GG+44

Garrett Graham x Female Reader

Summary: After a disastrous practice, all Garrett wants is to stay on the ice until he gets it right. What he doesn't expect is for his girlfriend to turn an empty rink into his favorite memory of the entire season.

There are practices where everything just clicks. The puck feels glued to your stick, every pass lands exactly where it's supposed to, and every shot somehow finds the tiniest opening in the net.

Those are the days the ice feels like your favorite place in the world.

And then there were days like this one.

"Again, Graham!" Coach Jensen shouted from the other side of the rink.

I clenched my jaw and set another puck down in front of me.

Deep breath.

Control.

Two strides.

I fired.

The puck smacked against the post with a sharp clang before ricocheting into the corner.

Shit.

I heard Coach let out a long, disappointed sigh.

"What the hell's wrong with you today?"

I wished I knew.

I didn't have an answer for him.

Without saying a word, I grabbed another puck. This time I tried not to overthink it. Just move. Trust the muscle memory. Do what I'd been doing since I was a kid.

I crossed into the offensive zone.

Shot.

The goalie caught it so easily it was almost insulting.

"That was weak, Graham."

Yeah.

I'd noticed.

The rest of practice didn't get any better. I missed passes I could normally make with my eyes closed, and somehow lost a one-on-one battle to a freshman who was probably going to call his entire family about it.

Dean kept throwing me looks that silently asked, You good?

I answered every one of them with a shrug.

Because I didn't really want to talk about it.

Everyone has off days.

The problem was, the season was too close for me to afford one.

When Coach Jensen finally called practice, the guys started filing off the ice, shoving each other and laughing as they headed toward the locker room.

"You coming to Malone's?" Dean asked, pulling off his helmet.

I shook my head.

"Later."

His eyes drifted to the pile of pucks still sitting by the net.

"Don't stay too long."

"I'll be out in a bit."

Dean knew exactly what that meant.

We both did.

"A bit" meant until my legs gave out.

He gave my shoulder a friendly shove before heading off.

"Don't overthink it."

A dry laugh escaped me.

"That would've been helpful about three hours ago."

By the time the last player left the rink, the arena had gone almost completely silent.

Just me...

And the ice.

I'd always liked this part.

The empty stands.

The lights reflecting across the frozen surface.

The echo of every movement.

It was the only place where my thoughts ever seemed to settle.

Or at least...

Usually.

I grabbed another puck.

Breathed in.

Shot.

Wide.

Another.

Too high.

Another.

And another.

And another.

Until I stopped keeping count.

I had no idea how much time had passed when a slow clap echoed through the empty arena.

I frowned and looked up.

And there she was.

Sitting in the third row.

A cup of coffee cradled between her hands.

One leg crossed over the other.

And wearing the kind of smile that somehow made every place feel a little warmer.

"Well..." she said when our eyes met. "That last one was a lot closer."

I froze for a second.

"How long have you been sitting there?"

She took a sip of her coffee before answering.

"Long enough to figure out you're incredibly stubborn."

A quiet laugh slipped out as I rested my stick against the boards.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Because I don't want you getting mad."

"I'm not gonna get mad."

She raised an eyebrow.

"You smashed a puck out of frustration about five minutes ago."

My eyes flicked to the puck still split in half beside the net.

I'd been hoping no one had seen that.

"That was an accident."

"Sure."

"It was."

Her smile only widened.

"I've been here about twenty minutes."

I stared at her.

"And you didn't say anything?"

She shrugged.

"You looked like you needed to be alone."

There wasn't an ounce of pity in her voice. No over-the-top concern.

Just understanding.

And for some reason, that loosened the knot that had been sitting in my chest all afternoon.

I skated over to the boards separating the ice from the stands.

"How'd you even get in?"

"I told the rink manager I was here to pick up my boyfriend because he was probably still obsessing over practice."

"I can't believe that's the reputation I have."

She laughed.

"Is it inaccurate?"

I looked at her for a few seconds.

"...No."

"That's what I thought."

I rested my forearms on the top of the boards and let out a slow sigh.

"Practice sucked."

She nodded slowly.

"I know."

"I couldn't hit anything. I'm pretty sure Jensen was about ready to rip his own hair out because of me."

"I didn't see that part."

I couldn't help laughing.

Talking to her without smiling was basically impossible.

"You're incredibly helpful, you know that?"

"I'm trying to validate your feelings."

"You sound very professional."

"I watch a lot of videos online."

I shook my head, smiling.

"That explains a lot."

She made her way down the steps until she was standing on the other side of the glass.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I looked out over the rink.

Then at the dozens of pucks scattered across the ice.

Finally, I looked back at her.

"Not really."

I expected her to push.

To tell me everything would be fine.

That it was just one bad practice.

That I was the best player on the team.

The kind of things people say when they don't actually know what to say.

But she didn't do any of that.

She simply rested her arms on the railing.

"Okay."

That was it.

Five seconds of silence later, she was the one who spoke again.

"You still want to teach me how to skate, right?"

I blinked.

"What?"

"Skate."

I looked at her like she'd just told me she was moving to the moon.

"Baby... you've been saying no for months."

"I know."

"Last time you told me you'd rather run a marathon barefoot."

"I still think that sounds awful."

"You also said ice is basically a death trap."

"I haven't changed my mind."

I had absolutely no idea where this was going.

"Then..."

She fiddled with the lid of her coffee cup before looking back up at me.

"But I think I can make an exception today."

I went completely still.

"You're serious?"

She nodded.

"Yeah."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

Not a small smile.

A real one.

The kind that sneaks up on you before you even realize it's happening.

I'd been trying to convince her for months.

Literal months.

Every time she came to watch practice, I'd end up asking the same question.

"Today's the day?"

And I'd always get the exact same answer.

"Absolutely not."

"I'm going to break something."

"Garrett, I can barely walk on solid ground."

And now...

Now she was the one offering.

"What changed?" I asked, still not entirely convinced this wasn't some elaborate prank.

She took a few seconds before answering.

Her gaze drifted across the empty rink.

The scattered pucks.

My stick.

Then she looked back at me.

"Because you haven't smiled in the last thirty minutes."

Something shifted in my chest.

Something warm.

Quiet.

She tapped her knuckles lightly against the glass.

"And I think hockey's supposed to do the exact opposite."

For a moment, I didn't know what to say.

Because I knew exactly what she was doing.

She wasn't trying to fix the problem.

She wasn't going to tell me practice didn't matter.

Or that tomorrow would be better.

She was just trying to give me back the part of hockey I'd forgotten that afternoon.

The fun part.

The part that made six-year-old me fall in love with the game in the first place.

I looked at her for a long moment before shaking my head with a quiet laugh.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

She smiled with the exact same confidence she always had about five seconds before regretting something.

"Probably not."

I picked my stick up off the ice and headed toward the rink exit.

"C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

"To find you a pair of skates."

She frowned slightly as she hurried after me down the hallway.

"Garrett..."

"Yeah?"

"If I fall..."

I opened the door to the equipment room and turned to face her.

Smiling, I said,

"I'm not gonna let you fall, baby."

And I meant every word.

The confidence she'd had about learning to skate disappeared exactly three minutes later.

"Why are they so heavy?" you asked, lifting one of the skates with both hands like you'd just discovered some medieval torture device.

I couldn't help laughing.

"Because they're supposed to protect your ankles."

Shaking my head with a smile, I crouched down in front of you.

"Give me your foot."

You looked at me.

Then at the skate.

Then back at me.

"My foot?"

You ended up laughing before doing as I asked.

You rested one hand on my shoulder to keep your balance while I untied your sneakers.

There was something strangely domestic about it.

Something I liked far too much.

I carefully slipped the first skate onto your foot and started tightening the laces.

You watched every movement with exaggerated focus.

"Do they really have to be this tight?"

"Yes."

"I can't feel my toes."

"You still have them."

"I'm not convinced."

I tapped the toe of your skate lightly.

"Trust me."

You huffed.

"You always say that right before you make me suffer."

"You're so dramatic."

"Says the man who's looking forward to watching me embarrass myself."

I looked up at you.

"I would never laugh at you."

You smiled to yourself.

"That sounded suspiciously sincere."

Because it was.

I finished lacing the second skate and stood up.

"Alright."

You tried to stand.

It lasted exactly half a second.

The blades touched the floor, and your legs immediately forgot how to function.

"Garrett!"

I caught you by the arms before you could end up sitting on the ground.

I couldn't hold back my laughter.

"Not even one step."

"Don't laugh."

"I'm trying."

"You're doing a terrible job."

Your offended expression lasted only a few seconds before my laughter became contagious.

"I hate this."

"We haven't even made it onto the ice yet."

"Exactly."

I guided you slowly toward the rink entrance, every step an adventure. You walked like a newborn deer.

Holding tightly onto my arm.

Muttering little threats every time the blades slipped.

"If I survive this..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sending you the bill for every physical therapy session."

"You won't need any."

"You said that the last time you tried teaching me how to ride a bike."

I frowned.

"You were eight."

"And I fell."

"Once."

"Three times."

"Twice."

You gave me a triumphant smile.

"So you admit I fell."

I opened the rink door.

"That was ages ago."

"Trauma lasts forever."

I helped you place one blade onto the ice.

Then the other.

Before you could even react, both your hands were gripping me.

Tightly.

Very tightly.

"Don't let go."

"I wasn't planning to."

"I mean it."

"Baby..."

"Garrett."

"I promised I wouldn't let you fall."

You took a deep breath.

Nodded slowly.

And attempted your first step.

Your legs immediately slid in opposite directions, and I had to wrap an arm around your waist to stop you from kissing the ice.

"No, no, no!"

"Relax."

"I'm going to fall!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"Not while I'm here."

I felt you relax just a little at my words.

Just enough to try again.

"Now slide one foot."

You obeyed.

Five centimeters.

Then the other.

Three centimeters.

You lost your balance again.

This time, you ended up practically hugging me.

You buried your face against my neck with a nervous laugh.

"This is awful."

Absentmindedly, I rubbed your back.

"You're doing better than you think."

You looked up at me.

"Are you lying so I won't cry?"

"A little."

"I knew it."

We both laughed.

And that's when I realized...

I hadn't thought about practice in several minutes.

I was completely focused on helping the girl in my arms make it half a meter across the ice without declaring war on it.

And honestly...

I'd choose that a thousand times over.

We kept practicing.

Step by step.

Slowly.

You complained about absolutely everything.

Because the ice was slippery.

Because the skates were heavy.

Because your legs were shaking.

Because, according to you, hockey was clearly invented by someone who hated humanity.

I just laughed.

Because watching you stick your tongue out in concentration while trying to coordinate your feet was probably one of the cutest things I'd seen in a long time.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"You're really focused."

"I'm trying to survive."

"And you're doing it."

"Barely."

After almost half an hour...

You managed five strides in a row.

Five.

You threw your arms into the air like you'd just won an Olympic medal.

"Did you see that?"

I applauded dramatically.

"That was incredible!"

"I did it!"

"You did!"

You smiled proudly, and just as you turned to celebrate with me...

