Page 132 of Blades Out
When we pulled up to the arena, I expected him to leave immediately.
He walked me to the door instead. Kissed me once—brief, possessive, devastatingly gentle—then disappeared before anyone could see.
The café exploded with pre-game chaos the moment I clocked in.
Fans pressed against the counter. Players grabbed drinks between warm-ups. Jenna barked orders while Ben moved at double speed trying to keep up with demand.
I fell into rhythm automatically. Taking orders. Making change. Wiping down counters between rushes. The familiar motions grounded me when everything else felt like standing on shifting ice.
Safe. That was what I felt walking in wearing yesterday's fear like armor I no longer needed. Rhys had promised no one would touch me. I believed him.
Shaky. Because last night had changed everything and I still didn't know what came next.
Embarrassed. Because surely everyone could see it written across my face—what we'd done, how completely I'd surrendered, how desperately I wanted to do it again. Weirdly happy. A lightness in my chest I hadn't felt in years. Like maybe I deserved good things after all.
Ben caught my eye across the espresso machine and smiled.
My stomach dropped.
I needed to end things. Clean. Simple. Respectful. He deserved that much. But the line wrapped around the corridor and Jenna needed backup on register, and a player's girlfriend complained her latte wasn't hot enough, and…
Later. I'd talk to Ben later.
When the rush died down. When I could find words that wouldn't destroy the one friendship I'd built here.
Orders piled faster than we could fill them. The espresso machine hissed. Jenna called out modifications I barely caught over the noise. My hands moved on autopilot—grab cup, fill, cap, slide across counter, repeat.
A player laughed too loud near the pastry case. Someone's phone blared. The overhead lights buzzed with that specific frequency that made my teeth ache.
I wiped down the counter for the third time in ten minutes, needing the motion to settle my nerves.
Then Rhys passed the window.
My hands stilled mid-wipe.
He walked with that same controlled stride, shoulders set, hoodie pulled low. But his eyes found mine through the glass—just for a second. Dark. Intent. A look that made heat crawl up my neck.
My stomach flipped hard enough I forgot to breathe.
He kept walking. Disappeared around the corner. Left me standing there gripping a rag like it could anchor me to reality.
"Okay, seriously." Jenna appeared at my elbow, eyebrow raised. "What's going on with you today?"
"Nothing." I turned back to the counter too fast. "Just tired."
"Uh-huh." She leaned against the espresso machine, arms crossed, smirk playing at her mouth. "You've got a glow. I've seen that look before."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." She laughed and grabbed a pitcher. "Just don't let whoever put that smile on your face distract you during the game rush."
I pretended I didn't hear her. Grabbed the next ticket. Focused on making a cappuccino with foam I definitely over-steamed.
But my cheeks burned anyway.
Ben restocked cups near the register. I caught his profile—focused, oblivious, still thinking we had plans for another dinner. My chest tightened.
I needed to talk to him. Now. Before someone else mentioned seeing me leave with Rhys. Before a player made a comment. Before this became gossip instead of a conversation between two people who deserved better than rumors.
