Chapter 2 — Carter #2
Lena turned so fast she almost smacked Carter with the extension cord.
“No one!” she yelled.
Carter blew out a breath and looked toward the ceiling.
Same thing.
Lena shoved the cord into his chest. “Plug that in.”
He took it. “You’re running away.”
“I am preventing a sports medicine incident.”
“You’re running away efficiently.”
She pointed at him as she backed toward the ladder. “Plug. It. In.”
“Yes, boss.”
“And stop calling me boss.”
“Not when it makes you blush.”
“I am not blushing.”
“You are aggressively blushing.”
“Carter!”
The back of the stage was dimmer, quieter, and mostly blocked from the ballroom by thick blue curtains. Carter crouched to plug in the sponsor light, still smiling like an idiot.
He plugged in the light. The sponsor board glowed.
He stood and turned, only to find Lena stepping through the side curtain.
Public Lena had checklists.
Private Lena had eyes that lingered.
“You got Mason down?” he asked.
“Yes. He is now banned from ladders, elevated surfaces, and phrases beginning with ‘watch this.’”
“A harsh but fair ruling.”
She glanced at the sponsor light. “It works.”
“I’m useful.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“I said the light works.”
“The light and I are a package deal.”
Her mouth twitched.
Then she looked down at the cord in his hand, then back at him. “Thank you.”
Her sarcasm.
Her thank-yous were becoming a problem.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
Behind the curtain, the ballroom continued in muffled chaos. Someone laughed. Someone dragged a table. Coach barked something unintelligible.
Like the curtain had separated them from the world just enough for all the almosts to catch up.
Lena shifted her weight. “We still need to write the speech.”
“Trying to get me alone already?”
Her cheeks flushed again, but this time she didn’t retreat behind annoyance fast enough.
Carter took one step closer.
“Lena.”
Her shoulders rose with a careful breath.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to ask you something.”
God, he would stop so fast it might kill him, but he would.
“Are you pretending you don’t feel this because you don’t want it,” he asked, voice low, “or because you do?”
For once, Lena Brooks had no immediate answer.
That alone was worth the risk.
Then she said, barely above a whisper, “You shouldn’t ask questions you might not like the answer to.”
His chest tightened.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” she said. “It’s a warning.”
Not touching.
Almost worse.
“I’m tired of warnings.”
She was deciding whether to step in.
Carter’s heart slammed once, hard.
“Lena,” he said again.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
Then rose.
“Carter.”
He dipped his head.
Their mouths were almost touching when she whispered, “This is a bad idea.”
“Very bad.”
“Almost definitely.”
“Carter.”
“Tell me not to.”
Asking.
The silence stretched.
Then Lena rose onto her toes and kissed him first.
It was Lena Brooks finally losing the fight with herself, and Carter nearly lost his mind from the first second.
Her fingers curled in the front of his hoodie. His hand slid from her waist to her back, pulling her closer before he remembered to be careful, before he remembered they were behind a curtain at a fundraiser setup with half the hockey team twenty feet away.
Carter angled his head and kissed her deeper.
Her clipboard hit the floor with a dull slap.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Carter thought that should have been funny.
Not with Lena’s body against his, her hands on him, her mouth opening under his like she had been wanting this just as badly and hated him for being right.
Stunned.
For one second, neither of them spoke.
Then Carter, because he was still Carter and apparently had no survival instinct, whispered, “So the electrical safety check went well.”
Beautiful.
And then she grabbed the front of his hoodie and kissed him again.
This time, Carter was ready.
Lena met him like she was done pretending she was the careful one.
Carter made a low sound he could not stop.
Behind a stage curtain.
Then the curtain beside them whipped open.
“Hey, do either of you know where—”
Lena’s hair was no longer entirely neat. Carter’s hoodie was twisted in her fist. His hand was still at her waist.
Lena looked like she was considering whether murder would affect her scholarship.
Mason slowly lifted one finger. “I have several questions.”
“No, you don’t,” Carter said.
“I actually have more now than when I walked in.”
“Mason,” Lena said, voice deadly calm.
Mason’s eyes widened. “Wow. Okay. Great tone. Very leadership. I’ll leave.”
“Do that,” Carter said.
Mason backed away, but not before pointing between them. “For the record, the fundraiser chemistry station is working.”
“Mason.”
The curtain dropped.
Silence.
Carter looked at Lena.
Lena looked at Carter.
Carter had never seen anything better in his life.
Lena stepped away from the wall, smoothing her shirt with shaking hands.
Carter forced himself not to reach for her again.
Even though every cell in his body voted yes.
“That,” she said, “did not happen.”
He blinked. “It absolutely happened.”
“It was a temporary lapse in judgment.”
“Twice?”
Her eyes flashed. “Do not be smug.”
“You look smug.”
“I’m trying not to look in love with the concept of stage curtains.”
“Carter.”
He bent, picked up her clipboard, and handed it to her.
The touch was smaller than the kiss and somehow still dangerous.
“Lena,” he said quietly, “I’m not going to make this weird.”
She gave him a look.
“Fine,” he said. “Weirder.”
She hugged the clipboard to her chest like armor.
Not after she had kissed him first.
Not after he had felt her pull him closer.
“We have a fundraiser,” she said.
“We do.”
“A speech.”
“Yes.”
“A children’s booth.”
“And we are not doing that again during setup.”
Carter nodded slowly.
“During setup,” he repeated.
Her eyes narrowed.
He lifted both hands. “Your words, Brooks.”
“You are impossible.”
“You kissed impossible.”
Lena saw it.
Her expression softened for half a second, and it hit him harder than the kiss.
Then she squared her shoulders. “We’re writing the speech in ten minutes.”
“And after that, we are pretending to be normal.”
“Define normal.”
“Less kissing behind curtains.”
“Less is subjective.”
She pointed the clipboard at him. “Carter.”
He leaned closer, unable to resist. “Lena.”
Impossible.
From the ballroom, Mason shouted, “I FOUND THE EXTRA TAPE AND I AM NOT INTERRUPTING ANYTHING THIS TIME!”
Lena closed her eyes. “I am going to kill him.”
“Not before the fundraiser. We need the manpower.”
Before she stepped through, Carter caught her hand.
The humor drained from him.
“I meant what I said,” he told her. “I won’t mess this up for you.”
Afraid to trust.
Wanting to.
“I know,” she said softly.
Carter stood behind the curtain for one extra second, trying to remember how breathing worked.
Then Mason’s head popped through the curtain again.
Carter glared at him.
Mason’s grin spread slowly. “So.”
“No.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You’re saying it with your face.”
“My face is supportive.”
“Your face is unemployed.”
Mason stepped fully backstage, holding a roll of tape. “Listen, as your friend, teammate, and future best man if this goes well—”
“Mason.”
“—I just want to say that if you hurt Clipboard, I think she will destroy you emotionally, and honestly, I will hold her purse while she does it.”
Carter looked toward the curtain where Lena had disappeared.
Mason’s expression changed.
The joke slipped from his face.
“Oh,” he said. “You actually like her.”
Carter took the tape from his hand. “Go secure something.”
Mason studied him for one more second, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
Carter stayed there, tape in hand, heart still beating too fast.
Technically important.
Emotionally devastating.
Which meant Coach was right.
This was a risk.
And Carter Hayes had just taken it.