5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Tate
The party is exactly what it’s supposed to be.
Loud music shaking the walls, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with sweat, beer, and too much cologne. Someone’s yelling over a speaker, someone else is laughing too hard, and there’s a girl pressed against my side, as if she belongs there.
Normally, this is where I thrive.
I’ve got a red cup in my hand filled with who knows what, an easy smile on my face, and a reputation that does most of the work for me.
Girls like the idea of me: the hockey player, the confidence, the promise of something fun that doesn’t ask for much.
The crazy California boy who stands out compared to all the East Coast people I surround myself with.
“Are you even listening?” the girl beside me asks, fingers trailing along my arm.
I blink, realizing I have no idea what she just said.
“Yeah,” I lie smoothly. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
She laughs, flipping her bright blonde hair over her shoulder, leaning closer so I can hear her over the music. Her perfume is sweet, but overwhelming. “I asked if you wanted to get out of here.”
Any other night, I would’ve said yes without thinking. I would have followed her wherever she wanted to go and fucked her till the sun came up.
Instead, my brain supplies a completely unhelpful image of Celeste behind the diner counter, sleeves rolled up, messy bun slipping loose, looking at me like she’s trying to decide whether I’m worth the trouble.
I pull my arm back gently. “I’m good,” I say. “But thanks.”
Her smile falters, confusion flashing across her face before she masks it. “Right. Sure.”
She disappears into the crowd a moment later, and I stand there feeling like I missed a puck in a play I’ve done a hundred times before.
“Since when do you turn girls down?” Preston asks, appearing at my side with a beer. He’s like a damn ghost, always just showing up out of nowhere. His grey eyes narrow in on me, and I think he might be considering sending me to the closest doctor to get me checked out.
“Since when do you care?” I counter. I lift the red cup in my hand to my lips, sipping down the cold, bitter beer that the frat provided.
He studies me for a second, then smirks. “It’s her, isn’t it? Diner girl?”
“Her name’s Celeste,” I say too quickly and probably more impolitely than needed.
Preston raises a brow. “Oh I know, I just want to see how far I can push you tonight.”
That shouldn’t mean anything.
But, it does. He knows it, and I know it too. “Don’t you have babysitting you need to do?” I taunt him.
Chiral, our old teammate, asked him to scare off any guys from his baby sister, Gemma, when she started here this fall.
Preston hates it, but he feels indebted to Chiral even though he shouldn’t.
Hockey teammates are a different kind of friendship; it’s corny as shit to say, but we’re family, and we will always look out for one another.
Preston just scoffs at my attempt to rile him up, but I don’t miss the way his eyes scan the room looking for Gemma.
I take another drink, and it’s just as bitter and wrong as it was the first time, and it hits me all at once.
This isn’t where I want to be. The music’s too loud, the laughter too easy, the attention meaningless.
Celeste doesn’t laugh like this. She doesn’t smile unless she means it, and suddenly that’s all I can think about.
I'm out the door before anyone can stop me.
The diner’s lights are still on when I pull into the parking lot, snow dusting the hood of my car. My heart thumps harder than it should as I push through the door, the familiar bell announcing me.
She looks up.
And there it is, that split second where her face softens before she schools it back into something neutral.
“You’re back,” she says.
“Couldn’t stay away,” I reply lightly, sliding into my usual booth.
She brings me coffee without asking, two creams, and two sugars. Just how I like it.
“That bad of a night?” she asks, studying my face, which I’m sure is twisted in a way that anyone with two eyes would notice I’m fucked up over something… or someone.
“Something like that.” I watch her as she pours it, noticing the way she moves like she’s conserving energy. “You ever go to parties?”
She snorts. “I barely have time to sleep.”
I hesitate, then take a chance. “Go out with me.”
She stills.
Her fingers tighten around the coffee pot, and for a second, I think I pushed too far.
“I don’t really date,” she says carefully. “I’m busy. And… It’s complicated. And I’ve already–”
“That sounds like a challenge,” I say with a half-smile, cutting her off before she rejects me again.
She shakes her head. “No, Tate. It’s not.”
Something twists in my chest. Disappointment, sure, but also respect. She doesn’t waver. Doesn’t soften the blow. She’s… determined, but so am I.
“Okay,” I say after a moment. “What about this, then?”
She arches a brow. “This?”
“Me showing up here,” I say. “Coffee. Food. Conversation. No pressure. If that’s all I get, I’ll take it.”
She studies me like she’s searching for the catch, like she’s waiting for the moment I laugh it off and admit I’m kidding.
“I don’t have the time, and I don’t want to waste yours. I have responsibilities. People who depend on me.” Something in her voice, not apologetic, just honest, settles deep in my chest.
“I’m not asking you to change anything,” I say quietly. “I’m asking if I can fit somewhere in the margins.”
Her breath catches. Just barely. If I hadn’t been watching her so closely, I might’ve missed it.
“That’s not fair,” she murmurs. “You don’t even know what you’re signing up for.”
“Then let me find out,” I reply. “Slow. On your terms.”
She looks down at the counter, fingers tracing the worn edge like she’s grounding herself. When she looks back up, there’s something warmer in her eyes, cautious, but not closed off.
“I can’t promise you anything,” she says. “I don’t want expectations. And I don’t want you thinking this is going somewhere it can’t.”
“I won’t,” I lie easily, even though we both know I already am.
She huffs out a small laugh, shaking her head. “You’re persistent.”
“Only when it matters.”
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
“Finish your coffee,” she finally says, gentler now. “I’ve got tables.”
But before she turns away, she pauses, glancing back at me over her shoulder.
“And Tate?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you… for understanding.”
It’s not a yes. It’s not a promise.
But it’s something.
As she walks away, her shoulders look a little less tense, like she’s letting herself believe just a little that maybe consistency doesn’t always come with strings attached.
I sit there longer than I need to, nursing my coffee and watching her move through the diner like she’s holding the world together with careful hands.
If this place is all she can give me right now, then I’ll take it.
I’ll keep showing up. Keep choosing her. Keep proving that I’m not going anywhere.
Because for the first time in a long while, I don’t want easy.
I want Celeste.