His expression cooled slightly, but not in anger. More like a door easing shut from habit. I tried not to show I noticed and softened my voice.
“That’s the headline,” I said. “But it’s not you. Not the real you.”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Outside, a car passed slowly through the apartment lot. Somewhere overhead, my upstairs neighbor’s dog barked twice, then gave up like even he knew this conversation had shifted into something quieter.
Then Cade said, “And you think you can find the real me?”
“I think maybe if I don’t treat you like a story to extract, you might eventually show me the missing pieces.”
His eyes stayed on mine, and I wanted to look away.
I didn’t.
Because there was something there now, something quieter than flirting but heavier than conversation.
Cade Mercer, who looked untouchable across campus and untouchable at Hockey House and untouchable in every photo I’d ever seen of him in a Fury jersey, suddenly looked like a man who didn’t know whether to step closer to that idea or destroy it before it got too close.
“That sounds dangerous, Pip,” he said.
The nickname landed softer this time, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth.
I should have hated it.
I did not hate it.
“That’s because you’re used to being the version they gave you. I’m offering to showcase you. The real you.”
He looked at me for a long second. Thoughtful. Curious. Maybe a little wary. “Maybe.”
“You’re avoiding the part where you agree.”
“I haven’t said no.”
“You haven’t said yes either.”
“I’m thinking.”
I smiled. “Take your time. I know this is a big emotional journey.”
His dimple cut deep into one cheek. “You mock me a lot for someone asking for access to my life.”
“I mock everyone. It’s how I build trust.”
“Is it working?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out immediately.
Because the honest answer was yes.
And that was deeply inconvenient.
Cade’s attention dropped to my mouth for the smallest second before coming back to my eyes, and every nerve in my body noticed like a traitor.
“I think,” I said carefully, tracing my fingertip over the lid of my coffee because my voice needed to stay steady if nothing else did, “it could work. We already know each other socially. We have mutual friends. You’re not some random athlete I’m chasing around with a recorder.”
Cade leaned back slightly, one arm stretched across the back of the couch while his fingers drummed lazily against his coffee cup. “Just a very specific athlete.”
I fought the smile threatening my mouth and failed a little anyway. “A very academically useful athlete.”
His brows lifted slowly. “Useful.”
“It’s an incredible compliment,” I deadpanned.
“Objectifying, honestly.”
I laughed softly, leaning farther back into the couch as I crossed one leg beneath me. “Do you need a moment?”
Cade’s grin came slow this time, dimples cutting into his cheeks while his eyes held mine a second too long to feel harmless anymore. “I’ll recover.”
The way he said it should not have made my stomach flip the way it did. And when I laughed, his whole face changed with it.
That was the problem.
Not that Cade flirted. Plenty of men flirted.
Most of them were boring about it. Cade didn’t flirt like he was trying to win.
He flirted like he was fascinated by the reaction, like every smile he pulled from me surprised and pleased him at the same time.
Like the goal wasn’t conquest but connection.
And that was the kind of thing that could make a girl forget she had rules. Too bad I couldn’t forget, I refused to forget.
“So, what would this actually look like?” he asked. “You coming to practices? Games? Team stuff?”
“If Coach Little allows it, maybe. But I don’t want it to be only hockey. That defeats the whole point.”
“So, what else?”
“Normal stuff.”
“Define normal.”
I studied him for a second. “You really don’t know?”
His jaw shifted slightly, and for the first time all morning, the humor faded just enough for me to see something bare underneath it.
Not sad exactly, but unfamiliar. Like normal was a language he’d learned academically but never spoken at home. That was the first time I wondered what a family had to be like for a guy like Cade Mercer to look at Sunday barbecue chaos like it belonged to another species.
“Normal,” I said gently, “means coffee runs. Studying. Dinner with friends. Watching you argue with Easton about drills or correcting literally all of Briggs’s grammar. Sunday dinner, nights at The Sin Bin. Maybe seeing the places you like when you aren’t being worshipped by an entire campus.”
He rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “I’m not worshipped.”
I gave him a look.
He conceded with a small nod. “Fine. Mildly venerated.”
“You’re agreeing.”
He grew serious as he looked at me. “You’re certain you want me?”
I almost choked but held my composure. “For a project.”
“For a year-long project,” he corrected. “That’s commitment.”
Fuck, he was relentless, and he knew it. “Academic commitment.”
“There it is again.”
“There’s what again?”
“You making hanging out sound official.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I am.”
Before I could save myself and tell him never mind and run for the hills, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. Dad’s name lit up the screen with one text, then another, because Daniel Bennett did not believe in using punctuation when urgency and thumbs existed.
Dad: Do we have charcoal?
Dad: Actually never mind I found it.
Dad: Bring those little potatoes if you have time.
Dad: Also tell your brothers I am not listening to complaints today.
I sighed and picked up the phone. “Speaking of normal.”
Cade watched me. “Family logistics?”