Chapter 13
Samantha
Istayed late because the light was wrong.
That was the official reason.
By seven, the facility had emptied. Players were gone. Coaches too. The admin wing had gone dim behind its glass doors, leaving my laptop fan and the click of my mouse to sound louder than they should.
The campaign selections were open across my screen.
Brick with a kid on his shoulders. Evan crouched in front of the boy from the community event, his hand steady on the child’s grip.
I should have moved past that folder.
I did not.
Editing was not passive. You cleared away distractions until the truth had less room to hide.
My phone buzzed.
Bella: I have had time to process the soup update.
Bella: I have follow-up questions.
Bella: Were there spoons?
I turned the phone over.
Absolutely not. I was not discussing spoon proximity with an assistant district attorney who treated boundaries like hostile witnesses.
I moved to the media day portraits.
Evan on the mark. Body turned exactly where I had told him. Chin lifted half an inch. Eyes finally on me.
The frame was sharp enough to hurt.
The frame was all control on the surface and recognition underneath.
By the time I packed up, the facility was mostly dark.
I passed the rink entrance and did not look in.
The elevator dropped one floor.
The doors opened.
The garage was concrete and trapped heat under fluorescent light. My car sat three rows down, alone except for a maintenance van and a dark truck near the far wall.
I took two steps before the truck became a problem: I knew it.
Evan leaned against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, head tipped slightly down. Jeans. Plain black T-shirt. No phone in his hand. No obvious reason for being in a nearly empty parking garage at eight nineteen on a Thursday night.
My pulse did something unhelpful.
“You’re still here,” I said.
“So are you.”
“Late edits.”
“I saw your car.”
Of course he had.
“You waited in a parking garage because you saw my car?”
“I told myself I was making sure you got out safe.”
“And were you?”
“No.”
Evan took one step closer.
Not enough to crowd me. Enough to change the air.
“I shouldn’t have waited,” he said.
“Probably not.”
“I know.”
“Did that help?”
“No.”
That almost pulled a laugh out of me. It came out smaller. Less sound, more surrender.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
“You’re staring,” I said.
“I know.”
“Again with the honesty.”
“I’m trying something.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
His hands stayed at his sides. His posture held steady. But there was tension under it now, something held in place by effort instead of habit.
“Evan.”
His mouth tightened once.
“I keep telling myself not to want things I already want.”
My grip tightened around the strap of my camera bag. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
“Maybe stop.”
His eyes held mine.
Neither of us moved.
Then I did.
I set my laptop case on the hood of my car. My camera bag followed. I walked back to him with my hands free and my pulse behaving like it had been handed a bad idea and decided to support it.
He stayed where he was.
I stopped close enough to touch him.
Not touching became ridiculous.
“Touch me right now,” he said, voice rougher than before, “and I’m going to kiss you.”
My throat went dry.
“Good.”
The first kiss outside Jazz, TX had been precise. Four seconds, then distance.
This was slower.
His thumb settled near my pulse. Then his mouth touched mine, and my objections lost their filing system.
He kissed like he skated. No wasted motion. Every shift had a purpose.
Evan did not take the kiss from me. He built it with me. Pressure, then space. His mouth over mine, then a fraction of distance. His hand steady against my face while I decided what came next.
So I decided.
I fisted my hand in his shirt and pulled him closer.
The sound he made was low and sharp. Almost a warning. Almost my name.
His other hand found my waist.
Careful at first.
Then less careful.
The concrete pillar was behind me before I registered moving. He had turned us without breaking the kiss, placing his body between me and the open garage like some part of him was still tracking the room.
I slid my hand up his chest.
He went still.
“Samantha,” he said against my mouth.
I answered by kissing him again.
His hand moved to the small of my back, pulling me into him until every thought in my head stepped aside.
My back pressed harder into the pillar. His thigh shifted between mine, not enough to be careless, enough to make my breath catch. His mouth moved to my jaw, and I heard myself inhale like someone had opened a window in a sealed room.
Terrible location. Worse judgment.
His mouth found the side of my neck.
I cared less.
My hand went to the back of his neck, fingers sliding into his hair, and the last neat part of the evening came undone. He made another sound, rougher this time, and his mouth came back to mine.
My knee brushed his hip.
His whole body reacted.
He pulled back first.
Far enough that I could see his face.
His breathing was not steady.
“I need to stop,” he said.
For half a second, old fear mistook stopping for leaving.
Then his thumb moved over my cheek.
Slow.
Not leaving.
“Not because I want to.”
“I’m not doing this with you in a parking garage.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
His eyes dropped to my mouth again.
This time he let me see it.
“Samantha.”
“You make restraint sound very dramatic,” I said.
“You make it difficult.”
He was choosing not to cross a line just because desire had made it visible.
“You were right to stop,” I said.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m trying that too.”
I let go of his shirt. Slowly, which did not help either of us. His hand dropped from my face a second later.
We walked to my car without touching. He handed me my laptop case.
“You don’t have to watch me drive away,” I said.
“I know.”
“You’re going to anyway.”
“Yes.”
I opened the driver’s side door.
Then I stopped.
“I wanted you to kiss me again.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“I know.”
“I wanted it too,” he said.
I got in the car before I could create another one.
At the garage exit, I glanced in the rearview mirror.
He was still there.
My phone buzzed at the first red light outside the facility.
Bella: You have ignored my spoon question. That means something happened.
I stared at the message until the light turned green.
Then I drove home with both hands on the wheel and no useful defense for what had just happened.