You tried to stop.

You had no idea how.

Your eyes widened.

"Garrett..."

I saw you coming far too fast.

I barely had time to react.

I pushed off and caught you around the waist just before you crashed into the boards. The momentum carried both of us gliding several more feet across the ice.

You ended up pressed completely against me.

My hands were still holding your waist.

Yours had instinctively grabbed the collar of my hoodie.

We were both breathing a little harder.

"Told you..." I murmured through a laugh. "...I wasn't going to let you fall."

You slowly looked up at me.

Your cheeks were flushed—I couldn't tell if it was from the effort or from the way we'd ended up standing.

You smiled.

Very slowly.

"I'm starting to think you were right."

And for the first time all day...

The rink felt like my favorite place in the world again.

I kept looking at you for a few seconds longer than I probably should have.

You were still holding onto the collar of my hoodie.

I was still holding her around the waist.

And neither of us seemed particularly interested in being the first to pull away.

"What?" she asked when she noticed I hadn't stopped looking at her.

I slowly shook my head.

"Nothing."

"That sounded like there was something."

"I was just thinking."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

I couldn't help smiling.

"You're doing really well."

She let out an incredulous laugh.

"Garrett, less than a minute ago I almost crashed through the boards."

"But you didn't."

"Because you caught me."

"Exactly."

She frowned, amused.

"Do you always find a way to be right?"

"Most of the time."

"You're insufferable."

Her gaze dropped to my hands around her waist, then to her own, still resting on my shoulders. Even with the cold air inside the rink, I could almost feel the warmth rising to her cheeks.

Slowly, she loosened her grip on my hoodie, though she didn't move away completely.

Neither did I.

The truth was, I couldn't think of a single good reason to let go.

Not when she still needed help staying upright.

And definitely not when I liked having her this close far too much.

"Let's try again," I said after a few seconds.

She made a face.

"Can't we call the lesson over while I'm still alive?"

"Not a chance."

"You're cruel."

"Trust me."

She gave me a suspicious look.

"I'm starting to hate that phrase."

"You'll get over it."

"You say that one a lot too."

"Because it usually works."

She let out an exaggerated sigh.

"One day I'm going to stop listening to you."

"Not today."

"No..."

She sighed again.

"...not today."

We faced each other once more.

This time, I didn't offer just one hand.

I held out both.

She took them without hesitation.

"Alright," I said as we started moving slowly. "Don't look at your feet."

She immediately looked down.

I laughed.

"You just did the exact opposite."

"My feet are my biggest concern right now."

"They know what they're doing."

"I don't."

"That's why I'm here."

She started gliding again.

One foot.

Then the other.

Slower than before.

Much steadier.

She was still holding onto my hands, but she wasn't clinging to me with the same panic she had an hour ago.

Whenever she hesitated, a gentle tug from me was enough to help her find her balance again.

"That's it.

Good."

She looked up at me.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Or are you just being a good boyfriend?"

"That too."

She laughed.

"At least you're honest."

We kept skating across the empty rink.

Neither of us talked much.

We didn't need to.

She was too focused on coordinating her movements, and I was too busy watching the way she gently bit her bottom lip every time she tried something new.

I'd never understood how someone could look so focused...

and still be so beautiful.

"I think..."

She paused for a moment.

"I think I'm not as scared anymore."

I smiled at her.

"I know."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're not crushing my hands anymore."

She looked down.

She was still holding on to me.

Just... a lot more gently now.

"Sorry."

"I'm not complaining."

She smiled shyly.

"Thanks for being so patient with me."

The words caught me completely off guard.

Because if anyone should've been saying thank you...

it was me.

"You don't have to thank me for anything, baby."

"Yes, I do."

"No."

"Honey..."

I shook my head.

"Do you know what the best part of my day has been?"

She frowned slightly.

"What?"

I glanced around.

The rink was still completely empty.

The lights reflected across the ice, making everything look almost magical.

Not a single teammate was left.

Just us.

"This."

She blinked.

"This?"

I nodded.

"I spent hours trying to have the perfect practice."

I paused before continuing.

"And it turns out the best thing that happened to me today..."

"...was teaching you how to stay on your feet."

I watched something shift in her expression.

The smile that spread across her face was small.

Soft.

But completely genuine.

"You're not upset anymore?"

Her question made me stop and think for a few seconds.

Because until that moment, I hadn't even asked myself.

I looked at the pucks still scattered across the ice.

My stick, abandoned beside the bench.

Everything looked exactly the same as it had an hour earlier.

And yet...

I didn't feel the same anymore.

I slowly shook my head.

"No."

Her smile grew.

"I knew it'd work."

"You planned all of this?"

She shrugged innocently.

"Maybe."

"You're pretty smart."

"I try."

I watched her for a moment.

"Thank you."

She looked surprised.

"For what?"

I took a step closer until there was barely any space left between us.

"For taking care of me..."

"...without making it feel like you were."

She never looked away.

"It wasn't that hard."

"It was for me."

A comfortable silence settled between us.

The kind that never feels awkward.

She glanced down for just a second before meeting my eyes again.

"So what now, Coach?"

I smiled.

"Now comes the best part."

She raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds dangerous."

"A little."

She bit her lip, trying to hide a smile.

And that was where I lost the last bit of self-control I had left.

I slid my hand from her cheek to the back of her neck as gently as I could.

I gave her time.

All the time she needed to pull away if she wanted to.

She didn't.

Instead...

she closed the remaining distance herself.

Our lips met in a slow kiss.

Soft.

Unhurried.

I felt one of her hands rest against my chest as I wrapped both arms around her waist.

She let out the smallest surprised breath.

I smiled against her lips.

She smiled too.

We pulled apart just enough.

Enough to keep breathing the same air.

"You know..." she murmured, her lips still curved into a smile.

"What?"

"I think I should learn more about hockey."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

"Oh yeah?"

She nodded.

"If every lesson ends like this..."

I stole another kiss before she could finish.

This one shorter.

A little more playful.

When we finally pulled apart again, I rested my forehead against hers and closed my eyes for a moment.

"Baby..."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for reminding me why I love this place."

She intertwined her fingers with mine and smiled in that way that made every bad practice fade into nothing.

"I don't think it was ever the rink."

I opened my eyes to look at her.

"Then what was it?"

Her thumb absentmindedly brushed over the back of my hand.

"You just needed to have fun again."

And she was right.

Because in the end...

I wasn't going to remember the shots I missed that afternoon.

I was going to remember that, in a completely empty rink, the woman I loved most made me fall in love with hockey all over again.

And, as if that weren't enough...

John Logan x Reader

Summary: After a date stands her up, Logan doesn’t hesitate to pick her up. What starts as just another rescue between friends turns into a night neither of them will be able to forget.

If she called me after ten at night, it usually meant one of two things.

She was drunk.

Or she was sad.

That night, the second I heard her voice, I knew it was the latter.

I'd learned to tell the difference a long time ago. When she drank too much, she talked faster than usual, laughed at absolutely everything, and had this annoying habit of losing her train of thought halfway through a sentence. When she was sad, though, everything about her became softer. Quieter. Like she was trying to convince herself she was okay, even when her voice gave her away before she could finish pretending.

So when I saw her name flash across my phone screen at 10:12 p.m., I answered before the second ring.

"Hey," I said, already on my feet before I even heard her breathe.

For a moment, all I could hear was noise on the other end. Music. Distant voices. A door opening and closing somewhere behind her. Then her voice came through, quieter than usual, carrying that tone that always made my jaw tighten without meaning to.

"Are you busy?"

I frowned as I crossed my apartment toward the door.

"Depends," I said, even though I already knew I wasn't going to like the answer. "Why?"

I heard a sigh. Small. Tired.

And then I knew.

Because it was always the same.

Always.

"He stood me up."

I closed my eyes for a second and tightened my grip on the phone.

Out of everything she could've said, that was exactly what I'd expected.

And exactly what I hadn't wanted to hear.

"Where are you?" I asked, already reaching for my car keys from the bowl by the door.

"Logan..."

"Don't make me guess," I cut in, shoving my arm into my jacket while opening the door with my shoulder. "Where are you?"

There was a pause.

Like she was trying to decide whether to tell me the truth or convince me I didn't need to come get her.

"Malone's."

Of course.

I let out a slow breath through my nose and ran a hand through my hair as I took the stairs two at a time.

"Are you alone?"

"Yeah."

"How long have you been there?"

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Too long.

"Forty minutes."

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth hurt.

I opened the car door and tossed my keys onto the passenger seat before climbing in.

"I'm coming."

"You don't have to," she said immediately, and I could picture her perfectly. Sitting alone at a table, trying to sound fine when she clearly wasn't.

I started the engine.

"I'm still looking for my shoes," I lied, because there was no way I was giving her the chance to argue with me.

"Logan."

"Five minutes."

"You live twenty minutes away."

"Ten if I drive fast."

"That's illegal."

"And yet I'm still coming."

A small laugh drifted through the phone.

Weak.

But real.

And for some reason, that was enough to ease some of the pressure in my chest.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Don't thank me yet."

"Why?"

"Because I'm still mad at a guy I've never even met," I said, pulling onto the main road.

"Logan..."

"I'm serious."

"Don't start."

"Already started."

"That's why I called you," she shot back, and I could hear the smile in her voice despite how tired she sounded.

I shook my head and pressed a little harder on the gas.

"That is not the reassuring explanation you think it is."

She laughed again.

And this time she sounded a little more like herself.

A little lighter.

A little less sad.

Which somehow made me feel worse.

Because it meant she was used to me being the one who showed up whenever someone else disappointed her.

Which sucked.

But it was also true.

If someone asked me exactly when my problem with her had started, I probably wouldn't be able to answer.

Because it wasn't sudden.

There wasn't one specific moment where everything changed.

No dramatic scene I could point to and say, there. That's where it started.

It was worse than that.

It was gradual.

First there were the classes we shared.

Then dinners at Malone's.

Then the long phone calls that started with an excuse and ended with one of us falling asleep with the phone still in hand.

It was midnight texts.

Silent study sessions.

Movie nights where neither of us actually paid attention because we always ended up talking instead.

Last-minute grocery runs.

Hockey practices she'd show up to because, according to her, Garrett had forced her to come.

Bullshit.

Garrett couldn't force anyone to do anything.

Especially not watch hockey.

The truth was a lot simpler.

And a lot more dangerous.

She liked being there.

And I liked having her there.

It was that simple.

And that complicated.

Because while I was slowly falling in love with my best friend, she seemed determined to date every idiot who crossed her path.

I'd lost count after the fifth one.

Maybe the sixth.

They all started the same way.

Charming.

Funny.

Interesting.

They all knew how to make her laugh within minutes.

How to look at her like she was the only person in the room.

How to say exactly the right thing to make her lower her guard.

And they all ended the same way.

Idiots.

Some took weeks to prove it.

Others only needed days.

But we always ended up in the same place.

And somehow, I was always the one picking up the pieces.

Not because she asked.

Because I showed up before she had to.

I found her sitting alone at a table by the window, her hands wrapped around a glass that looked long empty.

