Chapter 6 Max
SIX
MAX
My annoyance rises at the way Luke and Eli seem to talk without speaking. The brief look between them screams at how close they are. Jealousy is an ugly beast because it came roaring to life the second I watched Luke in the mirrors straddling Eli to spot him.
It was completely unnecessary and the reason I came over and took over in the first place.
But I’m starting to think I was played. Because Luke just drifted away after a few minutes of ignoring him.
And now he’s chatting with one of the other guys on the team across the room.
Still, the image of him leaning over Eli earlier keeps looping in my head.
The way Eli smiled at him. The way he laughed like Luke had said something worth laughing at. I hate that it stuck. I want to be the reason for Eli’s smiles, not that he’s stingy with them, he gives them out like he’s giving candy to children.
I bring myself back to now, standing behind Eli at the dumbbells. My hands hover close, ready to catch the weight if his grip slips, but I’m too aware of the way his shoulders shift and tighten under the load. Too aware of him and the way he still smells of peppermint.
Eli racks the dumbbells, shaking out his arms, then glances up at me with that same grin, unguarded and warm, as if I’m the one who put it there.
“You always look this serious,” he says, “or am I just special?”
The words shouldn’t get under my skin, but they do…burrowing in, sparking that wild urge to shut him up with my mouth. To pull him closer, taste his smile, and make sure the only person he looks at with those blue eyes is me. I want to bottle his sunshine.
I clamp down on the thought, reaching for the next set of weights as though nothing’s wrong. I’m not thinking that. I’m not.
I hand him the next set, heavier this time, and step in closer than I need to. Close enough that I catch his scent again.
“Feet a little wider,” I murmur, tapping my toe against his until he shifts. My hand brushes his hip as I guide his stance, and the heat that shoots through me is instant.
I should move. I should back off and give him space. But my palm stays there for a beat too long, fingers curving just enough to feel the flex of muscle under my touch.
Eli doesn’t pull away. He just glances at me from under his lashes, the corner of his mouth lifting with a knowing look. That damn glitter sparkling on his cheeks, catching my attention.
“Better?” he asks, voice light, pretending with me that this is just another rep, just another correction.
“Yeah.”
And then I’m stepping back, shoving my hands in my pockets before I can do something stupid. Like give in to the thought that keeps circling inside my head. How easy it would be to close the space, how good it would feel to claim that smile for myself.
Eli shifts into position for the next set, but his gaze flicks to me before he starts. There’s a spark there, telling me he’s testing just how far he can push. He grins, slow and deliberate, and it’s not just a thank you for the tip kind of grin. It’s a yeah, I see you watching me grin.
The more he throws those looks my way, the more I find myself adjusting things that don’t need adjusting. A hand on his shoulder to ‘correct’ his angle. A palm at his back to ‘help’ him keep steady. Every touch earns me another smile, another quirk of his mouth that makes my pulse pick up.
And he knows it.
By the time he sets the dumbbells down, he’s got this light sheen of sweat on his skin, and my head’s a mess of clipped corrections and too-long glances. I keep my tone short, professional—at least I think I do—but he’s reading me like a damn book.
He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt, eyes locking with mine as he says, “Guess I’ll have to keep you around if I want the VIP treatment.”
I roll my eyes and step back, but it’s too late. He’s got me pegged, and from the way his grin sharpens, I think he’s already planning his next move.
Eli grabs an extra towel from the rack, but instead of stepping away, he leans into my space—close enough that the clean scent of soap and whatever ridiculous holiday body spray he uses cuts through the sweat in the air.
“Jealousy looks good on you,” he says, voice low and far too pleased with himself.
I scoff, sharp and dismissive, because that’s safer than letting him see how the words actually land. “You think too highly of yourself.”
“Maybe.” He smirks, tossing the towel over his shoulder, acting as if he didn’t just lob a grenade into my chest. “Or maybe I just call it like I see it.”
I shake my head, stepping back before I can do something stupid, like prove him right. But the smug curl of his mouth lingers in my mind, burning hot behind my eyelids.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, Coach,” he says, and the way he draws out Coach makes it sound the same as a dare.
Before I can decide whether to answer and correct him on my title, he’s already glancing toward the far end of the gym. “Luke! Daniel!” he calls, waving them over. Luke’s grin widens when his eyes flick to me, while Daniel just looks confused.
Eli meets them halfway, still wearing that easy charm, and I force myself to turn away before I start wondering if he’s saving any of it for me.
The bell over the campus coffee shop door gives a half-hearted jingle as I step inside. The warmth and smell hits me the second the door closes behind me. Typical coffee house, coffee and sugar on the air.
I’m here for one thing—black coffee, nothing fancy, nothing sweet. But the line moves slowly, and somewhere near the pastry case, the air shifts.
Peppermint.
I don’t have to look at the chalkboard to know they’ve started pushing their seasonal drinks. Peppermint lattes. Whipped cream. A drizzle of chocolate if you want to go overboard. It is the exact drink Eli has every morning.
