4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Tate
I don’t usually think twice about girls.
They come easily; smiles across crowded rooms, numbers saved under names I won’t remember in a month, conversations that blur together by the end of the week. Preston likes to say I treat dating like hockey: fast-paced, comes naturally, and always moving on to the next play.
He’s not wrong.
That’s why it pisses me off that Celeste has been stuck in my head since last night.
Since the way she flinched when I reached for her arm. Since I witnessed the quiet strength in how she straightened her shoulders and walked away from Brett, refusing to let him see how much he’d rattled her. Since the tired kindness in her eyes that looks like it’s been earned the hard way.
It shouldn’t matter. She’s just a waitress at a diner I visit too often. A pretty face. A girl who never gives me the time of day.
And yet. I can’t stop thinking about her pretty dark hair, which reminds me of hot chocolate on a cold winter day.
Something hitting me in the back of the head pulls me from my daydream. The clatter of lockers and music reminds me where I am. The locker room – smelling like sweat, tape, and overconfidence.
“Jackson, are you coming with us to the party tonight, or are you ditching us for cheap diner food again?” Preston calls from across the room, smirking as he laces his shoes.
“You ghosting another girl? Is that the issue, or are you worried I’ll beat your ass in beer pong again?” Parker chimes in.
“Can’t ghost what I never promised. And Parker, you’ve only beat me once, so let the air out of your head, it’s growing bigger by the minute.” I shoot back at both my best friends, grinning as I drop onto the bench.
“Cold,” someone mutters.
“That’s our boy,” Kent, second line center- laughs. “King of mixed signals.”
Normally, I’d lean into it. Play it up. Laugh it off.
But instead, my mind drifts to a messy bun, tired green eyes, and a girl who looked like she was holding herself together with sheer willpower.
“She’s not like the others,” Preston says casually while standing next to me, like he’s reading my mind. He's been going to the Retro Rooster as long as I have and familiar enough with Celeste, and has this creepy ability to read people like a book.
I scoff. “You don’t even know who or what I’m thinking about.”
“Don’t have to,” he says. “You don’t get that look over just anyone and you have been crushing on her for the last four years, just ask her out already.”
“No idea what you’re talking about, and even if I did- how the hell would you know anything about a look when the only one you have is RBF?
” I joke, trying to get Preston off my case.
But he’s my best friend and line-mate. He knows me better than anyone else, even if this is only the third year we’ve played together.
“Well then, you’ll have no issues with me heading to the diner for a quick bite to eat, right? Maybe I could give our pretty waitress my number, invite her back to our place where I’ll show her a good time—”
“Don’t finish that fucking sentence, Preston.” All humor is gone. I know he’s intentionally pushing my buttons, cause, like real brothers, we do that shit to each other every chance we get.
Preston raises an eyebrow and the smallest smirk falls on his face, his version of laughing, his black hair that is still wet from his shower falls around his ears. “You should see the look on your face right now.”
“Whatever, let’s go, I’m hungry. Parker, are you coming?”
“I… have plans. I’ll see you guys at home.” Parker grabs his hockey bag and leaves the locker room. Something has been up with him lately, but he never sticks around long enough for us to ask any questions.
The diner’s bell chimes when I push through the door, warmth and the smell of coffee and grease wrapping around me like muscle memory.
It’s quieter than usual; the late lunch crowd thinning, and dinner rush still a few hours away.
My eyes find her before I can stop them.
Celeste stands behind the counter, wiping it down with slow, tired movements. Her hair is twisted into that messy bun she always wears, a few dark strands escaping to frame her face. There are faint shadows under her eyes; she probably thinks no one notices.
But I notice.
“Damn,” Preston mutters under his breath as we slide into a booth. “You look like you’re about to write a love letter or some shit.”
“Relax,” I mutter. “I’m just hungry.”
“Sure you are… for her.”
She glances up, catches me watching, and hesitates for a split second before putting on her professional smile and walking over.
“What can I get you?” she asks, flipping open her little black booklet. She only looks to Preston, already knowing my order.
