Chapter Twelve — Rhett #2
Rhett: Noon.
She sent no reply.
I lay back on the bed without changing.
The ceiling fan turned slowly above me.
I had kissed plenty of women.
Some in louder rooms.
Some for longer.
Some with much less clothing involved.
None of those kisses had left me staring at a text message like my entire life depended on punctuation.
That seemed unfair.
My phone buzzed once more.
Tessa: And Rhett?
I sat up.
Rhett: Yeah?
Tessa: I am glad you came tonight.
Something in my chest loosened.
Rhett: I told you. You ask, I show up.
Her reply:
Tessa: I know.
That was becoming my favorite sentence.
Practice the next morning was brutal.
Not because Coach was angry.
Because Coach was observant.
There was a difference.
Angry Coach yelled.
Observant Coach watched until a person confessed crimes they had not yet committed.
We were twenty minutes into drills when he blew the whistle.
“Callahan.”
I stopped near the blue line.
“Coach.”
“Your body is here.”
“That’s generally required.”
“Your mind is not.”
Cam skated past me.
“His mind is in Monroe Hall.”
I swung my stick toward his skates.
He jumped.
Coach’s whistle cut through the rink.
“Again.”
We reset.
The puck dropped.
I missed the pass.
Not by much.
Enough.
Coach stopped the drill again.
The team groaned.
He pointed toward the bench.
“Callahan. Off.”
I skated over.
Coach waited until I was close.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Try again.”
I leaned against the boards.
“Dinner.”
He stared.
“With Ms. Monroe’s father?”
How did everyone know everything?
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And he likes pie.”
Coach’s expression did not change.
“That was your last joke.”
I looked down at the ice.
The truth came out before I could stop it.
“She kissed me.”
Coach blinked.
Not the response I expected.
Then he looked toward the other players.
Cam waved.
Coach turned back.
“Why are you telling me?”
“You asked.”
“I asked why you missed a pass.”
“Related.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Is this affecting the publicity arrangement?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it affecting her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it affecting you?”
I looked at the ice.
“Yes.”
Coach nodded once.
“Then figure it out before you step back into the drill.”
“That sounds like emotional coaching.”
“It’s hockey coaching.”
“How?”
“Anything that makes you miss an open pass is hockey.”
Fair.
I stayed at the boards while the next line ran the drill.
Tessa wanted to discuss the rules.
That could mean ending the arrangement.
Changing it.
Adding new restrictions.
No more kissing.
No more private time.
No more seeing each other without an official university reason.
Every possibility made my chest tighten.
That was the answer.
I did not want the fake relationship to end because I did not want whatever existed beneath it to end.
Simple.
Terrible.
True.
Coach tapped the boards with his stick.
“You done?”
“No.”
“Good enough.”
I stepped back onto the ice.
The puck came toward me.
This time, I caught the pass cleanly.
Skated hard.
Shot.
Top corner.
The net snapped.
Cam cheered like I had won a championship.
I pointed at him.
“Do that again and I’ll break your stick.”
“Love makes him violent,” Cam called.
Coach blew the whistle.
“Dorsey. Stairs after practice.”
Cam’s smile disappeared.
I skated past him.
“Worth it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
But beneath the annoyance, something steadied.
Love was not the word.
Not yet.
Probably not.
But I was done pretending this was harmless.
At eleven fifty-two, I stood outside the student center holding two coffees.
Not a bribe.
Not a peace offering.
A pattern.
Tessa arrived at eleven fifty-eight wearing my jacket.
My brain stopped functioning.
She crossed the plaza toward me, hands tucked into the sleeves, hair moving in the cold wind.
CALLAHAN stretched across her back when she turned to avoid a group of students.
She was still wearing it.
That had to mean something.
I tried not to smile too quickly.
Failed.
Her eyes narrowed as she reached me.
“What?”
“You wore it.”
“It’s cold.”
“Of course.”
“Do not make this significant.”
“Too late.”
I handed her the coffee.
She looked at the label.
Oat milk.
Extra hot.
No syrup.
Her expression softened.
Then she caught it.
“We are here to discuss rules.”
“I brought caffeine for negotiations.”
“That could be considered bribery.”
“Then don’t drink it.”
She immediately took a sip.
I smiled.
She ignored that.
We sat at a small table near the windows.
Students moved around us.
Close enough to prevent intimacy.
Public enough to feel safe.
Very Tessa.
She placed the cup carefully beside her hand.
“I thought about last night.”
“Dangerous.”
“Rhett.”
“Sorry.”
I was not.
She looked down at the coffee lid.
“The arrangement cannot continue the same way.”
There it was.
My stomach dropped.
I kept my voice light.
“Okay.”
Her gaze lifted.
“You agree?”
“I said okay.”
“That is not agreement.”
“It means I’m listening.”
She went quiet.
I waited.