I can see it too easily—Eli with one in his hands, eyes bright, mouth tipped into that crooked grin he gets when he’s already halfway through teasing me about something.
Or how he sings so loudly for his whole team.
He has no hang ups, and it’s sort of intoxicating.
The heat curling in my gut is instant and inconvenient.
I order my coffee black. The words are automatic, clipped, before I can talk myself into adding something else. Something ridiculous. Something that would make it look as if I thought about him this morning.
The barista calls my name. I grab my drink, push past the door, and tell myself it’s better this way.
The coffee’s hot in my hand, even with the sleeve, steam curling against the cold morning air. I take the same route I always do—cutting across the quad, past the brick path lined with almost bare trees.
Eli’s ahead of me, maybe thirty yards, walking as if there’s no rush to be anywhere. No hat, no gloves, shoulders loose, his breath puffing out in little clouds as he tips his head back to look at the sky. He doesn’t even have his phone out. He’s just…existing. .
It hits me then…it’s not an act. The way he jokes, the way he laughs as if the world can’t touch him…he’s like that even when no one’s watching. Like he was built without the weight the rest of us carry.
Something in my chest tightens, an ache that’s deeper than I’m ready to name.
I wish I could move through the world in the same way.
But I learned young that being myself came with a cost, and when I came out, my family made damn sure I understood how high that cost could be.
That kind of lesson sticks. It hardens you.
I take a drink of my coffee—black, bitter, grounding. For a second, I think about trading it for the peppermint latte I smelled in the shop. I think about handing it to him, watching him grin as though I just made his morning.
I slow down without meaning to, my stride matching his from a distance.
The peppermint scent from the shop is still clinging to my jacket, mixing with the bitterness of my coffee, and it’s impossible not to imagine what would happen if I caught up to him, handed over something warm and sweet instead of this black sludge I drink.
He’d grin up at me, thank me like it was nothing, and then—God help me—probably say something that would make me want to kiss him.
Nope. Not going there.
I take a long drink, burning the thought right out of my mouth. I keep my pace slow enough to stay behind, following him the quarter mile to the rink, until he glances over his shoulder.
He spots me instantly, his grin kicking up as though he’d been hoping I was there all along. “Morning, Coach,” he calls, his voice carrying on the crisp air. “Trying to catch up or just enjoying the view?” He wiggles his ass at me, and I hold back a groan.
The smirk on his face makes my fingers tighten around my cup. I shake my head, pretending he didn’t just light me up with his little ass shake, and keep walking until I’m next to him.
We fall into step without even talking about it, the crunch of gravel under our shoes filling the space between us. Every so often, I catch him glancing my way as though he’s checking to see if I’m still there, and every time, that damn grin threatens to start up again.
When we reach the rink, I step ahead, grab the heavy glass door, and hold it open. “Don’t want you to strain your shoulder before practice,” I mutter, keeping my tone low and gruff and pretending it’s nothing or better yet, part of the job I’m paid to do.
His grin is instant and knowing. “Appreciate the concern, Coach.”
“Athletic trainer,” I correct him. I enjoy him calling me coach way too much to have him continue it.
“Whatever you say, Coach.” He winks.
It’s stupid, the way the corner of my mouth almost twitches, wanting to smile back. I shut it down, following him inside where the blast of cold air from the ice hits us. It’s different from the cold from outside, more like walking into a freezer.
The air inside is full of the smell of ice and gear stink, familiar enough to settle into my bones. Eli peels away into the locker room toward his stall, tossing me a casual, “See you out there.”
He makes my pulse go haywire, so it’s probably for the best that his stall is one of the furthest from me.
I head for my corner of the room, dropping my kit bag by the wall, but my eyes flick sideways, just once, catching the easy way he moves, shoulders loose, still humming under his breath as he strips off his hoodie.
His hair is a mess from the walk or maybe he didn’t brush it this morning, and he shakes it out before putting on his equipment and then reaching for his practice jersey.
He doesn’t rush, doesn’t seem to care who’s watching, and maybe that’s the thing that gets me the most. That he’s the same when no one’s looking.
The ache in my chest twists tighter. I’ve never had that, never been that. Not with the way my family looked at me after I came out, as if I was someone they didn’t quite recognize anymore. I learned quickly to keep my guard up. To measure every move.
Eli doesn’t measure a damn thing.
He catches me looking and grins, pulling the jersey over his head and pads in a way that looks effortless. “Enjoying the view, Coach?” he teases.
I scoff, pulling a clipboard from my bag pretending I didn’t just get caught staring. Still, he closes the distance, taller now with his skates on with the guards on his blades. “Athletic trainer, not coach, and I was just making sure your shoulder was good.”
The laugh he lets out is low, unbothered, and it follows me all the way to my seat at the trainer’s bench, where I spend the first fifteen minutes of practice pretending to take notes instead of tracking the way he moves on the ice.