Chapter 7 Ollie
CHAPTER SEVEN
OLLIE
There are a million reasons why meeting Chloe for coffee is a bad idea.
For starters, she’s technically “with” the team, shadowing us, taking notes, reporting, whatever title you want to give it. Getting too close? It’s complicated and risky. Potentially catastrophic if Murphy or Dylan catch a whiff of something more than casual between us.
Then there’s the obvious problem; she’s off-limits.
The unspoken code among the guys is not to cross wires with anyone who might complicate the locker room.
And Chloe is complication personified. Sharp eyes, sharper tongue, a laugh that sneaks under my skin, and a smile that has no business being aimed in my direction.
So yeah. Bad idea.
But here I am anyway, sitting at a corner table of Bean & Brew, fidgeting with a sugar packet and waiting for her to walk through the door.
The bell above the entrance jingles, and I glance up. My chest tightens like someone’s yanked a skate lace too tight.
Chloe.
She’s got her hair tied back, a scarf looped around her neck, notebook peeking out of her bag. Casual and effortless. Like she didn’t spend all morning embedded with a bunch of sweaty, foul-mouthed hockey players. And yet, somehow, she walks in like she belongs here more than any of us.
Her eyes find mine almost instantly. A flicker of hesitation, then that grin, small, crooked, like she knows exactly how much trouble she’s causing just by existing.
“You’re early,” she says as she slides into the chair opposite me.
“You’re late,” I counter, smirking.
She glances at the clock on the wall. “By two minutes.”
“Two minutes is an eternity in hockey.”
Her laugh is soft but genuine, and something in my chest loosens. I want to bottle that sound, keep it for the days when training feels like dragging my body through hell.
The barista comes by, and Chloe orders a latte, while I stick with my black coffee. Simple. Bitter. Safe.
“So,” she says, leaning back in her chair, eyes sharp. “Am I supposed to be interviewing you right now, or is this purely recreational?”
I arch a brow. “You tell me. You’re the one who invited me.”
Her lips twitch. “True. But I figured you wouldn’t survive more than ten minutes without making it recreational anyway.”
She’s not wrong. I grin, leaning forward on my elbows. “I like to keep things interesting.”
“I’ve noticed.” Her eyes flick to mine, her gaze is steady, unflinching. It feels like a challenge.
The coffees arrive, and for a moment, we fall into a comfortable silence. She stirs her latte absentmindedly, and I can’t stop watching the way her fingers wrap around the cup, how she blows gently across the foam before taking a sip. It’s bizarre, how hypnotic something so ordinary can be.
She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. “Observing again, Ollie?”
“Maybe.” I smirk. “Depends if you’re worth observing.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Careful. I might start charging for the privilege.”
“I’d pay,” I shoot back before I can stop myself.
Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow in mock suspicion. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“Only when unavoidable,” I say, echoing yesterday’s line.
She remembers. I can tell by the way her lips curve, soft and slow.
The conversation drifts from there, easy and unforced.
She asks about the team, how I started playing, and what it’s like balancing games, travel, training, and real life.
I tell her stories, albeit toned down, but still enough to make her laugh.
Like the time Jacko tried to cook spaghetti in the hotel coffee pot.
Or Murphy’s ongoing war with the vending machine at the rink.
She listens like every word matters. And when she talks about her own work, her reasons for shadowing us, and her goals, I find myself leaning in, captivated.
It’s not just her voice, though that’s part of it.
It’s her conviction. The way she cares about getting the truth, about seeing beyond the surface.
“You ever think you might be too good at your job?” I ask when she pauses.
She blinks. “Too good?”
“Yeah. You’ve got this… thing. Where you make people want to tell you everything.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “And is that what you’re doing? Telling me everything?”
The question hangs in the air between us, sharp and weighted.
I swallow, glance down at my coffee, then back at her. “Not everything.”
Her eyes linger on mine a beat too long, like she’s testing how much of that is a joke and how much isn’t. And the truth is, I don’t even know.
We slide into lighter banter after that, but the tension lingers, coiled beneath the surface like a spring. Every time our hands brush, reaching for sugar, every glance that lasts a fraction longer than necessary, it winds tighter.
At one point, she leans forward, chin resting on her hand, and says, “You realise if Murphy finds out I’m here with you, he’ll murder us both.”
“Us?” I echo, grinning. “Nice to know you’re already putting us in the same category.”
She laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it. “You know what I mean.”
“Relax,” I say, though my pulse is hammering. “We’re just two people having coffee.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and I know she hears the unspoken for now.
The clock on the wall ticks forward, and I realise we’ve been here nearly an hour. The world outside the café moves on with cars passing, people rushing by, but in here, time feels suspended. Just me and Chloe, locked in this dangerous little bubble we’ve created.
Eventually, she sighs, glancing at her watch. “I should go. Got to write up notes before training this afternoon.”
I nod, though the thought of ending this feels like a loss. “Right. Don’t want to fall behind on your observations.”
She smirks as she gathers her things. “Especially when one of my subjects keeps distracting me.”
I stand as she does, resisting the urge to reach out, to touch her arm, to keep her here a little longer. Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets and settle for walking her to the door.
Outside, the air is crisp, tinged with the smell of roasted beans and city traffic. She turns to me, eyes bright, smile tugging at her lips.
“Thanks for the coffee,” she says.
“Anytime.” My voice comes out lower than I intend.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us feels electric again, charged with something unspoken. Then she steps back, breaking the spell.
“See you at training,” she says, and before I can reply, she’s walking away, scarf fluttering in the breeze.
I watch until she disappears around the corner, my chest tight, my head a mess.
Because I know I should walk away from this. Keep it professional. Respect the team, respect the code.
But I also know I won’t.
Not when Chloe looks at me like that. Not when she makes me feel like I’m more than just Ollie the player, Ollie the teammate, Ollie the joker.
She sees me.
And I’m in trouble.