But I want her attention, so I butt in before Pres can answer, “Your expert opinion,” I say smoothly. “You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”
“That’s a dangerous amount of trust to put in a stranger,” she says.
“Stranger?” I press a hand to my chest for dramatics. “Celeste, we’ve shared at least twenty coffees together.”
“You know my name,” she counters. “That doesn’t mean you know me.”
“Then let’s fix that,” I say lightly. “Tell me one thing about you.” I can hear Preston shuffle beside me, probably annoyed that I’m delaying his dinner.
Her smile softens, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I like my job. Most days,” she offers, then quickly adds, “And I make a mean milkshake.”
“Sold,” I say. “Surprise me.” She quickly takes down Preston’s order before walking away.
I can’t help but admire her. The way her hips move side to side, her jeans hugging her in all the right places.
Her arms, defined– she definitely works out, but still soft in the way I want them wrapped around me, while I devour–
Preston leans across the table cutting my train of thought. “You’re flirting sucks. Maybe try to just be a normal guy who actually cares. She's not one of the bunnies.”
“I always care,” I reply. “I’m just selective.”
“Uh-huh.” He sits back, pulling out his phone, his eyebrows knit together, forming a deep wrinkle between them. I’ve told him he needs to stop doing that, or he’s gonna have to pay for Botox one day, and he flipped me off.
When Celetese brings our food, she sets my plate down first, along with a milkshake that I wouldn’t normally get, but I’m willing to take whatever she’ll give me. Chocolate with strawberries blended into the mixture.
“Hope you’re hungry,” she says. “I know you burn a lot of calories out on the rink.”
“Are you flirting with me?” I ask, arching a brow, hoping my poor attempt at a joke lands.
She lets out a quiet laugh. “Don’t let it go to your head. I used to play hockey in high school, so I know how much work goes into it.”
“Too late,” I grin. “That’s gonna live there rent-free. And you used to play?”
This time, her laugh is real, warm, unfiltered, and it does something to my chest I don’t have a name for. “I did, but I need to run to my other tables. Enjoy your food.”
“Hey,” I say more softly as she starts to step away, “About last night… Are you okay?”
She stills.
When she looks back at me, her guard is up again; polite, composed, distant. “I’m fine. You didn’t need to get involved. I can handle Brett.”
“I wanted to,” I say, and I have so many questions about the night. Last I knew, Brett was dating a cheerleader, but by the way they were fighting last night, I could tell there was history there.
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than necessary. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “Really. But you don’t need to worry about me.”
Then she walks away, leaving something unfinished in the air.
As we eat, I keep catching glimpses of her laughing with a customer, refilling coffee, tucking loose hair behind her ear when she thinks no one’s watching.
She moves like someone who never stops. Like rest is a luxury she doesn’t allow herself.
When we stand to leave, I hesitate, then pull out a twenty and leave it on the table. More than necessary. Not because I’m trying to impress her… at least, that’s what I tell myself, but because it feels right.
At the door, I glance back.
She catches my eye again.
“I’ll wait in the car for you,” Preston mumbles before disappearing out the door.
“Hey,” I say, stepping closer. “If you ever need a break from this place, I make a pretty great distraction.”
Her lips twitch. “You offering to buy me coffee?”
“I’m offering to let you see what I’m like when I’m not just some hockey player passing through.”
She studies me like she’s deciding whether I’m a bad idea or a worse one.
“Careful,” she says lightly. “You might disappoint me.”
“Trust me,” I smirk, “disappointing you is the last thing I want to do.”
For a second, the air between us feels charged; soft, teasing, dangerous.“Tate, I… thank you, but I just don’t have the time to become involved with anyone right now. I’m not the kind of girl you are looking for.” She offers a small smile before turning on her heels and heading to the kitchen.
As I watch her walk away, I want to correct her, tell her she’s wrong, but something in my gut tells me she’s not wrong,
As I step outside, cold air biting at my skin, I realize something uncomfortable.
Wanting her doesn’t feel like a game.
It feels like a challenge.
And I’ve never been great at walking away from things I want, especially when they smile like they’re hiding a whole world I haven’t earned the right to see yet.