Chapter 20 Sergio #2
"One each," she's saying, batting away grabbing hands. "There's enough for everyone. Yes, Marcus, even you, but you're telling me where that gum came from first."
"I plead the fifth."
"This isn't court. Spill."
Marcus grumbles something about a girl named Sophie and how gum helps with nerves. Jessica's expression softens.
"Ask her to the winter formal yet?"
"How do you know about the formal?"
"Connor told me. He's taking Madison."
"Connor talks too much."
"Connor is my new favorite." She hands Marcus two cookies. "Ask her. Worst she can say is no."
"That's literally the worst possible outcome."
"No, the worst possible outcome is you never ask and spend the rest of your life wondering. Trust me on this one."
Something flickers in her eyes. Pain. Recognition. She's not just talking about Sophie anymore.
Marcus takes the cookies and retreats. Jessica turns and finds me standing three feet away.
"You're lurking."
"Observing."
"Same thing."
"Different intent." I take the cookie she holds out to me. Still warm. Chocolate chips melting. "When did you make these?"
"Four AM. Couldn't sleep."
Neither could I. But I was lying in bed thinking about her, not baking.
"They're good."
"They're my grandmother's recipe." She wipes her hands on Nacho's hoodie. "She used to say cookies fix everything. Bad day? Cookies. Broken heart? Cookies. Existential crisis about your entire life falling apart? Extra chocolate chips."
"Wise woman."
"She was." Jessica's voice softens. "She died when I was twelve. I think about her a lot lately."
I don't say anything. Just stand there, eating my cookie, letting her have the moment.
"Coach!" Connor skids to a stop beside us. "Jessica's coming to the game Friday, right? She has to come. Tell her she has to come."
"That's her choice."
"But she makes cookies. And she fixed the schedule.
And Danny smiled, which literally never happens.
" Connor turns to Jessica with puppy dog eyes that probably work on every adult in his life.
"Please? We're playing Riverside. They're the worst. Their coach is mean and their fans are rude and we need all the support we can get. "
Jessica looks at me. Something passes between us. A question. An offer.
"I'll be there," she says.
Connor whoops. Danny does a fist pump. Even Tyler cracks a genuine smile.
"With cookies?"
“Sure.”
"You're the best." Connor throws his arms around her in a quick hug that makes her squeak with surprise. "Tell your brothers they can come too, Coach. The more Negrorios the better."
He's gone before I can respond.
Jessica stares after him, pink-cheeked, looking slightly shell-shocked.
"Did he just..."
"He's a hugger."
"I noticed."
"You handled that well."
"I didn't handle anything. I just stood there while a teenager attacked me with affection."
"That's handling it." I finish my cookie. "You're good with them."
"They're easy. Teenagers just want someone to pay attention."
"Most people don't bother."
"Most people are lazy." She starts gathering empty water bottles, stacking them in a bin. I watch her move. The bend of her waist. The stretch of her arms. The way those leggings cling to her thighs when she crouches.
Control, Negrorio.
"I should clean up," she says.
"I'll help."
We work in silence. Collecting bottles. Straightening benches. Picking up forgotten tape and discarded gloves. The rink empties around us. Boys trickling out, calling goodbyes, promises to practice their drills.
Danny Wheeler stops at the door.
"Thanks, Jessica." His voice is barely audible. "For what you said."
"Which part?"
"The part about not giving up." He scuffs his shoe against the rubber matting. "My dad says I'm too small. That I should quit and try something else."
Jessica sets down the bin she's holding and crosses to him. I watch her crouch again, meeting his eyes.
"Your dad's wrong."
"He's usually right about stuff."
"Not about this." Her voice is fierce. Certain.
"Small doesn't mean weak. It means fast. It means you can slip through gaps the big guys can't. It means you have to be smarter, work harder, want it more.
" She puts her hand on his shoulder. "And you want it.
I can see it every time you're on the ice. "
Danny's eyes are suspiciously bright. "You think I can score?"
"I think you're going to score at the Riverside game. And I think your dad's going to eat his words."
"That's... that's in five days."
"Better start practicing."
Danny stares at her for a long moment. Then he nods, sets his jaw, and marches out of the rink like a soldier heading into battle.
Jessica watches him go.
"His dad sounds like an asshole," she says quietly.
"His dad is an asshole." I move to stand beside her. "Rich guy. Thinks money means his opinion matters more than everyone else's."
"I know the type."
She does. Callum's family is exactly that type.
"What you said to him. Did you mean it?"
"Every word." She turns to face me. We're close now. Closer than we've been all morning. I can see the golden flecks in her brown eyes. Can count the freckles across her nose.
"He could do it. Score at Riverside."
"I know." She smiles. It's small but real. "That's why I said it."
God. This woman.
"Jessica."
"Sergio."
I should step back. Should maintain distance. Should remember all the reasons this is complicated.
I reach out and brush the flour from her cheek.
Her breath hitches. Her pupils dilate. Her scent spikes until I can taste it on my tongue.
"You had flour," I say.
"From the cookies."
"I figured."
We're frozen. Her cheek warm under my fingers. Her lips parted. Her chest rising and falling faster than normal.
I could kiss her right now. She'd let me. I can see it in her eyes.
But not here. Not like this. Not when she's still figuring out what she wants.
I drop my hand.
"Friday," I say. "Six o'clock. Don't be late."
"I'm never late."
"Then don't start now."
I turn and walk toward my office. My hand is burning. My whole body is burning. I want to turn around and finish what I started, but I don't.
Control.
For years I've wanted this woman. She's not off-limits anymore.
And when she's ready—'m going to show her exactly what she's been missing.
But not today.
Today I let her walk out of my rink with flour on her face and fire in her eyes.
Tomorrow might be different.