Chapter 20 #2
“Do. Not,” I said, bending low and nipping her bottom lip. “Say another man’s name, while you’re still flushed from me.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “That was hot, and very stern daddy behavior.”
“Jesus.” I laughed under my breath, soft and stunned, and pressed against her one more time before pulling back. The separation made my skin prickle. I rolled off and sat up on the edge of the bed, my hands dragging down my face like that would help me get my shit together.
I didn’t move for a second. My chest was tight, my pulse still racing. My brain couldn’t decide if I wanted to run or drag her under me again.
“Wait, do you need … what are you doing?” Her voice came behind me, softer, uncertain. “I felt how hard you were, Nate.”
“Yeah. I’m turned on.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, words too fast, too sharp. “But this wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Oh. Right.”
I heard it then. That shift. Not the words, but the tone. The way something pulled tight behind her voice like she was tucking it all away. I wanted to look at her. I didn’t. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it.
This wasn’t how I handled things. I didn’t stumble through intimacy. I didn’t get torn up by one kiss, one press of hips, one girl who crawled into my hoodie and broke every rule I’d built for myself.
She wasn’t just anyone, though.
I was supposed to take care of her. This fake dating thing was supposed to be safe. And now all I could think about was her face when she came, flushed and beautiful and completely unguarded. She had looked at me like she trusted me with something real.
And I was sitting here like a coward, trying to make it mean less than it did.
I heard the blanket shift behind me. She sat up. No words. No joke. I wanted to turn around and pull her against me and kiss her again until she stopped looking so far away.
I didn’t.
“You okay?” she asked, not quite facing me. Her voice sounded flat. Controlled.
“Yeah.” My voice cracked. I swallowed. “Just … complicated.”
“Right,”
I turned my head. She was already pulling her hair up, mouth tight, shoulders square. She looked beautiful. She looked untouchable.
“I should get going. You have a game.”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
“Cass,” I tried, unsure what I was trying to fix.
“It’s fine, Nate. Really.” She grabbed her shoes. Didn’t look at me. “No big deal. I’ll head home.”
“Cass,” I said again, voice hoarse, heartbeat crawling into my throat. I stood slowly, legs unsteady like I’d just finished seven innings, and stared at her walking toward the door like she hadn’t just turned me inside out. “Please don’t leave like this.”
She didn’t stop moving. She paused with her hand on the doorknob but didn’t look back. I saw the tight set of her shoulders, the way she held herself like she had already pulled every feeling back into a box.
“I just need to get home,” she said quietly, barely louder than the soft shuffle of her shoes.
“I know.” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard. “But I didn’t mean for it to feel like a mistake. That wasn’t what this was, and that’s not how I see you.”
She turned a little, just enough for me to catch the edge of her expression. Her mouth was tight. Her eyes didn’t look at me.
“I’ve messed this up before,” I said, and it felt like every word scraped up my throat raw. “Early in my career, I let someone in. And when things got complicated, I shut down. I pushed her away because I told myself the game came first. That everything else was a distraction.”
I took a step closer. Careful. Like she might flinch if I got too close. “She got tired of waiting for me to figure out how to show up for her. So she left. And I deserved that.”
Also let me fuck up the most important game of my career.
Cassidy still didn’t speak. But her hand dropped from the door. Her shoulders didn’t feel so far away now.
“Since then I’ve kept everything simple. No one gets close. No one stays. And then you show up with your messy hair and your mouth and your sharp jokes and suddenly I’m thinking about things I shouldn’t be thinking about in the middle of games while I need a season of my fucking life.”
I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated and open and completely lost. “I don’t know what we’re doing. I don’t know what this is. But I know that if I let you walk out that door without saying anything, I’ll regret it.”
Her eyes finally met mine. Wide. Quiet. Sad.
“I’m leaving in a few hours,” I said. “Ten days. We both know what it’s like to disappear. I just … I need you to know that I’m not walking away from this. Not yet. I don’t want to.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. For a second, I thought she was going to run.
And then she nodded. Just once. No comebacks or smart comments or teasing.
“I’ll be back,” I said, voice low. “When I am, I want to talk. Really talk.”
Her mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something smaller. More fragile. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll talk.”
I pulled out my phone and called her a ride. She didn’t argue. She didn’t reach for me, and I didn’t reach for her either. There was too much between us. Too much heat. Too much confusion.
The car pulled up outside. She walked past me in my hoodie, sleeves covering her hands.
When she reached the door, she looked back once. Eyes full of questions, lips still swollen from everything we didn’t finish.
“I’ll see you in ten days, O’Brien.”
“Count on it,” I said, even though it sounded like a prayer.
And then she was gone.