8. Mallory
Mallory
The elevator doors slid open with a muted chime, and I stepped out beside Jackson Phillips, doing my best to look like I hadn’t just spent the ride up wondering how I was going to fill the silence between us.
He was talking about himself again. Something about crypto, maybe?
Or his dog’s raw food diet? Honestly, I’d stopped keeping track around the time he referred to his ex as “emotionally inefficient.”
I smiled, nodded at the right beats, and hoped I didn’t look as disconnected as I felt .
Then the front doors opened—and in walked Jaymie Prescott.
Of course.
He was wearing a beanie, a worn-in hoodie, and his usual glasses, fogged slightly from the cold. He carried a gym bag slung over one shoulder and had earbuds in, one dangling as he pulled the other out and spotted me.
For a split second, the air in the lobby changed.
His steps slowed. His gaze flicked from me to Jackson and back again. And everything in my chest tightened like a reflex.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual, not at all caught off guard.
Jaymie’s eyes didn’t leave Jackson. “Hey.”
Jackson, of course, took that as his cue. He stepped forward with the kind of puffed-out-chest confidence that belonged to guys who peaked during Greek Week.
“Jackson Phillips,” he said, offering a hand like we were about to negotiate a startup deal. “And you are?”
Jaymie blinked, clearly thrown off by the handshake attempt. He took it slowly. “Jaymie Prescott.”
“Ah, the hockey guy,” Jackson said, like he’d just solved a riddle.
Jaymie’s smile was polite. Barely. “Yup.”
“I keep meaning to catch a game,” Jackson added. “But Mallory said you’re benched right now, yeah?”
Mallory said—? I didn’t remember saying that. Had I?
Jaymie’s jaw ticked, but he nodded once. “For now.”
“Rough luck, man.” Jackson gave a chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I always say, I’d rather have brains than brawn.”
Jaymie’s expression didn’t change, but I felt his gaze flick to mine for a second. Just long enough to say, Is this guy serious?
“Guess some of us got both,” Jaymie said coolly.
I felt my cheeks burn.
“Anyway,” I said quickly, “we were just heading out. Dinner.”
Jaymie nodded, his voice quieter now. “Right. Well… enjoy.”
And just like that, the elevator doors slid shut behind us, and Jaymie disappeared.
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until Jackson said, “Nice guy. Little intense though.”
I forced a smile. “Yeah. He’s... a lot.”
But even as Jackson talked, even as I tried to tune back into whatever story he was launching into, my brain wouldn’t quiet. Because Jaymie wasn’t smug. He wasn’t trying to impress. He didn’t drop buzzwords or namedrop gym routines.
He noticed things. Asked questions. Made me laugh without trying to be charming.
And when he looked at me?
He saw me .
Jackson hadn’t even asked for my number yet. We were still snap-streaking like teenagers. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was scrolling something on his phone, not noticing the silence between us at all.
And now, I wasn’t so sure Jackson was the better choice after all.