Page 30 of Cross Checked
His smile grew, and this time I let myself look at it for half a second too long.
Huge mistake.
He noticed, and not in the creepy way. Not like he was cataloging every tiny move I made for control. More like his attention stayed on me because he couldn’t quite help it. Cadedidn’t scan me. He focused. There was a difference, and that difference unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.
He wasn’t looking around my apartment like he was bored or waiting for something more entertaining to happen. He was with me. Fully. Like being distracted by anything else would take effort.
“Back to my vision,” I said quickly.
“Please. I’m emotionally invested now.”
“You are not.”
“I could be.”
The words were light but his voice wasn’t.
I cleared my throat and reached for a cronut because apparently sugar was my crutch here. “Human-interest stories only work when the connection feels real. I don’t want scheduled interview blocks where we sit across from each other like strangers and you give me polished answers about discipline and leadership and overcoming adversity.”
“Those are my best answers,” Cade said, reaching for a cronut before pointing half of it at me like he was genuinely defending himself in court.
I snorted softly into my drink. “I’m sure they’re very inspirational.”
“They are,” he replied with zero shame. “I’ve made grown men cry.”
I leaned back against the couch, narrowing my eyes at him suspiciously. “Were they your coaches?”
His mouth twitched. “Some.” He took a sip of coffee before adding, “And a few freshmen.”
A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. “Terrifying.”
“Leadership comes naturally to me.”
“I think what you mean is intimidation comes naturally to you.”
Cade grinned then, slow and warm enough to make my stomach betray me all over again. “That too.”
I let the quiet hum of my apartment settle around us while I searched for the right words. No neon. No sticky bar tables. No drunk college kids screaming over beer pong. Just morning light, warm coffee, sugar glaze on my fingertips, and Cade Mercer sitting in my living room like he had stepped through some invisible line and neither of us knew what to do about it yet.
“I want the version of you people don’t see,” I said finally. “Not in a gotcha way. Not because I think there’s some scandal hiding under the Mercer name or whatever. I just think everyone already knows the public stuff. Captain of the Fury. NHL prospect. Engineering major. Rich family. Big future. All that.”
His expression cooled slightly, but not in anger. More like a door easing shut from habit. I tried not to show I noticed and softened my voice.
“That’s the headline,” I said. “But it’s not you. Not the real you.”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Outside, a car passed slowly through the apartment lot. Somewhere overhead, my upstairs neighbor’s dog barked twice, then gave up like even he knew this conversation had shifted into something quieter.
Then Cade said, “And you think you can find the real me?”
“I think maybe if I don’t treat you like a story to extract, you might eventually show me the missing pieces.”
His eyes stayed on mine, and I wanted to look away.
I didn’t.
Because there was something there now, something quieter than flirting but heavier than conversation. Cade Mercer, who looked untouchable across campus and untouchable at Hockey House and untouchable in every photo I’d ever seen ofhim in a Fury jersey, suddenly looked like a man who didn’t know whether to step closer to that idea or destroy it before it got too close.
“That sounds dangerous, Pip,” he said.
