Chapter Six — Rhett #2
She looked down at the binder.
“And no making this bigger than one event.”
There it was.
The boundary.
Clear.
Reasonable.
Unexpectedly disappointing.
“One event,” I said.
Her shoulders relaxed.
That should have felt like success.
Instead, it felt like I had just agreed to an ending before anything had started.
Which was insane.
Nothing had started.
She barely liked me.
I barely knew her.
I knew she took oat milk in her coffee.
That she hated public speaking but did it anyway.
That she got quiet when her father called.
That she color-coded stress.
That she laughed with her whole face when she forgot not to.
That was not knowing someone.
That was noticing.
There was a difference.
Probably.
Tessa closed the binder.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
She waited.
I looked at her.
At the pencil behind her ear.
At the faint shadows beneath her eyes.
At the boxes that had probably been someone else’s problem before she made them hers.
“If you want out, you say so.”
Her expression shifted.
“Out of the event?”
“Out of any of it.”
“The photos?”
“The rumor. The posts. Me.”
She became very still.
I had expected a joke.
Or suspicion.
Instead, she asked, “Would you stop?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
That seemed to matter.
Her gaze dropped to the binder again.
“I don’t want out.”
My chest tightened.
She continued before I could misread it.
“The event matters.”
“Right.”
“And the publicity helps funding.”
“Of course.”
“And you are useful.”
“There it is.”
Her mouth curved.
Small.
Real.
I felt it like a hit.
“You’re smiling,” I said.
“It happens.”
“At me.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
I leaned closer.
“Too late.”
She rolled her eyes.
But the smile stayed.
For one dangerous second, I forgot we were sitting on a hallway floor.
Forgot the university.
The rumor.
The team.
The rules.
All I could see was the fact that I had made her smile and she had not tried to hide it.
Then the office door opened.
Paige stepped out carrying a stack of printed waivers.
She looked at us.
At the boxes.
At the two inches between our shoulders.
Then she looked at Tessa.
“I left you alone for twelve minutes.”
“We’re negotiating,” Tessa said.
Paige’s eyebrows rose.
“On the floor?”
“It’s a neutral location,” I said.
“It’s Monroe Hall.”
“Symbolically neutral.”
Paige handed Tessa the waivers.
“The communications team emailed.”
Tessa opened the top binder again.
“What do they want?”
“A short promotional reel.”
I looked at Tessa.
She looked at me.
Paige continued.
“And a couples challenge.”
“No,” Tessa said.
“Yes,” I said.
She turned.
“What?”
I lifted both hands.
“I want to hear what it is.”
“That is how bad ideas begin.”
Paige read from her phone.
“Apparently, they ask you questions about each other while skating.”
Tessa’s face went blank.
“Questions like what?”
“Favorite food. Worst habit. Most embarrassing story.”
I smiled.
“This could be fun.”
“You know none of those answers.”
“Neither do you.”
“Exactly.”
“That makes it better.”
“That makes it fraud.”
Paige looked between us.
“They said it’s optional.”
“No,” Tessa said again.
I watched her.
The way her fingers tightened around the binder.
Not annoyed.
Nervous.
“You hate not knowing the answers,” I said.
“I hate performing intimacy for strangers.”
The humor left me.
That was different.
Not fear of looking foolish.
Something deeper.
I leaned back against the wall.
“We don’t do it.”
She glanced at me.
“You wanted to.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Paige’s expression softened.
“I’ll tell them no.”
She went back into the office.
Tessa looked at the closed door.
Then at me.
“You didn’t have to agree that quickly.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
I almost joked.
The answer was already there.
Because she had looked uncomfortable.
Because I had spent years treating discomfort like a challenge I could flirt through.
Because with Tessa, I did not want to win at the cost of making her regret standing beside me.
Instead, I shrugged.
“One of the terms.”
“That term was about me wanting out.”
“Close enough.”
She studied me.
Not suspiciously this time.
Carefully.
Like she was looking for the trick and could not find one.
The problem was, neither could I.
My phone buzzed.
Cam.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then again.
Tessa looked at my pocket.
“You should answer.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It’s Cam.”
“So not serious.”
“Exactly.”
The phone buzzed a fourth time.
I pulled it out.
Cam had sent a screenshot from the team group chat.
A poll.
How long until Rhett breaks the no-kissing rule?
Options:
Before the skate
During the skate
Immediately after the skate
Tessa kills him first
The last option had eighty percent of the vote.
Tessa read over my shoulder.
I locked the phone.
She was quiet.
Then she said, “Eighty percent seems low.”
I looked at her.
She looked back.
Completely straight-faced.
Then the corner of her mouth lifted.
I laughed.
She did too.
And for one second, sitting on the floor surrounded by binders and cardboard boxes, it felt easy.
Not performative.
Not public.
Just us.
That thought should have warned me.
Instead, I let myself enjoy it.
Which was how I knew I was already in trouble.
Because flirting had always been easy.
Tessa was the first woman who made honesty feel like the dangerous part.