Chapter 23 Eli
TWENTY-THREE
ELI
The moment it happens, my heart stumbles. Max Calder—Mr. Black Coffee, Mr. Scowl—actually grins back at me. Not a huff, not a twitch he’s trying to hide. A real grin, for anyone to see.
Warmth floods through me, head to toe, and before I can stop myself, my hand drifts under the table. My fingers brush over his thigh, a quick, light pass meant to look casual if anyone glanced down. But I feel the way his muscles tense under my touch and hear the way his breath snags just slightly.
I keep my face all innocence, leaning an elbow on the table and angling toward him like I’ve got nothing to hide.
“See, you should thank me,” I say, pitching my voice just loud enough to carry.
“If you’re smiling, it means your Grinch heart grew at least one size today.
Might even hit normal-human levels by Christmas. ”
I lean back against the booth with a grin of my own as Max scoffs, my arms brushing both Daniel and him.
I’m sure being this close to Max doesn’t look out of place to the rest of the guys, but it is lighting me up.
Todd barks a laugh, Peter shakes his head, and Daniel—well, Daniel’s eyes flick from me to Max, then down toward the table.
For a split second, I wonder if he saw my hand move under the table, but he doesn’t say anything. Just sips his drink, too casual.
Under the table, I give Max’s thigh a little squeeze, like a punctuation before bringing my hand back up and wrapping it around my drink. Outwardly, I grin wider. “Don’t worry, Calder. There’s still time. We’ll get you off the naughty spectrum eventually. Maybe even land you squarely in nice.”
The look Max shoots me is pure warning, green eyes sharp as glass. But I can’t miss the way his ears go pink, or the way his leg presses back into mine.
Teasing him in front of the guys is delicious fun, almost as good as dessert.
I can’t stop myself as I slip my hand back beneath the table and rest my fingers on his thigh.
The flush on his ears is too good, and the way he shifts under my hand like he’s trying not to is a little bit exciting.
Who knew sneaking around would be a turn on?
“Actually,” I say, tilting my head like I’m pondering something serious, “maybe we should just get you your own stocking. You know—hang it up next to mine so Santa doesn’t forget you.”
Todd snorts soda through his nose, Peter groans, “Jesus, Starling,” and Daniel’s lips twitch like he’s holding back a laugh he shouldn’t let loose.
Max’s jaw works, sharp enough I know I’ve got him. His eyes flick to mine, and his voice drops low. “Starling.” It’s a warning.
I smile wider, unfazed. “What? Stockings are festive. It’d look good with candy canes sticking out of one, just for you. You know you secretly love peppermint.”
Before he can answer, the waitress swings up to the table, pen ready. Max straightens like a soldier caught out of line, yanking his menu closer.
“Uh—burger,” he says gruffly, rattling off the rest of his order without looking at me. But his thigh shifts under the table, pressing into mine all the way down to our shoes, like he can’t quite stop himself.
I bite down on my grin, heat curling in my stomach. He can act all stern and annoyed, but I know better.
The second the waitress leaves, I let my hand drop under the table again, casual as anything, until my fingers brush Max’s thigh. Warm. Solid. Tense as hell.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even twitch. Just keeps his eyes on the condensation sliding down his water glass like if he ignores me hard enough, I’ll quit. Spoiler: I won’t.
I trace idle patterns on his leg, light enough no one across the table would notice. Daniel’s elbow nudges mine, casual as hell, but when I glance over, he’s smirking into his Coke like he knows exactly what I’m doing.
Shit.
My pulse kicks, but I don’t move my hand. If anything, I spread my fingers a little wider, pressing firmer into Max’s thigh like I’m daring him—or Daniel—to say something.
“Calder,” I say, loud enough for the table, all mock complaint, “don’t forget me when you start making the rounds today. I’m still pretty sure you left a bruise the last time you checked me over.”
Across from us, Todd barks a laugh. “Bet you bruise easily, Starling.”
I flash him a grin, leaning back. “Only when Calder’s being bossy.”
That earns me a low rumble at my side, pitched so only I catch it: “You’ll live.”
But under the table, the muscle in his thigh jumps when I run my fingers closer to his hip. And when I glance sideways, his jaw is locked, green eyes cutting into me like he’d strangle me if he could get away with it.
Which just makes heat curl low in my stomach. He’s fighting it. Fighting me. And I like it. Maybe too much.