Coach would have been proud.
Possibly alarmed.
Tessa folded her hands.
“The original agreement was based on public appearances.”
“Yes.”
“And the kiss was private.”
“Very.”
Her cheeks colored.
Barely.
Still enough.
“That changes things.”
“I agree.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re being unusually cooperative.”
“I can argue if you prefer.”
“I don’t.”
“Then continue.”
She took another sip.
The cup hid part of her face.
Not enough.
“I do not want to pretend the kiss did not happen.”
My chest tightened.
“Good.”
“But I also do not want one kiss to become an assumption.”
“What kind?”
“That we are suddenly…”
She stopped.
“Together?”
“Yes.”
The word came carefully.
I leaned back.
“What do you want?”
She looked almost annoyed by the question.
Probably because I kept asking.
“I want to know what this is before the entire campus decides for us.”
“That’s fair.”
“And I want the university arrangement separate from whatever happens privately.”
“Also fair.”
“And no kissing for publicity.”
“Already a rule.”
“No flirting for cameras.”
“That feels personal.”
“It is.”
I smiled.
Her eyes dropped briefly to my mouth.
I saw it.
She knew I saw it.
The tension shifted.
“What about flirting privately?” I asked.
Her fingers tightened around the cup.
“That is what we need to define.”
“Do we?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you flirt with everyone.”
The sentence sounded sharper than the others.
There it was.
The real concern.
Not rules.
Not publicity.
Whether anything I did with her was different.
I leaned forward.
“I do not kiss everyone.”
Her gaze held mine.
“That is not the point.”
“I don’t want everyone.”
The words came out quietly.
No smile.
No room to misunderstand.
Tessa went completely still.
Students walked around us.
A chair scraped.
Someone dropped a book near the vending machines.
None of it mattered.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” she said.
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“That’s not true.”
“Why?”
“Because if you mean it, then I have to decide what I mean.”
Exactly.
The decision she had avoided in every part of her life.
The safer option was to remain undefined.
Temporary.
Unchosen.
I understood.
I hated it.
“What did the kiss mean?” I asked.
Her eyes widened slightly.
“To you.”
She looked down.
Then back at me.
“That I wanted to kiss you.”
“That’s a start.”
“And that I trust you.”
That one mattered more.
My voice softened.
“Okay.”
“And that scares me.”
There it was.
The complete truth.
I reached across the table.
Stopped before touching her.
Gave her the choice.
She looked at my hand.
Then placed hers in it.
Her fingers were cold.
I closed mine around them.
“I’m scared too,” I said.
She gave me a skeptical look.
“You do not look scared.”
“I have a marketable face.”
Her mouth curved.
The joke did not hide the truth this time.
It carried it.
“I don’t want to make rules that let us avoid this,” I continued.
“Rules prevent confusion.”
“Sometimes.”
“And sometimes?”
“They create technicalities.”
“Such as?”
I looked at our joined hands.
“You saying we’re not together while wearing my jacket and holding my hand.”
Her eyes followed mine.
She did not pull away.
“That does seem inconsistent.”
“Operationally.”
“Do not use my language against me.”
“It’s romantic.”
“It’s annoying.”
“Overlap.”
She smiled.
A real one.
Then it faded.
“What are you asking for?”
I took a breath.
No joke.
No performance.
No usual thing.
“A real chance.”
Her fingers shifted against mine.
“To do what?”
“Find out what this is.”
“How?”
“Dinner that isn’t with your father.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Bold.”
“A date.”
“A real date.”
“Yes.”
“No university cameras.”
“No team group chat.”
“No fake-boyfriend rules.”
“No sweetheart?”
I considered.
She tightened her grip.
“Rhett.”
“Fine.”
Her gaze softened.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“That is not enough notice.”
“Tomorrow.”
“I have a study group.”
“Monday.”
“You have a game.”
“After.”
“That could be late.”
“I’ll still show up.”
The words changed her expression.
Because they were ours now.
A promise.
A pattern.
She looked at me for a long second.
Then nodded.
“Monday.”
My chest loosened.
“One date.”
“One.”
“Temporary?”
Her mouth tilted.
“Under review.”
I smiled.
“Renewable?”
“Potentially.”
I lifted her hand.
Not to kiss it.
That would have been too much.
Probably.
Instead, I pressed my thumb against her knuckles.
Small.
Private.
Real.
Tessa watched me.
“So what happens to the arrangement?” she asked.
“We keep the university terms.”
“And privately?”
I looked at her.
“Privately, I stop pretending.”
Her breath caught.
Barely.
I heard it anyway.
Then she leaned across the table.
Not far.
Just enough to lower her voice.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
She looked at my mouth again.
This time, she did not pretend she hadn’t.
“Good,” she said.
And for the second time in twenty-four hours, Tessa Monroe left me without a single useful thought in my head.