And for one second—

Just one—

I forgot why I was angry.

Because she looked beautiful.

Which was a personal tragedy.

She was wearing a black dress I'd never seen before, her hair loose around her shoulders, subtle makeup making her eyes stand out even more.

There was nothing flashy about her.

Nothing that demanded attention.

And somehow I still forgot how lungs worked.

Then I remembered the asshole who'd left her waiting for forty minutes.

And I got angry again.

She looked up the second I approached.

Her expression changed immediately.

The sadness was still there, tucked behind the small smile she gave me, but at least she didn't look quite so alone anymore.

"Hey," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Hey."

"You got here fast."

"Fast enough."

She stood and reached for her purse, but I'd already grabbed it before she could.

"Ready?"

She arched an eyebrow as she followed me toward the exit.

"You're not even going to ask what happened?"

I glanced at her and shook my head.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because right now I don't want an excuse to punch somebody."

The truth was I was a lot closer to it than I should've been.

She let out a breath that sounded half like a laugh and half like exhaustion.

"Logan."

"What?"

"You can't go around hitting people just because they made me wait."

I opened the passenger door for her and waited until she climbed in before answering.

"Sure I can."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"It depends on the situation," I said, closing the door.

She shook her head, but the corner of her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile.

"You're impossible."

"And yet you called me."

"Because I knew you'd come."

I looked at her for a second too long before walking around the car and climbing into the driver's seat.

I didn't answer.

Because if I did, I'd probably say something I shouldn't.

The first few minutes of the drive passed in silence.

But not the uncomfortable kind.

Not the kind that made your skin crawl.

With her, it was never like that.

With her, silence felt different.

Comfortable.

Familiar.

Like neither of us needed to fill every second with words just to feel less alone.

The radio played quietly in the background.

City lights flashed across the windshield in streaks of gold and white.

She rested her head against the window and stared outside for a while, and I took the opportunity to force myself to breathe normally.

It didn't work.

Because I could still picture her sitting alone in that restaurant, wearing that dress, waiting for a guy who didn't deserve a single minute of her time.

And it was putting me in a terrible mood.

"My date's name was Brian," she said suddenly.

I let out a humorless laugh.

"Of course it was."

She turned toward me with a look of mock offense.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"It means Brian sounds like the kind of guy who stands up a girl at a restaurant and thinks a half-assed apology fixes everything."

"That's unfair."

"So is leaving you alone for forty minutes."

She looked back out the window, her jaw tightening.

"Something came up," she muttered, though she didn't sound convinced herself.

"Of course it did."

"Logan."

"What?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

She went quiet.

Y por un momento pensé que lo dejaría pasar.

Debería haberlo sabido.

And this time, there was no pretending it hadn’t happened.

She didn’t answer right away.

For a second, I thought she was going to roll her eyes, tell me to stop talking like I was in some cheesy movie, and move on.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she just stared at me with a strange expression, like she was trying to figure out whether I was joking or being completely serious.

And I, of course, had absolutely no intention of helping her figure it out.

“Can I at least hold the flashlight?” she asked eventually, her voice softer than I expected.

I looked up at her.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you get out of the car, you're going to end up helping even if I tell you not to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

She let out a small laugh, and for the first time since she’d called me, the air between us stopped feeling so heavy.

“You’re ridiculous.”

She shook her head, but she was already smiling.

And somehow, that was enough to make me forget—for a few seconds, at least—how pissed off I still was at Brian, every Brian before him, and the entire universe for constantly putting her in the hands of guys who had no idea what was standing right in front of them.

I crouched back down beside the tire and started loosening the lug nuts.

“You sure you don’t want help?” she asked again, sounding much more amused this time.

“Yes.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“What if I told you I’m really good at holding things?”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Logan.”

“What?”

“That sounded terrible.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yes, you did.”

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

“Maybe.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You already told me that.”

“And I still mean it.”

“I know.”

She went quiet for a moment, watching me from the car door.

I could feel her eyes on me—patient, curious—like she was trying to read something I’d spent way too long hiding.

And then, without warning, she got out of the car.

“No,” I said immediately, looking up at her. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m just coming a little closer.”

“That’s already too much.”

“Logan, I’m not going to break because I touched a tire.”

“I don’t want you getting dirty.”

“You’re starting to sound repetitive.”

“And you’re starting to ignore me.”

“That’s because I’m not listening to you.”

I stared at her in disbelief as she carefully stepped around the edge of the oil puddle beside the tire.

And for some reason, seeing her there with me—in the middle of an empty road, her hair moving slightly in the wind, that small smile still lingering on her lips—made everything else seem less important.

Even Brian.

Even my anger.

Even the fact that I’d been in love with her for years.

She crouched down beside me with exaggerated caution and handed me one of the tools.

“Like this?”

I looked at her for a second before nodding.

“Yeah. Like that.”

And for the first time all night, she smiled for real.

Not a tired smile.

Not a polite smile.

A real one.

And naturally, I made the mistake of thinking maybe the night wasn’t going to end so badly after all.

It was a pretty stupid mistake.

Because less than thirty seconds later, I was already regretting letting her get that close.

“What do I do now?” she asked, watching every movement I made with ridiculous focus, as if changing a tire was some ancient ritual I was about to reveal to her.

“Nothing,” I said without looking up, even though I knew perfectly well she wasn’t going to like that answer.

She let out a dramatic sigh and crossed her arms, fake offense doing a terrible job of hiding the amusement on her face.

“That’s boring.”

“Perfect.”

Because if there was one thing I was good at, it was refusing to give her what she wanted.

“You didn’t bring me out here just to watch.”

“Technically, I brought you out here so you could stop waiting around for an idiot at Malone’s.”

That got her attention.

I looked up just in time to watch her expression shift from amused to offended in about two seconds.

She shot me a look that promised an entirely unnecessary and incredibly entertaining argument.

“Are you going to keep calling him an idiot all night?”

“Probably.”

I felt absolutely no remorse.

“Logan,” she warned.

“What?”

I went back to work, pretending innocence.

“Get over it.”

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

If knowing her had taught me anything, it was that giving in too quickly only encouraged her.

“You don’t even know him.”

“And I still don’t like him.”

I shrugged like it was the most logical thing in the world.

She shook her head, laughing softly—the kind of laugh she used when she’d already decided arguing with me was a waste of energy.

“You’re impossible.”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times tonight.”

“Because you keep proving it.”

I finally let myself look at her for a second longer than I should have.

The smile she tried to hide told me everything.

She was enjoying this argument just as much as I was.

I tried to focus on the tire again.

I really did.

But she was still there.

Too close.

Watching everything I did like I was performing some fascinating live demonstration and not kneeling on the ground with grease-covered hands.

Which, honestly, was terrible for my mental health.

“So now what?” she asked a few seconds later, leaning closer.

“Now I take the tire off.”

I loosened the first lug nut harder than necessary.

“And then?”

“Then I put the new one on.”

“And then?”

This time I looked up.

She was having way too much fun with this.

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

She shrugged.

“Only when I’m bored.”

“Then maybe you should get another hobby.”

I muttered it under my breath, even though the truth was I didn’t want her to stop talking.

“I’ll consider it.”

The small smile she gave me made it clear she was very pleased with herself.

I moved the damaged tire onto the grass beside the car.

She watched the whole process carefully, like she was learning something important.

“That looks heavy.”

“It is.”

I crouched back down to position the spare.

“Need help?”

The sparkle in her eyes told me she already knew my answer.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Completely sure?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely sure?”

She was grinning openly now.

I slowly looked up at her, hoping my expression was threatening enough to stop her.

“I swear, if you ask me one more time—”

“What?” she asked, enjoying this far too much.

“I’m making you change the next one.”

The threat sounded significantly less intimidating than I intended.

Her smile widened in triumph.

“I knew you’d eventually need my help.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s exactly what you said.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I let out a frustrated breath.

Arguing with her had always been a losing battle.

Always.

And for reasons I still didn’t fully understand, I never minded losing to her.

I watched her hold the flashlight while I finished putting the spare on.

She was trying to be helpful.

The worst part was that she actually was.

Because every few seconds, I caught myself looking at her instead of what I was doing.

Which, once again, was a terrible idea.

“You know,” she said after a moment, casually enough to make me glance up, “this is actually kind of attractive.”

I blinked.

Certain I’d heard her wrong.

“What?”

I needed her to repeat that before deciding whether or not I was losing my mind.

She tilted her head, amused by my reaction.

“The fixing-things thing.”

Like that explained everything.

“Changing a tire?”

“Yes.”

The way she bit back a smile told me she was enjoying this entirely too much.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“No.”

“It definitely is.”

She smiled with unbearable patience.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Thank you.”

My tone was dry.

I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction.

“Although,” she added casually, “I think it might actually just be that you look attractive doing it.”

The wrench slipped straight out of my hand.

Thankfully, it landed in the grass instead of on my foot.

Because at that moment, I was far too busy trying to remember how my brain worked.

She burst out laughing immediately.

A real laugh.

The kind that lit up her whole face and made her eyes sparkle.

“Oh my God, Logan.”

She clutched her stomach between laughs.

“Don’t say anything.”

I bent down to pick up the wrench with what little dignity I had left.

“Did I make you nervous?”

The teasing in her voice nearly made me swear.

“No.”

I answered way too fast.

“I made you nervous.”

She leaned closer.

“No.”

I already knew she didn’t believe me.

“You definitely did.”

The smile she gave me was so smug I almost left the tire half-finished just to argue with her.

I wanted to.

Really.

But the problem was that she was completely right.

So instead, I picked up the wrench, focused on the tire, and kept working while she continued laughing at me with a joy that, for some reason, didn’t bother me nearly as much as it should have.

When I tightened the last lug nut, I leaned back with a long, tired sigh, bracing one hand against the ground as I stretched my back.

“Done.”

I looked at the new tire with a small but genuine sense of accomplishment.

She leaned closer to inspect it, as if she needed to verify for herself that the job was actually finished.

“That’s it?”

She sounded surprised it had gone so quickly.

“Yep.”

I wiped my hands on my jeans automatically.

“I thought it would take longer.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You’re welcome.”

The innocent smile she gave me fooled absolutely no one.

She leaned down again to look at the tire.

That was when I noticed that somehow, over the last few minutes, she’d managed to get grease all over both of her hands.

I had no idea how she'd done it.

She hadn’t even touched anything important.

And yet there she was, black smudges covering her palms, looking completely unbothered.

“You got dirty.”

I pointed at her hands with my chin.

She held them up and stared at them.

“Oh.”

Like she was only just discovering it.

“Told you.”

I couldn’t stop the smile that slipped out.

“It’s not that bad.”

She waved it off.

“Sure.”

My tone made it clear I didn’t believe her for a second.

“Besides, you look worse.”

She looked me up and down, clearly entertained.

“That’s part of the job.”

I shrugged.

She pulled a face.

“So dramatic.”

The sparkle in her eyes immediately warned me she was about to make things worse.

Then she reached up with a grease-covered hand to brush a strand of hair away from her face.

