Chapter 3 — Lena #2
Carter watched him go, then looked back at Lena. “Terrifying event queen.”
“Do not.”
“Too late. It’s in my heart now.”
“I will delete your heart.”
“You have to find it first.”
The words came out as a joke.
Barely.
Lena heard what lived underneath them.
So did Carter, judging by the way his smile faltered.
There were moments with Carter where the flirt was so loud it covered everything else.
She opened the laptop again because if she did not, she might reach for his hand.
And that felt more dangerous than kissing.
“Read,” she said, softer this time.
Carter looked at her for a long beat.
At first, he rushed.
Too fast. Too casual. Like he could outrun sincerity if he just moved quickly enough.
Lena stopped him after the first paragraph.
“Slower.”
He exhaled. “Lena.”
“Slower,” she repeated. “You wrote something good. Let people hear it.”
This time, his voice settled.
The jokes fell away.
And Carter Hayes, the campus flirt, the hockey chaos machine, the boy everyone thought they had already figured out, read about showing up for kids who did not get crowds or horns or easy wins.
Lena forgot to breathe.
Not completely, but enough.
A few players had stopped pretending not to listen.
Even Mason was silent.
Carter finished and cleared his throat.
“Well,” he said, forcing lightness back into his voice. “Nobody died.”
Lena looked at him.
“Don’t,” he said.
“Don’t what?”
“Look impressed.”
“I am impressed.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s worse.”
“Why?”
“Because then I have to care.”
The room was not quiet enough for that conversation.
But the words had landed.
Lena closed the laptop slowly.
“Maybe caring isn’t the worst thing,” she said.
Carter’s eyes met hers.
For a second, he looked so open it almost hurt to see.
Then Jonah called from across the ballroom, “Hey, does the silent auction basket with wine need an age restriction sign?”
“Yes,” Lena called automatically.
Mason added, “What if it’s emotional wine?”
“Still yes!”
The room resumed its chaos.
Carter leaned back in his chair, but his knee stayed against hers.
“You’re dangerous, Brooks,” he said quietly.
She glanced at him. “Me?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not the one who turns every conversation into a dare.”
“No.” His gaze sharpened. “You’re the one who makes me want to stop.”
Carter seemed to realize what he had said at the same moment she heard it.
Probably something hopeful.
She cleared her throat. “We should print the speech.”
“Great. Printer. Neutral territory.”
“There is no neutral territory with you.”
His smile returned, but softer now. “Now you’re getting it.”
Their shoulders brushed. Then their hands.
Neither moved for half a beat.
Then Carter’s fingers hooked lightly around hers under the edge of the table.
Brief.
Electric.
Lena looked up.
Her pulse roared.
Then he let go.
“Printer?” he said.
Her voice came out too thin. “Printer.”
They walked toward the student office together, past the balloon arch, past the raffle tables, past the players who were pretending so aggressively not to notice them that it became obvious.
The student office was down a short hallway off the ballroom. Lena unlocked it with the key Denise had given her and stepped inside.
But small enough.
Desk. Printer. File cabinets. One flickering fluorescent light.
And a door that swung shut behind Carter with a soft click.
Lena turned at the sound.
Carter stood by the door.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
“This,” Lena said carefully, “is for printing.”
“Yes.”
“Only printing.”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re standing in front of the door.”
“Am I?”
“Carter.”
He stepped aside immediately, hands up. “Door access restored.”
Lena moved to the desk and opened the laptop again. Her fingers were steady until Carter came up beside her.
Just there.
Warm and quiet and watching her like he had forgotten how to pretend he didn’t want her.
She sent the speech to the printer.
Painfully slow.
Carter leaned one hip against the desk. “So.”
“No.”
He smiled. “I love when you answer before I ask.”
“I’m evolving.”
“I was going to say we should talk about the kiss.”
“We should not.”
“Because you regret it?”
She looked up sharply. “I already said I didn’t.”
“Good.”
Lena swallowed.
“But talking about it while we’re alone in a room seems unwise,” she said.
Carter’s eyes moved over her face. “Probably.”
“You agree?”
“I’m capable of identifying danger.”
“And avoiding it?”
His mouth curved. “Let’s not get carried away.”
The printer spit out the final page and went silent.
Neither of them reached for it.
Carter’s gaze dropped to her mouth.
Lena whispered, “We said less kissing.”
“Technically, you said less kissing during setup.”
“It’s still setup.”
“I know.”
The restraint made her want to pull.
Her hand lifted before she could stop it, fingers brushing the edge of his hoodie near his chest.
Carter went very still.
“Lena.”
“Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to be decent.”