By the time the plates are cleared and Max is grumbling about needing to get back for checks, I’ve got that warm, buzzy feeling in my chest I always get around him.
Even when he’s scowling, he makes the air feel charged.
Todd and Peter peel off together outside, still arguing about who cheated at pool last week, and it’s just me and Daniel left standing there.
He shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket, eyes cutting to me with that dry, older-brother look he gets when he’s about to call bullshit.
“You know I’m not blind, right?” he says, tone low, casual. Daniel glances at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So…Calder, huh?”
I choke on nothing, tugging my scarf higher. “What?”
“Don’t give me that innocent Bambi look, Starling. I’ve seen that game before.” He wiggles his brows. “You and Calder, sitting side by side like you’re not about to combust if your knees brush? Please. I’d swipe right on that tension alone.”
Heat spikes up my neck. “You’re imagining things.”
Daniel snorts. “Uh-huh. Sure. Look, I’ve spent enough nights on the apps scrolling through DL jocks looking for a ‘workout buddy’ to recognize it when I see it.” He elbows me lightly. “Just saying—you could do worse. And he definitely could too.”
I groan, dragging a hand over my face, but I can’t stop the stupid grin tugging at my mouth.
Daniel claps me on the back, grinning like a cat with cream. “Relax, lover boy. Your secret’s safe with me. For now.”
He peels off with a wave, and I’m left crossing campus with this stupid grin tugging at my mouth. The cold bites at my ears, snow crunches under my boots—but all I can think about is the heat of Max pressed against me in that booth.
But Daniel’s words keep looping in my head. Calder, huh?
I wonder if it was obvious to Todd and Peter, too. Maybe they just didn’t say anything. I’m going to fuck it all up if I keep being so obvious. And if other people find out, or if Coach finds out, it will all be over. And I don’t want it to be over.
I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, trying to walk it off. But my body still feels wired—skin too tight, heart punching against my ribs like it’s trying to break out.
Max Calder. Grumpy, green-eyed Max Calder. My trainer, my not-a-thing-but-kinda-is, the guy who kissed me in the snow as though he forgot the world was watching. Then proceeded to spend the whole weekend with me.
I should pull back. I really should.
I already know myself—I’m not built for secrets. I’m built for sunlight and noise and throwing glitter at the dark. And the more I try to hide him, the more my body wants to shout mine. To scream to the world that we are together. That I love him.
My steps slow, and I swallow. Fuck. I love him. Like love love him.
By the time I reach the building for my mid-day class, my chest’s a riot of everything I can’t say out loud. Yeah, maybe I’ll screw it up. Maybe people will figure it out. But right now, I just want him. It isn’t rational. Probably not even a tiny bit smart, but I can’t stop myself.
I fish my phone out of my pocket, thumb hovering over his name. Because if I’m going to crash and burn, I want to do it with Max Calder’s hands on me, not at a distance. Still, I don’t text him yet, even though every single part of me wants to.
As I slide into my seat, my brain’s still somewhere between Max’s hands and the panic attack that realization almost caused.
Love.
I actually said it—in my head, at least—and now it’s just echoing. Over and over. Louder than the professor, louder than the scratching of pens, louder than the stupid clicking of the guy’s pen two seats over.
I’m supposed to be taking notes on sports physiology, but the only anatomy I can picture is Max’s. His shoulders, his forearms, the way his jaw flexes when he’s trying not to smile. The way his voice drops when he says my name.
I doodle instead. Not hearts, because that’s too obvious, even for me. Just little spirals and lines that somehow start to look like the tattoo on his wrist. Subconscious, my ass.
Someone asks a question about muscle fatigue, and my brain goes straight to how my legs felt shaking around him last time we were together. I drop my pen. Smooth. Real subtle.
The professor keeps talking, something about endurance training, and I snort quietly to myself because yeah, endurance—definitely something I’ve been thinking about.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I know it’s not him—Max never texts during the day. He’s responsible, professional, all the things I’m not. But my hand still itches to check, just in case. Because now that I’ve admitted it—to myself, at least—every part of me wants to tell him.
To say it out loud. To see what he’d do. Would he flinch? Or would he pull me close and say it back, quiet and sure, like he already knew?
The thought hits hard and I sink lower in my chair, biting my lip to hide the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
Yeah, I’m screwed. Totally, hopelessly, ridiculously in love with Max Calder. And not even an entire lecture on ATP synthesis can save me from that.