I saw the disaster coming before it happened.

Ella no lo hizo.

"No—" I started, but it was already too late.

The black streak appeared across her cheek the second she dragged her hand over her face. Then another one, because she immediately tried to wipe it away without realizing she was only making it worse.

"What?" she asked, confused, while I fought for my life not to laugh.

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard it almost hurt.

"Nothing," I said too quickly.

"Logan," she pressed, frowning at me.

"Nothing," I repeated, though I was already losing the battle against the smile pulling at my mouth.

"You're smiling," she accused, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm not," I lied, without much conviction.

"John Logan."

The sheer seriousness with which she used my full name was enough to completely destroy what little self-control I had left.

A laugh escaped me.

"Go look in the mirror," I said, jerking my head toward the car.

"Why?" she asked, still completely lost.

"Just do it."

This time I wasn't even trying to hide my grin.

She walked over to the passenger side looking utterly bewildered, flipped down the visor mirror, and stared at herself for exactly one second before the silence exploded.

"Oh my God!"

She slapped a hand over her face in horror.

My laughter came out before I could stop it.

And this time I didn't even bother trying.

"Don't laugh!" she protested, turning toward me with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance that somehow only made her look even cuter.

"I'm sorry," I said.

I sounded absolutely nothing like someone who was sorry.

"You're not."

"No. I'm not."

That only made her scowl harder.

She pointed an accusing finger at me, grease still smeared across her cheek.

"This is your fault."

"How exactly?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Because you let me help."

I stared at her.

"You forced your way into helping."

"Details."

She waved a hand dismissively.

Which only made the stain worse.

Then she tried wiping her face again.

And, predictably, spread the grease even farther.

At that point I wasn't even attempting to stop laughing.

Because watching her get genuinely offended over something this ridiculous was probably one of the most adorable things I'd ever seen.

And that was saying something.

"Come here," I said eventually, once I could finally speak without laughing.

She froze.

"What?"

I pulled a clean handkerchief from my jacket pocket and held it up.

"Come here."

This time I said it more patiently.

"I can do it myself," she argued.

Even as she took a step toward me.

"Clearly not."

The look she gave me made it obvious she wasn't planning on forgiving that comment anytime soon.

"Rude."

"Accurate."

A small sound escaped her—somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

Then she came closer anyway.

The wind moved softly around us, stirring strands of her hair and making the night feel quieter than it really was.

The road was practically empty.

And suddenly the entire world seemed to shrink down to the small space between us.

The smell of asphalt.

Gasoline.

And something much more dangerous that I refused to name.

She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could make out every detail of her face.

Every tiny expression passing through her eyes as she tried to decide whether she trusted me or not.

And naturally, the moment I lifted my hand, I realized this was no longer a good idea.

I moved carefully.

Far more carefully than the grease on her cheek required.

My fingers settled beneath her chin as I gently tilted her face toward the light spilling from the car.

She didn't pull away.

Not even when I started wiping the stain away.

Neither of us spoke.

Not even when the silence between us became so thick it felt tangible.

Because something had changed.

I didn't know exactly what.

But it was there.

Hanging between us with uncomfortable clarity.

It was in the way she looked at me.

In the way I couldn't seem to stop looking at her.

In the way neither of us appeared particularly eager to put distance back between us.

My pulse sped up.

I hated it instantly.

Because I'd spent years controlling this.

Years pretending I was fine.

Years acting like being her friend was enough.

Like having her in my life was all I could ask for.

And standing there on the side of an empty road, I was beginning to suspect it wasn't enough anymore.

She didn't look away either.

And for one ridiculously long moment, I forgot everything else.

The tire.

The road.

Brian.

Hockey.

The fact that if I kept looking at her like this, I was going to do something stupid.

There was only her.

Her eyes.

Her breathing.

The way the wind lifted her hair around her face.

"There."

My voice came out lower than usual.

I slowly pulled the handkerchief away.

Much more slowly than necessary.

Which did absolutely nothing to make the moment feel less dangerous.

She swallowed before answering.

"Thank you."

For some reason, those two words sounded far more intimate than they should have.

She didn't move.

Neither did I.

And that was probably a mistake.

Because for the first time in years, I had the absurd feeling that if I leaned forward just a few inches—

Everything would change.

But then she blinked.

Like she'd suddenly remembered where we were.

And the moment vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

The rest of the drive was strange.

Not awkward.

Just... strange.

Like we were both pretending nothing had happened while simultaneously being painfully aware that something had.

We kept talking.

Kept joking.

Kept trading comments the way we always did.

But there was a new tension threaded through it all.

Something subtle.

Persistent.

Something that slipped into every pause and every sideways glance.

Like we both knew a line had shifted.

And neither of us wanted to be the first to acknowledge it.

When we finally reached her dorm, I parked in front of the building and shut off the engine.

She stayed seated for a few moments, hands resting in her lap, before slowly unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Thanks for coming," she said quietly, turning toward me.

I looked at her for a moment before answering.

Because the truth was, I had absolutely no intention of saying something sensible.

Still, I smiled.

Because my answer had always been the same.

Long before I fell in love with her.

Long before everything got complicated.

Long before it started hurting every time I watched her walk away with someone who didn't deserve her.

"I'll always come for you."

The words left before I could think about them.

Honest in a way that gave me no chance to take them back.

She went still.

Something flickered across her face.

Something soft.

Something I couldn't quite read.

Something that made me feel like I'd said too much—

And not nearly enough.

"I know," she said finally.

And the calm certainty in her voice completely disarmed me.

My heart did something strange in my chest.

Because she said it like she truly knew.

Like she trusted it.

Like she couldn't imagine a world where I wouldn't show up when she needed me.

And maybe that was the problem.

She was so used to me being there.

Always.

Without fail.

That she'd never stopped to ask herself why.

I watched her climb out of the car and close the door behind her.

She walked toward the entrance with that same quiet grace she seemed to carry everywhere, even when she was exhausted.

And I stayed there watching until she reached the door.

Then she turned around one last time and waved.

I lifted a hand in return.

And then she disappeared inside.

Only after the door closed behind her did I lean my head back against the seat and shut my eyes with a long, tired sigh.

A humorless laugh slipped out.

Because after all these years, I was still exactly where I'd started.

Hopelessly in love with my best friend.

Garrett Graham x Female OC

Summary: A huge win, a night of celebrating at Malone's, and a slightly drunk Sarah who's suddenly convinced Garrett is the hottest guy in the bar. Garrett can't help playing along, even though there's one tiny detail she keeps conveniently forgetting: he's already her boyfriend.

The win had been incredible.

The celebration was deafening.

And my teammates were unbearable.

In other words, a completely normal night.

Malone's was packed. The music was way too loud, someone had hijacked the jukebox for the last thirty minutes, and Dean had spent at least twenty convincing himself he could dance.

He couldn't.

Nobody had managed to talk sense into him.

As for me, I had a Coke sitting in front of me because while the rest of the team celebrated the win by drinking whatever they could get their hands on, I'd promised to drive.

Which meant no alcohol.

Something that normally didn't bother me.

Especially when the alternative was sitting back and watching Sarah have fun.

"You don't have to babysit me," she told me for the fifth time that night.

I raised both hands.

"I'm not babysitting you."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm just making sure you stay alive."

"How romantic."

"Thank you. I try."

Sarah rolled her eyes.

Then she smiled.

And for a second, I completely forgot what we were talking about.

That still happened, even after all this time.

It was a problem.

One I had absolutely no intention of fixing.

"I'm getting another drink," she announced.

"Want me to come with you?"

"Garrett."

"What?"

"I can walk by myself."

"That remains to be seen."

She punched my arm.

Lightly.

More affectionate than anything else.

"You're impossible."

"And yet you keep coming back."

"You're so arrogant."

Sarah laughed and shook her head before disappearing into the crowd.

I watched her walk away because it was impossible not to, because I liked seeing her happy, and because, if I was being completely honest, I liked the way she looked at me like I was the only guy in the room.

Though that was probably my fault.

An hour later she was still happy.

Only now she was drunk too.

Not completely wasted.

Not to the point where she couldn't stand.

But enough that her cheeks were pink and her smile was a lot bigger than usual.

I was leaning against the bar when she suddenly appeared in front of me.

Alone.

Looking serious.

Very serious.

Far too serious.

That should've worried me.

"Hi."

I blinked.

"Hi, sweetheart."

"Do you come here often?"

It took me a few seconds to process the question.

"What?"

"I asked if you come here often."

"Sarah..."

"Oh, I get it."

She stepped a little closer.

"You're one of those mysterious guys."

I couldn't help laughing.

"What is happening right now?"

"I'm just trying to get to know you."

"Get to know me?"

"Yeah."

"We've been together for over a year."

"That doesn't answer my question."

I stared at her.

She stared right back.

Completely serious.

And then I understood.

Oh my God.

She was flirting with me.

Like I wasn't her boyfriend.

Like she didn't know exactly what she did to me.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.

"Well," I said, leaning a little closer, "I guess I do come here pretty often."

"Interesting."

"Is it?"

"Very."

"Why?"

Sarah rested her elbows on the bar and slowly looked me up and down in a way that made me raise an eyebrow.

"Because you're really hot."

I nearly choked on my drink.

From a nearby table, someone burst out laughing.

Dean.

Of course.

Dean.

"Don't laugh," I called.

"Never."

He was practically folding in half.

I turned back to Sarah.

She was still studying me.

Like she was evaluating something.

Like she was deciding whether I deserved her attention.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked, resting her chin on her hand.

That was when I had to look away.

Because I knew exactly where this was going.

And because I was enjoying it way more than I should've.

"Yeah."

Sarah sighed dramatically.

"What a shame."

"Why?"

"Because I just decided I liked you."

"That sounds complicated."

"Very."

"My girlfriend thinks so too."

She frowned.

"Is she pretty?"

"Very."

"Prettier than me?"

"Definitely not."

Her smile appeared instantly.

"Good answer."

"I'm a wise man."

"You don't even believe that."

"But you do."

Sarah giggled and leaned a little closer.

"So what else can you do, Garrett?"

The way she said my name made me smile.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

"Depends on what you're interested in finding out."

Her eyes sparkled.

Oh.

So she wanted to play.

Perfect.

I was excellent at that game.

I don't know how long we sat there.

Ten minutes.

Maybe twenty.

Sarah perched beside me.

Asking ridiculous questions.

And me answering as though we'd just met, even though every answer carried a second meaning she understood perfectly.

"What do you study?"

"History."

"That sounds smart."

"Thank you."

"I could never do that."

"I'm sure you could."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I get distracted easily."

"I noticed."

She laughed.

Then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a softness that didn't match the mischievous smile on her face.

"You're still really hot."

"'Still'?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been evaluating me?"

"All night."

"That's a little concerning."

"I don't regret it."

"You should tell me these things more often."

"So your ego gets even worse?"

"Too late."

To our left, Logan was filming something on his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"I need evidence."

"Delete that."

"Never."

"Logan."

"This is too good."

Sarah turned on her stool to look at the rest of the table.