His laugh came out quiet and strained. “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
His eyes darkened.
“Brooks,” he said, voice low. “If you do that, I’m going to kiss you.”
She looked up at him.
“Good.”
Carter’s hand slid to her waist and he kissed her.
Lena melted into him before she could pretend otherwise, one hand still gripping his hoodie, the other sliding up to his shoulder. Carter angled her back against the desk, careful, controlled, until the edge pressed behind her thighs and his body framed hers without trapping her.
A dare.
An answer.
Lena broke away first, barely.
Her breathing was not normal.
His wasn’t either.
“Printing,” she whispered.
Carter’s thumb moved once against her waist. “Very productive.”
“This is bad.”
“Yeah.”
“We have work.”
“I know.”
“We can’t keep doing this every time we’re alone.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“Then don’t be alone with me,” he said.
Lena’s heart pounded.
“And if I want to be?” she asked.
A risk.
“Then I’ll try really hard not to mess it up,” he said.
More than his hands.
More than his mouth.
Because Carter Hayes looked almost terrified of meaning it.
Lena touched the cut near his lip with her thumb before she could talk herself out of it.
His eyes closed for half a second.
“You’re not as careless as everyone thinks,” she whispered.
His hand tightened at her waist.
“No,” he said. “I’m worse.”
She frowned. “Carter—”
Mason Cross stood in the doorway holding two rolls of tape and a stack of signs.
He stopped.
Lena and Carter froze.
Mason looked at them.
At the desk.
At Carter’s hand on Lena’s waist.
At Lena’s hand still on Carter’s chest.
Then he slowly backed up one step.
“I am being haunted by timing,” Mason said.
Carter closed his eyes. “Cross.”
“I knocked.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I spiritually knocked.”
Lena stepped away from Carter and snatched the printed pages from the tray, face flaming. “What do you need?”
Mason held up the signs. “Denise wants these laminated. Also, I would like to request hazard pay for emotional exposure.”
“Mason,” Carter said.
“Leaving.”
He pointed at the printer. “But before I go, I support whatever this is. As long as it doesn’t affect the fundraiser schedule.”
Lena’s mortification briefly gave way to outrage. “That’s my line.”
“Exactly. I’m learning leadership.”
Then he disappeared, pulling the door mostly closed behind him.
Mostly.
Because Mason was a menace.
Lena grabbed the signs from where he had dropped them on the desk and refused to look at Carter.
Carter, naturally, was smiling.
“Do not,” she said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re radiating smugness.”
“I’m radiating joy.”
“I can end that.”
His smile softened, and that was worse.
“You keep kissing me,” he said quietly.
“You keep being there.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally.”
The physical part was easy to label. Attraction. Chemistry. Bad timing. Temporary insanity.
The emotional part was the problem.
Because Carter made her laugh in the middle of disasters.
Because he bought her coffee and knew her order.
Because he had written a speech that made half the hockey team shut up and listen.
Because when he kissed her, he stopped before she had to ask.
Because when he looked at her now, it did not feel like a game.
And if it wasn’t a game, then it could hurt.
Lena gathered the printed speech and the signs. “We need to get back.”
Mason watched them from the raffle table with the expression of a man trying to survive gossip constipation.
Jonah looked at Carter, then Lena, then quietly turned one of the silent auction baskets around like that was the most fascinating thing he had ever done.
Tank smiled at Lena and then immediately looked terrified, as if she might know he knew something.
The fundraiser was turning into a romantic surveillance state.
Lena handed the speech draft to Denise, who skimmed it near the stage.
“This is good,” Denise said, surprised.
Lena glanced at Carter.
Carter looked at the floor.
Absolutely not.
She was not letting him disappear inside himself again.
“Carter wrote the strongest part,” Lena said.
His head snapped up.
Denise looked at him. “Really?”
Carter shrugged. “Lena cleaned it up.”
“That’s not what I said,” Lena replied.
He seemed to hear it.
After a second, he cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
Denise nodded. “Good work. Both of you.”
Carter’s smile was small, almost embarrassed, and Lena wanted to kiss him again purely because he looked like he didn’t know where to put praise.
Terrible instinct.
Dangerous instinct.
She turned toward the children’s booth instead.
“Okay,” she said loudly. “Final setup push. We need the prize bags sorted, the check-in packets alphabetized, and the puck booth tested.”
Mason raised a hand. “Define tested.”
“No slap shots.”
He lowered his hand.
“No wrist shots either,” she added.
He made a wounded sound.
Carter stepped beside her, closer than professional, not quite touching. “You heard the woman. Family-friendly puck testing only.”