3. Chapter 3 #3
It’s the off-season. He doesn’t have to be here every day.
He has an actual life. I should’ve accepted by now that the kids aren’t going to get their magical goalie appearance and moved on.
Instead, every time I leave without seeing him, I feel a small, annoying drop of disappointment in my stomach.
Today must be my lucky day, though. Because as I’m walking down the hallway toward the staff room, my mind halfway on next week’s schedule, I round the corner and stop.
It’s him.
He’s ahead of me, moving down the hall.
The sight of him lands in me with a stupid amount of force for a man I have exchanged a handful of words with in total.
For one second, I just stand there, staring. Then my mind catches up and starts running. Half of me has lost the nerve, the other half screaming at me to seize the moment and stop being a coward.
So I move fast enough to close the distance but slow enough not to look like I’m chasing him down.
I’m suddenly, painfully aware of how unlike me this is.
If this were anyone else, I would have let it go by now.
If this were anyone else, I would’ve accepted that they weren’t interested in skating with the kids, had better things to do with their time, and that would have been the end of it.
No weird determination. No lurking in hallways.
No rehearsing normal, professional sentences in my head like I’m about to pitch a business deal and not talk to one man.
Someone might think I have a crush on him, but that’s not it, either.
He’s not even remotely my type. At least not on paper. I’ve always liked clean-cut and preppy men. Guys from the world I came from, with country club memberships and private school fundraisers.
Zed Mercer looks like the reason those guys would call security. He’s the opposite of every single one of them.
He hears my footsteps and turns his head enough for his eyes to land on me.
“Hi,” I say, which is not the confident opening I had in mind.
He slows, then stops and turns enough to face me properly.
“Hey.”
His voice is deep and calm, already doing things to my nervous system.
I force myself to keep walking until I close the distance.
He waits for me, not moving an inch to meet me halfway.
He’s good at that, I’m starting to realize. Waiting. Letting silence sit there until the other person feels obligated to fill it by doing or saying something.
I clear my throat.
“I just wanted to say the Academy’s going really well,” I tell him, and immediately want to smack myself. What kind of opening line is that? I sound like I’m giving him a quarterly update.
“That’s good.” His eyes stay on my face.
“Yes.” I nod once, then again, because now I’m committed. “The kids have been great. Very energetic.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he says evenly.
Nothing to work with.
And yet there’s something in his eyes already that makes me feel like he’s watching more than he’s listening, waiting to see when I get to the real reason I came over.
“We’ve had a really good turnout,” I say. “A lot of returning kids. Some new ones, too.”
“Okay.” He gives a small nod.
One word.
My nerves start fraying around the edges. His expression hasn’t changed, but there’s a stillness in his gaze that says he knows this isn’t random—and he’s already halfway to figuring out where I’m headed.
Before I can lose my nerve entirely, I jump.
“Would you ever consider coming out for one practice?”
There.
For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. He licks his lips and looks away, seeming almost disappointed with the question.
“The kids adore you.” And now I’m filling up the silence again. “They ask about you all the time, and I just think it would mean a lot if you came out even once. It doesn’t have to be long. Ten minutes, fifteen maybe. Just something small.”
I think I said all that in the same breath.
He looks at me again. Hope sparks stupidly fast before he exhales and shakes his head, as if changing his mind.
“No.”
One word. Flat and final. Same as before. Except now I’ve seen the hesitation first, and that turns out to be a terrible thing for my judgment.
Because instead of backing off, I push.
“It really wouldn’t be a big deal,” I say quickly. “They’d be thrilled just to see you. You wouldn’t have to do much.”
He turns fully toward me then, and the small amount of casual distance that was still left between us starts to feel less casual.
“Wouldn’t be a big deal,” he repeats.
The words aren’t mocking exactly, but they’re not neutral, either.
I swallow. “Yes.”
He takes one step closer, and my back goes instinctively straighter.
“You’ve been looking for me.” It isn’t phrased like a question, and it catches me so off guard I blink at him.
“What?”
Now I have to tilt my head back a little more to hold his gaze. His eyes flick over my face slowly, taking in every microscopic detail. Heat climbs up my neck.
“You chased me down a hallway,” he says, eyes still on mine.
Now I’m starting to regret this. Is it too late to back out? Because he’s taken the shape of this conversation and bent it clean out of my hands in two sentences.
He doesn’t have to call me out directly. The look does it for him. You’ve been looking for me.
I scramble for steadier ground. “It would just mean a lot to the kids.”
“I’m sure it would.”
“So then why not?”
For the first time, something shifts under the calm in his face. I feel like there’s something more complicated than stubbornness or arrogance there.
I catch the edge of it before he closes right back up.
“What would you give me?”
I blink. “I… excuse me?”
“You want something from me.” His voice stays even, but there’s a darker edge beneath it. “What if I want something from you in return?”
My mind goes completely blank.
What is he turning this into?
“I’m just asking if you’d consider joining them for a little while,” I say, trying to drag the conversation back toward normal with both hands. “Your teammates have done it. I thought maybe—”
“You thought maybe you’d ask nicely and I’d fall in line.”
“I’m not asking for anything crazy,” I tell him, shaking my head.
His eyes move over my face, taking in every crack in my bravado.
“So, you’ve got nothing to offer me.”
That should make me roll my eyes. It should make me irritated, offended, and ready to say screw it.
Instead, I square my shoulders.
“I didn’t realize this was a transaction.”
“Everything’s a transaction.” His mouth almost curves.
“I’m literally talking about children.”
“And I’m literally saying no.” He steps closer to me, enough for me to catch the scent of his cologne. “Unless you figure out what you can give me.”
The truth is that I’ve cared about this far past the point that makes sense. If it were anyone else, I would have let it go.
And being this close to this man is making my thoughts feel slippery and badly supervised.
“This isn’t a trade,” I say, trying one last time to claw the conversation back into safe territory. “It’s… kids.”
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before coming back up, and the tiny motion twists low in my stomach.
“Look, I got the message,” I say, because suddenly I need out of this. “Okay? I’m sorry I asked. I just happened to run into you and—”
“Or you were hoping to.” He looks at the hallway behind me, then back to my face. “It’s early.”
“For what?”
“Academy,” he says, tilting his head. “Did you come early for me?”
Shit.
“No.”
“Mm.” The deep sound rumbles out of his throat.
An almost-smile ghosts at the corner of his mouth, gone so fast I almost think I imagined it.
“You want something from me,” he says. “Figure out what it’s worth to you.”
I don’t even have the words to reply as he turns and keeps walking. There’s no hint that he thinks there was anything remotely wrong with what just came out of his mouth.
I stare after him while heat crawls up my neck and keeps going.
That was insane. That was inappropriate. Unprofessional and completely unacceptable.
I should be offended. I am offended.
So why do I feel hot all over? The answer is not one I’m interested in examining. Somewhere under the shock and outrage and the very justified urge to report him to HR, something low in my stomach is twisting in a way that feels alarmingly close to want.
Which is impossible.
And deeply, deeply annoying.
I press my lips together, force myself to breathe, and keep staring at the corner he disappeared around like maybe he’ll reappear just so I can tell him exactly how wrong that conversation was.