"Who are they?"

Dean raised a hand.

"I'm Dean."

"I don't trust you."

"That's fair."

"You have a face that causes problems."

Dean placed a hand over his chest.

"I feel attacked."

"Because I'm probably right."

Logan nearly fell off his chair laughing.

I laughed quietly to myself.

Sarah turned back to me and placed a hand on my forearm.

"You, on the other hand, seem dangerous."

"Only seem?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"I could prove otherwise."

She lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

I leaned closer, enough that only she could hear me.

"I could tell you exactly what I'd do if you weren't so drunk."

Sarah's lips parted slightly.

Then she smiled.

Slowly.

Like she'd just won something.

"That sounded very confident."

"I am."

"Do you always talk like that?"

"Only when I have a pretty audience."

Her cheeks turned even pinker.

And I loved that.

"Then I want to get to know you better," she said quietly.

God.

I adored her.

An hour later it was obvious the night was winding down.

People were leaving.

The music was getting quieter.

And Sarah had her head resting on my shoulder.

Much calmer than before.

Much sleepier.

Much sweeter.

"Ready to go?"

She nodded.

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Will you take me home?"

"Of course."

"What a gentleman."

"I try."

"I like you."

I couldn't help smiling.

"I would hope so."

"No, Garrett. I mean I really like you."

I glanced down at her.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That's dangerous for me."

"Why?"

"Because then you make me smile like an idiot."

Sarah lifted her head just enough to look at me.

"And that's bad?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Whether you're planning to keep doing it."

She laughed softly and nudged my shoulder.

"You're so full of yourself."

"And you're flirting with me."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I don't want it going to your head."

"Too late."

I helped her to her feet.

She immediately grabbed my arm.

Not because she needed help walking.

Just because she wanted to.

And honestly...

I wasn't complaining.

The night air was cool when we stepped out of Malone's.

The parking lot was almost empty.

Sarah stayed close to my side.

Eyes half-closed.

Wearing a peaceful little smile.

When we reached the car, she rested her head against my shoulder.

"Garrett?"

"Yeah?"

"I have a confession."

"That sounds dangerous."

"A little."

I opened the passenger door.

But she didn't move.

She stayed right where she was.

Pressed against me.

"I knew it was you."

I blinked.

"What?"

"From the beginning."

"Then why did you keep doing it?"

Sarah looked up at me.

And gave me one of those sleepy smiles that always completely destroyed me.

"Because I like it when you flirt with me."

Something warm settled in my chest.

Something familiar.

Something that happened every time she said things like that.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You could've told me."

"And miss all that fun?"

"How selfish."

"I know."

I shook my head.

Unable to stop smiling.

Unable to stop looking at her.

Unable to remember what my life had been like before her.

Sarah rose onto her toes.

Placed a hand against my chest.

And pressed a soft kiss to my jaw.

"You're my favorite person," she murmured.

"Only your favorite person?"

She smiled against my skin.

"Tonight, yes."

"That's a little offensive."

"Then you'll have to try harder."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"And what exactly would I have to do to earn first place again?"

Sarah looked at me with an expression far too innocent to be real.

"Keep looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to kiss me."

I went still for a second.

Then I smiled.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

"Sarah, I've wanted to kiss you since we walked into the bar."

Her eyes widened slightly.

Then she smiled like she'd just heard exactly what she'd been hoping for.

"Then you should."

And that was the moment I lost any chance of pretending this wasn't affecting me.

Because I'd spent the whole night looking after her.

Making sure she was okay.

Watching her have fun.

And somehow she'd still managed to completely ruin me.

In the best possible way.

I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her a little closer.

"You're dangerous when you've been drinking."

"And you're very easy to distract."

"That's because you're standing too close."

"Is that a problem?"

"Not when it's you."

Sarah smiled.

And intertwined her fingers with mine.

"Let's go home, sweetheart."

"Yeah. Let's go."

"Are you gonna keep flirting with me in the car?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Whether you keep looking at me like that."

She laughed softly and rested her forehead against my shoulder.

"I can't promise anything."

"Perfect."

Because after an entire night of celebrating, music, and chaos...

Dean Di Laurentis x Female OC

Summary: Six months after their breakup, Dean and Brook end up at Malone's for the first time since it all fell apart.

Everything is going fine until someone requests a song that used to belong to them.

What starts as a series of musical messages turns into the first real conversation they've had since they broke up.

I saw her the second she walked into Malone's.

Not because I was looking for her.

Because it was impossible not to see her.

At least, that's what I kept telling myself every time my eyes somehow found their way back to her across a room.

Six months.

Six goddamn months since we'd last had a real conversation.

Six months since the breakup.

Six months since we'd both decided it was the right thing to do.

And somehow, I'd still recognize her in a crowd of a thousand people.

The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous.

The way she smiled whenever one of her friends said something stupid.

The way she always scanned a room before deciding where to sit.

Like she was evaluating every possible option.

I hated that I still noticed those things.

I hated a lot of things when it came to Brook.

Mostly the fact that I still cared.

"Oh, shit."

Garrett's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"What?"

"Don't make that face."

"What face?"

Garrett pointed his beer bottle directly at me.

"The face you just made."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't."

Logan followed the direction of our conversation and glanced toward the entrance.

His expression changed immediately.

"Oh."

"What do you mean, 'oh'?"

"Brook's here."

"I already saw her."

Both of them looked at me.

At the exact same time.

Like I'd just confessed to a felony.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," Garrett said.

"Nothing at all," Logan added.

"I hate you both."

"That's exactly what someone who's been staring at their ex for ten seconds would say."

I picked up my beer.

"I wasn't staring."

"Dean, I know you."

"Unfortunately."

Logan laughed.

"This is gonna be fun."

"Nothing's gonna happen."

"Sure."

"Why are you guys like this?"

"Because you're like this."

I didn't have an answer for that.

The worst part was that they were probably right.

Because even while I pretended to listen to the conversation, I was still aware of where Brook was.

Which table she'd chosen.

Who she was sitting with.

When she laughed.

When she talked.

It was exhausting.

And completely involuntary.

At least, that's what I liked to tell myself.

Almost half an hour passed.

Thirty whole minutes during which I managed to behave like a functioning adult.

More or less.

We talked about hockey.

Classes.

Some party Logan wanted to throw.

And for the first time since Brook had walked in, I finally relaxed.

Then a song started playing.

And everything went to hell.

I recognized it immediately.

Not because it was popular.

Not because I listened to it every day.

Because it was ours.

One of those stupid songs that somehow becomes important before you even realize it.

The song Brook always played while driving.

The song that had been playing during that road trip to Boston.

The song we both pretended to hate until we knew every word by heart.

I froze.

Then I made the mistake of looking up.

Brook was staring at me.

From the other side of Malone's.

Directly at me.

She wasn't smiling.

She didn't look angry.

She was just looking at me.

Like she'd recognized the song too.

Like she was thinking the exact same thing.

The moment lasted maybe a second.

Then she looked away.

But it was already too late.

Because something had woken up inside me.

Something dangerous.

Garrett noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

"No."

"What?"

"I know you way too well for whatever you're thinking."

"I'm not thinking anything."

"That's a lie."

Logan leaned forward.

"He's plotting."

"Everybody plots."

"Not like that."

"What does that even mean?"

"The kind of plotting that ends with us having to bail you out of trouble."

I ignored both of them.

Because I'd just realized something.

The song had been requested.

At Malone's, people could pay to request songs.

Which meant somebody had chosen it.

Somebody had specifically decided to play that song.

My gaze drifted back to Brook's table.

And a terrible thought settled into my head.

What if it had been her?

Garrett must've seen the look on my face.

"Oh no. Don't turn this into a war."

"Who said anything about a war?"

"You."

"I haven't even said anything."

"That's exactly why I'm worried."

I looked toward the booth where song requests were handled.

And before my brain could remind me that I was twenty-three years old and not fifteen...

I was already standing up.

Because if Brook wanted to communicate through songs...

Well.

I knew how to play that game too.

I completely ignored Garrett and Logan shouting after me.

"Don't do anything stupid!"

Garrett yelled.

"That eliminates too many options."

"Dean!"

"Trust me."

"That's exactly why I can't."

I ignored him.

Because I'd already made my decision.

And because it was a terrible decision.

I knew that.

But terrible decisions had never really stopped me before.

I handed over a few bills and wrote down a song title.

A song Brook hated.

Not because it was bad.

Because I sang it every single time it came on.

Always off-key.

Always dramatically.

Always making her want to throw something at my head.

I returned to the table grinning.

Logan saw me sit down and slowly shook his head.

"You actually did it."

"No idea what you're talking about."

"Dean, we literally watched you request a song."

"That proves nothing."

"It proves everything."

I took a sip of my beer.

"You're both paranoid."

"And you're a disaster."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I'll take it as one."

Garrett let out such a dramatic sigh that several people turned around.

"I can't believe I'm witnessing this."

"Witnessing what?"

"The worst reconciliation attempt in human history."

"I'm not reconciling with anyone."

"Then explain why you just spent money on a song that only makes sense to the two of you."

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

Garrett smiled triumphantly.

I hated when he did that.

A minute later, the song started.

And the reaction was immediate.

Because Brook looked up.

Because she recognized it.

And because she shot me a look from across Malone's.

She didn't look angry.

She looked incredulous.

Which was somehow even better.

I lifted my bottle to hide my smile.

It didn't work.

She saw it anyway.

And rolled her eyes.

"Oh, she answered," Logan said.

"Not yet."

"That look counts."

"It doesn't."

"Shut up."

For several minutes, nothing happened.

And little by little, I started feeling ridiculous.

Maybe Garrett was right.

Maybe this was childish.

Maybe Brook wasn't thinking about me at all.

Maybe I'd imagined the whole thing.

Maybe—

Then the song ended.

And another one started.

One I knew far too well.

Because Brook listened to it every time she was mad at me.

Every single time.

Without exception.

I felt Garrett sit up straighter.

"She answered."

"She didn't."

"Dean."

"It could be a coincidence."

"And I could become an astronaut tomorrow."

Damn it.

She'd answered.

And we both knew it.

The worst part?

It didn't stop there.

One song became another.

Then another.

And at some point, I stopped paying attention to anything else happening in Malone's.

The people disappeared.

The music became a conversation.

And Brook and I were the only ones who understood the language.

A song from a road trip.

Another from a party.

One that had played the first time we'd cooked together.

A song we'd listened to for hours while studying for finals.

Memories.

Every single one of them.

Like someone was tearing pages out of a photo album and scattering them across the table.

It wasn't fun anymore.

Not anymore.

Because it was forcing me to remember.

And remembering was dangerous.

"You're smiling like an idiot."

I looked up.

Garrett was watching me.

I sighed.

Because there was no point denying it anymore.

Not with them.

Not after all these years.

"I miss her."

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Garrett lowered his bottle.

Logan stopped smiling.

And for the first time all night, nobody made a joke.

"We know," Garrett said quietly.

"Yeah," Logan added.

"I thought I was over it."

"We know that too."

"I thought I was fine."

