Chapter Thirteen — Tessa
Chapter Thirteen
Tessa
I changed outfits four times for a date I had technically agreed to under protest.
That was embarrassing.
The first outfit looked too formal.
The second looked like I was trying not to look formal.
The third was a sweater Rhett had already seen me wear, which should not have mattered and somehow did.
By the fourth, Paige had stopped pretending not to watch.
She sat cross-legged on my bed eating cereal from a mug.
“At this point,” she said, “you’re not choosing clothes. You’re conducting emotional research.”
I stood in front of the mirror wearing dark jeans, ankle boots, and a soft green sweater.
“This is fine.”
“You said that about the last three.”
“This one is actually fine.”
“It has earrings.”
“I wear earrings.”
“You are wearing the good earrings.”
“They are small gold hoops.”
“They are date earrings.”
“There is no such thing as date earrings.”
Paige lifted one eyebrow.
I looked at my reflection again.
The sweater fit well.
Not too well.
Enough.
I hated that I was thinking in those terms.
“One date,” I said.
Paige took another bite of cereal.
“You’ve kissed him.”
“Once.”
“You wear his jacket.”
“Temporarily.”
“You let him meet your father.”
“That was strategic.”
“You commented publicly beneath a picture of him catching you.”
“That was a mistake.”
“You renewed the jacket license.”
I turned.
“You know too much.”
“I live here.”
I looked back at the mirror.
The problem was not that this was a date.
The problem was that I wanted it to feel like one.
No cameras.
No student events.
No father.
No team.
No reason to pretend.
Just Rhett.
That was more frightening than the entire fake arrangement had been.
Because if the date went badly, I could dismiss the attraction as situational.
If it went well—
I did not have a plan for that.
Paige set down the mug.
“You’re allowed to be excited.”
“I am not excited.”
“You changed lipstick twice.”
“I changed my mind.”
“About lipstick.”
“Yes.”
“Because you may kiss him.”
I picked up my bag.
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re twelve minutes early.”
“I like being early.”
“You are avoiding this conversation.”
“Correct.”
Her face softened.
“Tessa.”
I stopped at the door.
“What?”
“You don’t have to know where this is going tonight.”
That sounded suspiciously reasonable.
I did not trust it.
“One date,” I said again.
“One date,” she agreed. “Not a five-year plan.”
“That is not how dating works.”
“It is exactly how dating works.”
“People should understand what they’re agreeing to.”
“You agreed to dinner.”
“And whatever happens after.”
Paige smiled.
“You are really hoping something happens after.”
I opened the door.
“Goodbye.”
“Wear the date earrings!”
I shut the door on her laughter.
Rhett was already waiting outside the residence hall.
He stood beside Eli’s car wearing a black jacket, dark jeans, and a gray shirt that made the phrase less chest feel like something Cam had failed to explain.
His hair was slightly messy.
Not carelessly.
Strategically.
He held a paper bag in one hand.
When he saw me, he stopped moving.
Completely.
That should not have affected me.
It did.
His gaze traveled from my boots to my face, then stayed there.
No joke.
No immediate smile.
Just a look that made the cold air feel less relevant.
I walked toward him.
“You’re staring.”
“Yes.”
The direct answer disrupted my entire nervous system.
“You could pretend to be subtle.”
“I’ve been pretending enough.”
That was unfairly effective.
I stopped beside the car.
“What’s in the bag?”
His eyes remained on me.
“Emergency supplies.”
“For dinner?”
“For you.”
I looked inside.
Hand warmers.
A granola bar.
Travel tissues.
And a small bottle of stain remover.
I stared at him.
“What is this?”
“Preparedness.”
“This is my personality.”
“I’m learning.”
The bag also contained a blueberry muffin.
I looked up.
“You brought breakfast food to an evening date.”
“You like it.”
“I do.”
“I know.”
There was something about those two words.
Small.
Simple.
Devastating.
I folded the top of the bag closed.
“Where are we going?”
“Classified.”
“I need an address.”
“You need trust.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“You trusted me on skates.”
“I nearly died.”
“You moved six feet.”
“Dangerously.”
He opened the passenger door.
I looked inside.
There was a Lakeview blanket folded across the seat.
I looked at him.
“Why is there a blanket?”
His expression went too innocent.
“That question sounds suspicious.”
“Rhett.”
“It is cold.”
“Where are we going?”
He gestured toward the car.
“Get in.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Strong observational skills.”
I should have refused.
Asked more questions.
Demanded an itinerary.
Instead, I got into the car.
Rhett shut the door with the smile of a man who had just won something.
He walked around the front.
The second he sat behind the wheel, I said, “If this involves illegal entry, I am leaving.”
“It does not.”
“Public embarrassment?”
“Not intentionally.”
“Your teammates?”