"We know."

"And apparently I'm not."

"No."

I leaned back in my chair.

Staring at the ceiling.

Feeling strangely exhausted.

"You know what's the worst part?"

"What?" Logan asked.

"I don't even remember why we broke up anymore."

The confession hung between us.

Because it was true.

At first it had made sense.

The arguments.

The distance.

The schedules.

Everything had seemed huge.

Impossible.

Now, six months later...

It all felt small.

Ridiculously small.

"Then talk to her."

I turned toward Garrett.

"What?"

"Talk to her."

"It's not that simple."

"Yeah, it is. You two have been sending each other messages through songs for an hour."

"When you say it like that, it sounds incredibly stupid."

"Because it is incredibly stupid."

Logan laughed.

"He's got a point."

"I hate both of you."

I was about to respond when I saw movement across the bar.

My heart stopped.

Just for a second.

But it happened.

Brook had stood up.

I watched her say goodbye to her friends.

Walk across the room.

Walk toward me.

Every step felt too slow.

And when she finally reached our table, Garrett smiled.

Logan did too.

Traitors.

"I'm gonna get another beer," Garrett announced.

"Me too," Logan said immediately.

"You don't have to—"

They were already gone.

Of course.

Brook looked at the two empty chairs.

Then at me.

"Your friends are very subtle."

"They're idiots."

"That too."

A small smile appeared on her lips.

The first real smile I'd seen from her in months.

And something shifted in my chest.

Something I'd been trying to ignore for far too long.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"It's been a while."

"Yeah."

"Six months."

"You weren't counting."

"Of course not."

Her smile widened.

And for a moment it felt like stepping backward in time.

Like nothing had changed.

Like she was still her.

Like we were still us.

"So..."

She crossed her arms.

"The songs?"

"What about them?"

"You're ridiculous."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Brook laughed.

God.

I'd missed that sound.

"I thought you requested the first one."

"I thought the exact same thing."

I blinked.

"You didn't?"

"No."

"Seriously?"

"A friend requested it."

I stared at her.

Then I started laughing.

Because it was absurd.

Completely absurd.

"So all of this..."

"Was one giant misunderstanding."

"Incredible."

"Very on-brand for us."

"Yeah."

"Definitely."

The laughter slowly faded.

And the silence that followed felt different.

Softer.

More honest.

"I missed you."

I didn't know which one of us said it first.

I only knew the words were there.

Between us.

Finally.

Brook looked down.

And when she looked back up, there was something vulnerable in her eyes.

Something I recognized immediately.

Because I felt exactly the same way.

"I missed you too, Dean."

And for the first time in six months...

It felt like a conversation.

Not a war.

Not a goodbye.

Not a memory.

A conversation.

The beginning of something.

Or maybe a second chance.

Beau Maxwell x Female OC

Summary: Chloe arrives at Malone's excited to finally meet the guy she's been talking to for weeks. When he stands her up, she tries to convince herself she doesn't care. The problem is that the stranger sitting at the next table seems to figure out the truth before she does.

I showed up at Malone's fifteen minutes early because I'm an idiot.

There was really no other explanation.

A normal person would've arrived on time. A smart person would've shown up five minutes late to seem mysterious and interesting.

I showed up fifteen minutes early and had already spent seven of them staring at the door every time someone walked in.

Pathetic.

I set my phone on the table and checked my reflection in the dark screen.

My hair still looked good.

My makeup was fine.

I liked the dress.

Everything was fine.

Everything should've been fine.

After all, I'd been talking to him for weeks.

Texting during class.

Late-night phone calls.

Sending each other ridiculous pictures of our food.

Conversations that somehow lasted until two in the morning.

Enough that when he suggested meeting in person, I'd said yes without thinking twice.

And now I was here.

Waiting.

The first ten minutes were easy.

The next ten were a little harder.

By the thirty-minute mark, I'd already started making excuses for him.

Maybe there was traffic.

Maybe he couldn't find parking.

Maybe his phone died.

Maybe—

Well.

Maybe he was an asshole.

The thought crossed my mind when I checked the time for the fifth time in less than three minutes.

Forty-five minutes.

No call.

No text.

Nothing.

The waitress stopped by my table with a kind smile.

Too kind.

The kind of smile people give you when they know you're embarrassed.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"Another soda."

"Of course."

She didn't even ask if I was waiting for someone.

Because she already knew.

Everyone knew.

The dressed-up girl sitting alone by the window who couldn't stop staring at the door.

It didn't take a genius.

When she walked away, I buried my face in my hands for a second.

What a disaster.

My phone vibrated.

I looked up so fast I nearly knocked over my drink.

Finally.

I unlocked the screen.

And immediately felt my stomach drop.

Sorry. I can't make it.

That was it.

No explanation.

No real apology.

No phone call.

Just one pathetic line of text.

I read it three times.

Waiting for more.

Nothing else appeared.

"Wow."

The voice made me look up.

A guy was standing beside my table.

Tall.

Very tall.

Dark hair.

Broad shoulders.

And an expression somewhere between sympathy and amusement.

"Excuse me?"

"I was just gonna say that guy seems like a complete idiot."

I blinked.

"How do you know it's a guy?"

"Instinct."

"And how do you know I got stood up?"

His smile widened slightly.

"Because you've spent the last hour staring at the door."

Fantastic.

"You've also checked your phone about a hundred times."

Even better.

"And you just made a face like you were considering throwing it through a wall."

"Excellent."

"I wanted you to have all the facts."

Unfortunately, I laughed.

I tried not to.

I really did.

But it slipped out anyway.

And that seemed to satisfy him.

"Much better."

"What?"

"The laugh."

I shook my head.

"I don't even know who you are."

"Beau."

He pointed to the empty chair across from me.

"Mind if I sit?"

I thought about it for a few seconds.

Normally, I would've said yes.

Normally, I didn't talk to strangers.

But my date had just stood me up, and clearly my judgment when it came to men wasn't exactly at its peak.

"Go ahead."

Beau sat down.

And somehow, up close, he was even more attractive.

Which felt deeply unfair.

"I'm Chloe."

"Nice to meet you, Chloe."

"Even if you met me at my most humiliating moment."

"I've seen worse."

"I doubt it."

"I play football."

He said it with such a straight face that I laughed again.

"Fair point."

"See? We're already making progress."

"Do you always talk to abandoned girls in bars?"

"Only when they look like they're considering committing a felony."

"I was not considering a felony."

"You were thinking about it."

"Maybe a little."

"Knew it."

And somehow that was all it took.

There wasn't some big moment.

No dramatic shift.

We just... kept talking.

First about the idiot who never showed up.

Then about classes.

Then college.

Terrible professors.

Weird roommates.

Bad movies.

Food.

Anything and everything that came to mind.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped looking at the door.

I didn't even notice when it happened.

It just did.

An hour earlier, I couldn't have imagined myself laughing.

Now my cheeks hurt from smiling.

"Wait," I said suddenly. "Maxwell."

"Yeah?"

"I know that last name."

Beau sighed.

"Oh no."

"Do you play for Briar?"

"Maybe."

I narrowed my eyes.

"You're one of the football players."

"I try to keep it quiet."

"I don't think that's working."

"Damn."

I smiled.

"My brother talks about you guys all the time."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Depends on the week."

"Fair."

His smile was dangerous.

Not in the cocky way.

Not in the arrogant way.

Worse.

Because it felt genuine.

And that was a lot harder to ignore.

When I checked the time again, I nearly choked.

"What?"

"It's been three hours."

"Seriously?"

"Three hours."

Beau checked his watch.

"Huh."

"'Huh'?"

"I guess you're more entertaining than I thought."

"Wow. How sweet."

"It was a compliment."

"It was terrible."

"I'm still working on it."

The bartender announced last call.

People started gathering their things.

The lights seemed a little brighter.

And suddenly I realized the night was ending.

Which was strange.

Because I didn't want it to.

Apparently, neither did Beau.

We stood up at the same time.

Walked out of Malone's together.

The cold air hit my face immediately.

For a few seconds, we walked in silence toward the parking lot.

And for the first time since he'd sat down at my table, I felt nervous.

Ridiculously nervous.

"So," I said.

"So."

He smiled.

I smiled back.

"I have a question."

"Shoot."

I shoved my hands into my coat pockets.

"Does this count as a date?"

Beau tilted his head slightly.

Like he was considering it.

"No."

I tried to ignore the tiny wave of disappointment that hit me.

"Oh."

"Because if it were a date..."

He took a step closer.

Just one.

But it was enough to make my pulse jump.

"I'd be asking for a second one."

My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.

And Beau's smile softened.

Warmer.

Gentler.

"Are you asking?"

"Definitely."

I looked at him for a few seconds.

Thinking about the hour I'd spent staring at the door.

Thinking about the text that had almost ruined my night.

Thinking about how none of it had mattered the moment Beau sat down across from me.

Then I smiled.

"I guess I'll have to say yes."

The grin that appeared on his face made every awful second of the beginning worth it.

And as I watched him walk me to my car, I couldn't help thinking that maybe the best part of that night wasn't the person who showed up.

Dean Di Laurentis x Female OC

Summary: Dean Di Laurentis is willing to spend every last dollar he has to win a date with Emily Foster at a charity auction. The problem? He's not the only one who wants her.

If someone had told me a year ago that I'd spend a Friday night sitting in Malone's staring at a woman like a complete idiot, I would've laughed in their face.

If they'd also told me that same woman had rejected me seven times, I probably would've had them committed.

And yet...

Here I was.

Staring at Emily Foster.

Again.

"Dude, you're being weird."

I didn't even bother turning my head.

"I'm sitting."

"You're staring."

"I'm admiring."

"You've been looking in the same direction for ten minutes."

"Wow. You're observant."

"And you're creepy."

I ignored Garrett.

Mostly because he was right.

Across the bar, Emily was going over paperwork with the event organizers.

Dark hair falling over her shoulders.

Jeans.

A black jacket that probably looked completely innocent to everyone else.

I wasn't everyone else.

I was a desperate man.

A desperate man who'd been rejected repeatedly.

"How many times has it been now?" Logan asked.

"Seven."

"Eight."

"Seven."

"Dean."

"I don't count that one."

Garrett started laughing.

"The time she rejected you before you'd even finished asking her out?"

"Exactly."

"That counts double."

Traitors.

Both of them.

Emily glanced up right then.

Our eyes met.

And there it was again.

That little smile.

The same smile that had kept me interested for months.

Small.

Brief.

But real.

Then she looked away and went back to work.

Like she hadn't just completely messed with my heartbeat.

Cruel.

The woman was cruel.

"You're still in love with her."

I took a sip of my beer.

"I'm not in love."

"Sure."

"I'm not."

"Dean."

"What?"

"You'd look at her like that even if she were reading a coffee shop menu."

I didn't answer.

Because unfortunately, that was true.

Logan laughed.

"He's gone."

"Completely."

"I hate both of you."

The auction started twenty minutes later.

The goal was to raise money for scholarships for kids who dreamed of playing hockey.

A good cause.

A noble cause.