“No.”
I relaxed.
Slightly.
He started the car.
“That was the easiest way to reassure you?”
“Your teammates are unpredictable.”
“They are supportive.”
“Cam made a poll about whether you would kiss me.”
“That was invasive.”
“You voted.”
He looked offended.
“I voted that you would kill me first.”
“That was statistically likely.”
“I believe in you.”
The car pulled away from the curb.
For the first few minutes, Rhett talked about practice.
Coach had made Cam run stairs.
Noah had attempted to use athletic tape to repair a broken headphone cable.
Eli had informed the team that this violated both electrical safety and common sense.
It was easy.
That was what frightened me.
Rhett could make almost anything feel easy.
I watched the campus pass outside the window.
Bare trees.
Old brick buildings.
Students crossing beneath pools of golden lamplight.
“Where are we going?” I asked again.
“You’re persistent.”
“I’m organized.”
“Control issue.”
“Survival skill.”
His smile faded slightly.
Not gone.
Thoughtful.
“Do surprises bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Because you don’t like not knowing?”
“Because surprises are usually things other people planned without asking.”
The words came out sharper than intended.
Rhett’s hands shifted on the wheel.
“That makes sense.”
No defense.
No joke.
The tension in my shoulders eased.
“A good surprise is still possible,” he said.
“Debatable.”
“Then this is an experiment.”
“Experiments have informed consent.”
“You agreed to a date.”
“Not whatever you’re doing.”
He glanced at me.
“If you hate it, we leave.”
The answer came immediately.
No persuasion.
No wounded ego.
No insistence that he knew better.
That mattered.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?”
“I will participate in the experiment.”
His smile returned.
“Very romantic.”
“I’m pacing myself.”
He drove twenty minutes beyond campus.
Far enough that the university lights disappeared behind us.
The road narrowed.
Trees pressed close on both sides.
I checked the map twice.
Rhett noticed the second time.
“We are still in civilization.”
“There are no streetlights.”
“Nature has stars.”
“That is not infrastructure.”
He laughed.
Then turned down a gravel road.
At the end stood a small outdoor rink surrounded by strings of white lights.
Not an arena.
A community rink.
Wooden boards.
A warming hut.
Snow piled along the edges.
The ice was empty.
I stared through the windshield.
“What is this?”
“My first rink.”
I looked at him.
He shut off the engine.
“The one from the charity video?”
He nodded.
“My mom used to bring me here.”
The lights reflected against the ice.
Soft.
Quiet.
The opposite of Lakeview’s arena.
No cameras.
No crowd.
No version of Rhett designed for anyone else.
“You rented it?” I asked.
“Borrowed.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“The manager coached me when I was ten.”
“So emotionally legal.”
“Exactly.”
He got out.
I followed.
The cold hit immediately.
Rhett opened the trunk.
Inside were two pairs of skates, a thermos, and a box of pastries.
I stared.
“You brought skates.”
“You’re improving.”
“I crossed half a rink while holding both your hands.”
“Historic achievement.”
“I am not skating without rails.”
“You’ll have me.”
“That has already resulted in one viral photograph.”
“No cameras tonight.”
His voice softened on the last word.
Tonight.
Private.
Real.
My pulse shifted.
He handed me the smaller pair of skates.
“You remembered my size?”
“I asked Paige.”
“She has become a criminal accomplice.”
“She’s very effective.”
We sat on a bench beside the rink.
I changed slowly.
Mostly because my hands were cold.
Partly because Rhett was sitting close enough that our shoulders touched.
Neither of us moved away.
When my skates were tied, he stood.
Then held out his hand.
The same gesture as before.
But this time, nobody was watching.
I placed my hand in his.
He helped me onto the ice.
My balance immediately betrayed me.
I grabbed his jacket.
Rhett caught my elbows.
“Still got you.”
“I did not fall.”
“You tried.”
“My skate moved.”
“That is the basic objective.”
I glared.
He smiled.
The rink lights made his eyes look warmer.
Gold inside brown.
I had noticed that before.
I should stop noticing it.
I did not.
“Same rules,” he said. “Look at me.”
“That seems self-serving.”
“It is also effective.”
He skated backward.
I moved forward.
One cautious step.
Then another.
His hands stayed around mine.
No jokes when I wobbled.
No teasing when I tightened my grip.
He simply adjusted.
Matched me.
Waited.
By the third lap, I could move without watching my feet.
Mostly.
By the fourth, Rhett loosened one hand.
I panicked.
“Do not let go.”
“I’m still holding you.”
“With one hand.”
“Scandalous.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
His free hand hovered near my waist.
Close enough.
Not touching.
Ready.
“You can do this,” he said.
I looked at him.
Not the ice.
Not the boards.
Him.
I pushed.
Glided.