A cause I fully supported.

Especially because Emily was participating.

Students took turns going up onto the small stage.

People placed bids.

The crowd applauded.

Some raised fifty dollars.

Others a hundred.

Nothing too exciting.

I barely paid attention.

I was waiting for one thing.

One person.

And then I heard her name.

"Our next participant is Emily Foster."

Perfect.

I sat up straighter.

Garrett noticed immediately.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"You're about to do something stupid."

"I'm not doing anything stupid."

"That's exactly what someone about to do something stupid would say."

Emily stepped onto the stage.

And suddenly Malone's disappeared.

The music.

The conversations.

Everything.

Only she existed.

She picked up the microphone.

"Please remember this is for a good cause."

I raised my bidding paddle.

"One hundred dollars."

Silence.

Immediate silence.

Emily closed her eyes.

I smiled.

Life was beautiful.

"Dean..."

"What?"

"I literally just got on stage."

"And you're already winning."

"That's not how this works."

"It should be."

Laughter swept through the room.

Emily shot me a look that was probably supposed to be a warning.

The problem was I liked those looks way too much.

"One hundred dollars?" the organizer repeated.

"Correct."

"Do I hear a higher bid?"

"One hundred twenty."

...

What?

I slowly turned my head.

Very slowly.

Because some news requires emotional preparation.

Across the bar, some guy had his hand raised.

Tall.

Dark-haired.

Confident smile.

I hated him immediately.

"Who the hell is that?"

"I think he plays baseball," Logan said.

Perfect.

Now I hated baseball too.

"One fifty."

I raised my paddle again.

The stranger smiled.

"Two hundred."

"Two fifty."

"Three hundred."

Garrett was already doubled over laughing.

"This is better than hockey fights."

"Shut up."

"You're competing for a charity date."

"I'm defending my honor."

"Your honor is losing."

"Not for long."

I raised my paddle again.

"Four hundred."

The crowd let out a collective ooooh.

Emily looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

Baseball Boy wasn't backing down.

"Four fifty."

That was a mistake.

A serious mistake.

Because it triggered something inside me.

Something competitive.

Something irrational.

Something very Dean Di Laurentis.

I stood up.

"Five hundred."

Absolute silence.

Even Garrett stopped laughing.

"Five hundred dollars?" the organizer repeated.

"Yep."

"Dean..."

"Yeah?"

"You're insane."

"Probably."

Before anyone could say another word, Emily crossed the stage, took the microphone from the organizer, and pointed at both of us.

First the baseball player.

Then me.

"No."

I blinked.

"No?"

"No."

"That doesn't answer anything."

"It answers everything."

"Emily."

"This is a charity auction, not a testosterone competition."

The entire room exploded with laughter.

Including me.

Because honestly...

She was right.

And somehow that was the worst part.

Emily was avoiding me.

I knew she was.

Because she'd spent the last fifteen minutes pretending to clean things that were already clean.

A box of flyers.

A table.

The same table again.

She'd even rearranged napkins that had already been perfectly arranged.

She was running away.

And I'd spent months chasing her.

So I didn't really see why tonight should be any different.

"You know, you could just admit I won."

Emily kept walking.

"You didn't win anything."

"I spent five hundred dollars."

"That proves a concerning lack of self-control."

"That proves commitment."

"That proves you need professional help."

I grinned.

There she was.

The Emily I knew.

The one who always had a comeback ready.

The one who never seemed impressed by my jokes.

The one who never reacted the way the rest of the university did when they treated me like God's gift to women.

Emily Foster was the only person at Briar who seemed completely immune to my charm.

And for some reason, that only made me want her more.

She set a box down on a table.

"I can't believe you spent five hundred dollars."

"It was for a good cause."

"Liar."

"The best cause."

"Dean."

"Emily."

She slowly turned toward me.

"The hockey program got money."

"Correct."

"Because you were trying to buy a date."

"Technically, I was donating."

"Dean."

"Fine. Yes. I wanted the date."

Emily sighed.

"You're impossible."

"So I've been told."

"Because it's true."

I stepped a little closer.

"And yet you keep talking to me."

She opened her mouth.

Closed it.

And for the first time, she actually seemed speechless.

I liked that far more than I should have.

Way more.

The bar was nearly empty now.

The guys had left a while ago.

The organizers were packing up the last few things.

The music had quieted.

And for the first time all night, I didn't feel like I was performing.

I wasn't trying to impress her.

I wasn't flirting.

Well.

Maybe a little.

But that wasn't the point.

I just wanted to stay there.

With her.

"Why?"

The question came so suddenly it caught me off guard.

"What?"

Emily crossed her arms.

"Why do you keep trying?"

"Because I like you."

"Dean."

"What?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

And I think that was the first time she realized it.

Because her expression changed.

Softened.

Just a little.

But enough.

"You could date practically any girl at Briar."

"I don't want practically any girl."

Silence.

"I want this one."

I pointed at her.

Emily rolled her eyes.

"That wasn't nearly as charming as you think it was."

"It worked a little."

"It didn't work."

"It worked a little."

The corner of her mouth twitched.

Like she was trying not to smile.

And that tiny victory made me ridiculously proud.

"I don't understand how you don't give up."

"I've considered it."

"Really?"

"For about three seconds."

She laughed.

And damn.

There it was again.

That laugh.

The same one I'd been trying to earn for months.

The same one that somehow made everything feel easier.

Lighter.

Simpler.

"You're exhausting."

"I know."

"And arrogant."

"I know that too."

"And way too confident."

"Definitely know that."

Emily shook her head.

But she was still smiling.

And then something strange happened.

Because suddenly she didn't look like she was searching for an excuse to leave.

She didn't look desperate to escape me anymore.

She was just looking at me.

Like she was trying to figure something out.

Like she was seeing a version of me that usually stayed hidden behind jokes and cocky smiles.

"How many times have you asked me out?"

"The official count or the unofficial one?"

"Dean."

"Seven."

"It was more than that."

"Thank you for acknowledging my effort."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I'll take it anyway."

She laughed again.

And for some reason, that time I felt something strange in my chest.

Something uncomfortably close to nerves.

Which was ridiculous.

I didn't get nervous.

I was Dean Di Laurentis.

Women made me about as nervous as puppies.

Except Emily.

Emily seemed to have a special talent for making me question everything I knew about myself.

"What if I said yes?"

I blinked.

"What?"

"Hypothetically."

"I don't like hypothetical questions."

"Hypothetically."

I took a step closer.

"Hypothetically."

"What would happen if I agreed to go on a date with you?"

"It would be the best night of your life."

"Wow. The ego."

"The second-best."

"And the first?"

I smiled.

"The night you said yes."

Emily laughed.

And this time she didn't try to hide it.

She didn't look away.

She didn't change the subject.

She just stood there.

Smiling.

Looking at me.

And for the first time since I'd met her, I had the feeling that maybe...

Just maybe...

She was starting to lower her defenses.

"Okay."

My heart stopped.

Literally stopped.

"Okay what?"

"One date."

Silence.

"One date?"

"Yes."

"With me?"

"No, Dean. With the bartender."

"Very funny."

Emily smiled.

And I swear to God I'd never seen anything more beautiful.

"Friday."

"Friday?"

"Yes."

"This Friday?"

"There's only one Friday this week."

I couldn't help it.

I grinned like a complete idiot.

And for the first time all night, I didn't care.

Because after months of rejection.

After seven failed attempts.

After spending five hundred dollars.

I'd finally gotten what I wanted.

A chance.

And when Emily walked past me toward the exit, her arm brushed lightly against mine.

Just for a second.

Just for a moment.

But it was enough to leave me standing there watching her go with a stupid smile on my face.

"Worth every penny," I murmured.

And for the first time all night, I was pretty sure the five hundred dollars hadn't been the best part of the story.

Garrett Graham x Female OC

Warnings: sexual themes, vaginal penetration, touching, swearing.

Summary: Garrett has spent all night trying to act normal. The problem is, Ivy is wearing his shirt, and he's forgotten how to behave like a normal person.

The music was blasting through the entire house.

The kitchen was packed.

The living room was even worse.

And the backyard looked like an extension of the party.

Garrett was leaning against the kitchen island with a beer in hand, trying to have a normal conversation with Logan.

Trying.

Because for the last ten minutes, he'd been checking the front door every thirty seconds.

"You're gonna wear a hole through it if you keep staring."

Garrett frowned.

"What?"

Logan pointed toward the door.

"That."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't."

Dean appeared beside them wearing a smug grin.

"Is she here yet?"

"Who?"

Both of them looked at him.

"You're a terrible liar," Logan said.

"Awful," Dean added.

Garrett was about to answer when the front door opened.

And suddenly he stopped hearing anything they were saying.

Because Ivy had just walked in.

And fuck.

The air left his lungs.

"There she is," Dean murmured.

Garrett barely heard him.

All of his attention was on her.

Her smile.

Her hair.

And especially...

The oversized blue shirt she was wearing.

His shirt.

He'd recognize that shirt anywhere.

He'd been looking for it for two weeks.

Now he knew exactly where it had ended up.

Ivy moved through the crowd, greeting people along the way.

Completely unaware of the effect she was having.

Or maybe not completely unaware.

Because when she looked up and found Garrett staring at her, a slow smile spread across her lips.

Jesus Christ.

The shirt fell halfway down her thighs.

The sleeves swallowed her arms.

And the wide collar exposed a tempting stretch of her collarbone.

Garrett swallowed hard.

"Oh."

Dean started laughing.

"Okay, now I see the problem."

"Shut up."

"She hasn't even made it over here yet and you already look like you're on the verge of a breakdown."

"Shut up."

Logan was laughing too.

"That's your shirt."

"I know."

"The one you spent days looking for."

"I know."

Dean raised his hands.

"Well, buddy, if you need a minute to pull yourself together—"

"Dean."

"I'm just trying to help."

"Disappear."

Ivy finally reached them.

"Hi."

Her voice alone was enough to destroy whatever remained of Garrett's self-control.

His gaze dropped.

Again.

To the shirt.

Mistake.

Huge mistake.

Because now she was much closer.

"Hey."

She smiled.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you forgot how to talk."

Dean let out a bark of laughter.

"Because he's in love with you."

"Because you're wearing my shirt," Garrett growled.

Ivy looked down.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Does it bother you?"

"No."

It didn't bother him.

That was exactly the problem.

He liked it way too much.

And that was causing issues.

A lot of issues.

Ivy seemed to realize that.

Because a mischievous smile appeared on her face.

"Then I'm keeping it."

Dean smacked Garrett on the shoulder.

"He's done for."

"Completely."

Garrett decided he'd suffered enough.

"I'm getting another beer."

"Coward!" Dean shouted after him.

He ignored him.

Half an hour later, things were even worse.

Actually, much worse.

Because Ivy had decided to sit beside him on the couch.

Very close.

Way too close.

And every time she moved, the shirt rode up a little higher.

Garrett was losing the battle.

And he knew it.

"You're acting weird."

Ivy's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"I'm not acting weird."

"Yes, you are."

She leaned closer.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Garrett."

"Ivy."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Answer a question with another question."

A laugh slipped from him.

"Because it works."

"It's not working."

Touché.

Ivy studied him for a few seconds.

Then smiled.

One of those dangerous smiles.

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"Upstairs."

Garrett felt his heart jump.

"Upstairs?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because there are about a hundred people down here."

Not a bad argument.

Actually, it was an excellent argument.

Five minutes later they were walking into his room.

The noise of the party faded behind the closed door.

Silence.

Well.

Relative silence.

Garrett leaned back against the door.

Ivy turned toward him.

And for a few seconds neither of them spoke.

Because now they were alone.

Really alone.

"So."

Garrett sighed.

"So."

She crossed her arms.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Uh-huh."

Ivy took a step closer.

"What's going on?"

Garrett looked at her.

The shirt.

Her smile.

Her eyes.

All of it.

And finally decided to give up.

"I've been thinking about you all night."

Ivy's smile turned bolder.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That doesn't sound like a problem."

"Trust me."

A soft laugh escaped her.

"Why?"

Garrett shook his head.

"Because every time I look at you..."

His eyes drifted to the shirt again.

Ivy followed his gaze.

And instantly understood.

Completely.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Is it because of this?"

She tugged lightly on the fabric.

Garrett closed his eyes for a second.

"You're not helping."

When he opened them again, Ivy was much closer.

And that definitely wasn't helping either.

"Seems like it bothers you."

"It doesn't bother me."

"Then what?"

"It's distracting."

The smile returned.

"A lot?"

"You have no idea."

Ivy stepped closer.

And then another.

Until she was practically standing against him.

"Poor baby."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm enjoying this way too much."

"I can tell."

She rested a hand on his chest.

Such a simple gesture.

Such an innocent one.

And yet Garrett could feel every last bit of his composure starting to disappear.

"You're thinking too much."

"Probably."

"Stop."

"I'm trying."

"Doesn't look like it."

"Because you're too close."

Ivy smiled.

And before he could say anything else, she kissed him.

The conversation ended immediately.

Garrett wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

Closer.

Even closer.

She laughed softly against his lips.

"Hi."

"Hi, baby."

"Are you still worried?"

"Much less."

"Good."

She kissed him again.

And Garrett stopped trying to think, because honestly, he couldn't anymore. Ivy wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her even closer, squeezing her bottom, which made her let out a small moan.

"Honey," Garrett murmured, looking at her.

A small smile appeared on Ivy's face before he leaned down to kiss her lips softly, then slowly trailed down to her neck—"Please."

She didn't need to be told twice. Garrett's hand traveled down her body, caressing her entire body until it reached her tiny shorts. He unbuttoned them and slipped his hand beneath her underwear, slowly circling her clitoris, which made her arch her hips against him.

Ivy's moans escaped her lips as he caressed her entrance. Garrett slid a finger inside her, surprising her with a loud moan. He kissed her—"Like that." Ivy nodded quickly against him as he slowly moved in and out of her. "So cute," he murmured, moving his thumb to tease her clitoris again, circling it right where it should be.

"Garrett," she murmured as he thrust into her again.

"I'm not going to let you come, don't worry, we'll do it together." He moved his fingers faster where she needed it most before pulling out when he knew she was close.

She sighed, and Garrett pulled his shirt over his head. When she was about to do the same, Garrett stopped her.

"Leave it on, beautiful," he said, his voice trembling. "I want to fuck you with your shirt on. Just pull it up high enough so I can suck on those gorgeous tits." He kissed her and helped her take off her shorts.

He led her to his bed and laid her down on his soft sheets. He climbed on top of her, admiring her, and sighed, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky.

She winced, but obeyed, lying back and pulling her shirt up over her breasts as she looked at him.

He sat up to take off his pants and boxers, threw them on the floor, and slowly approached her. His hands rested on her bent knees, and he spread them apart, savoring how wet she already was. He reached for his nightstand and took out a condom, and as he put it on, Ivy reveled in his already erect penis.

She reached out and grasped his hard penis, caressing it briefly. Damn, he was so hot.

"Honey, come on," she moaned, as he quickly positioned himself, his penis nestled between the lips of her pussy.

"What's wrong, gorgeous?" he asked teasingly as he began rubbing the tip of his penis against her, sliding it against her hypersensitive clitoris. "What do you need?"

Ivy writhed beneath him. "I need you to fuck me."

A small chuckle escaped his lips in his desperation. "Your wish is my command," he said as he positioned himself right at her entrance.

They both groaned as he slid inside her, his hips beginning to move. She lowered her arms until they rested on his back, and he let out a groan as his nails dug into her skin.

"You feel fucking good. I could stay here forever," Garrett murmured, supporting her body with one hand while the other gripped the headboard.

His pelvis slammed against her clitoris with each thrust, and soon she felt the heat rising again, her whole body trembling as her orgasm intensified.

"Garrett, baby, I'm close, please," Ivy's voice was strained as she took his hand from the headboard and placed it between them. "Please, touch me."

He brought his fingers to her, inviting her to suck on them before sliding them down to her clitoris and rubbing it in quick, circular motions, causing her to cry out.

Her pussy tightened as orgasm washed over her. He let out a groan as he felt it tighten around him, and soon after, he came too.

He slid out once he relaxed, leaned down, and kissed her lips before lying down beside her.

They were both smiling.

"I don't think you want to go back downstairs."

"What a coincidence."

"Why?"

"Because neither do I."

Garrett watched her for a few seconds.

Then he raised a hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

She leaned slightly toward the touch.

And that was enough for him to kiss her again.

Slowly this time.

Without rushing.

As if they had the whole night ahead of them.

And maybe they did.

Dean Di Laurentis x Female OC

Summary: Brook thought walking away from Dean was the right thing to do. Years later, they both discover that some decisions can haunt you forever.

Dean knew exactly what he was doing.

That was the problem.

Because if it had been accidental, if he had actually been having fun with the blonde sitting on his lap, maybe Brook could've pretended she didn't care.

But it wasn't accidental.

It was deliberate.

Calculated.

Cruel.

And the worst part was that Brook knew it.

She knew because she knew Dean better than anyone.

Or at least she used to.

Three years.

Three goddamn years.

Three years since she'd last seen him.

Three years since she'd made the worst decision of her life.

And yet, when she glanced across the party and found Dean smiling while some girl whispered in his ear, she felt the exact same pain she'd felt the day she left.

"Don't do it," Hannah murmured beside her.

Brook let out a bitter laugh.

"Do what?"

"Look at him."

Too late.

Because she couldn't stop.

Dean was leaning against the makeshift bar in the kitchen.

Relaxed.

Confident.

Beautiful.

Just like always.

And surrounded by women.

Just like always.

The difference was that now it seemed like he was doing it for her.

Every smile.

Every touch.

Every exaggerated laugh.

All of it was aimed directly at Brook.

Like a silent war.

And Dean was winning.

Because it was working.

God.

It was working way too well.

Brook looked away.

Tried to focus on the conversation.

Tried to listen to Hannah.

Tried to do literally anything except watch Dean.

It lasted about thirty seconds.

When she looked back, he was already staring at her.

And smiling.

A slow smile.

Arrogant.

Provocative.

The kind of smile that had always ruined her.

Then the blonde placed a hand on his chest.

And Dean didn't move it away.

Something cracked inside her.

"I'm going to the bathroom."

Hannah looked at her with sympathy.

"Brook..."

"I'm fine."

Lie.

A huge lie.

She was furious.

Hurt.

And ridiculously jealous.

The worst part was that she had no right to be.

She was the one who ended things.

She was the one who left.

She was the one who walked away.

So why did it still hurt so much?

When she stepped outside into the backyard for some air, the last thing she expected was to find Dean there.

Alone.

Leaning against the railing.

Staring into the darkness.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Dean let out a quiet laugh.

"Get lost?"

Brook clenched her jaw.

"You're an asshole."

"So I've been told."

"You're doing it on purpose."

Dean slowly turned toward her.

"Doing what?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like you don't know what I'm talking about."

His smile faded slightly.

Just slightly.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar."

"And you're suddenly an expert on honesty?"

The hit landed perfectly.

Direct.

Precise.

Effective.

Brook felt her throat tighten.

Because there it was.

The real problem.

Not the blonde.

Not the party.

Not the jealousy.

The three years.

The three years they hadn't spoken.

The three years that had destroyed everything.

"You done?" Dean asked.

"What?"

"Because if you're going to keep staring at me every time I talk to a woman, you could at least admit it's weird."

Brook froze.

"Excuse me?"

Dean laughed without humor.

"Come on, Brook."

"..."

"You've been watching me all night."

"Because you were practically glued to that girl."

"And?"

"And?"

"Yeah. And?"

The anger exploded.

All of it.

At once.

"Because it bothers me!"

Silence fell between them.

Dean stopped smiling.

So did Brook.

Because she'd said it.

And she couldn't take it back.

"It bothers you?" Dean asked.

His voice sounded different now.

Lower.

More serious.

Brook swallowed.

"Yeah."

"Interesting."

"Dean..."

"Because you're the one who left me."

That hurt.

God, it hurt.

"I know."

"No. You don't."

Dean ran a hand through his hair.

And for the first time, she saw something behind the sarcasm.

Something broken.

"You have no idea."

Tears burned behind her eyes.

"Dean..."

"Three years."

His voice shook slightly.

"Three years wondering what the hell I did wrong."

That was worse than any shout.

Worse than any insult.

Because it was real.

"You didn't do anything."

Dean let out a bitter laugh.

"Sure."

"It's true."

"Then explain it to me."

Brook closed her eyes.

Because the moment had finally come.

The moment she'd spent weeks avoiding.

"My dad lost his job."

Dean blinked.

"What?"

"We moved because we didn't have a choice."

"Brook..."

"Let me finish."

The tears started falling.

And this time she couldn't stop them.

"I was scared."

Dean didn't move.

"Scared of what?"

"Of losing you."

Confusion crossed his face.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I know."

"Then explain it."

Brook took a shaky breath.

"I thought a long-distance relationship would destroy us."

"..."

"I thought you'd resent me."

I thought you'd end up hating me.

I thought you'd stop focusing on hockey trying to make something impossible work.

I thought I was protecting you.

Dean went completely still.

And somehow that was worse.

Because Brook would've preferred if he'd yelled.

If he'd gotten angry.

If he'd done anything.

Anything but this.

Anything but the silence.

Finally, he spoke.

"So you decided to break my heart first."

Brook broke down.

Because yes.

Because that was the truth.

Because that's exactly what she'd done.

And because she'd spent three years regretting it.

She had no idea how long they stood there.

Maybe minutes.

Maybe hours.

All she knew was that she was tired.

So tired.

Of lying.

Of running.

Of pretending.

"I still love you."

The confession slipped out before she could stop it.

Dean lifted his head.

Brook let out a broken laugh.

"Pathetic, right?"

"Brook..."

"I tried to forget you."

I tried to move on.

I tried to convince myself I'd made the right choice.

And it never worked.

Dean never looked away.

Not once.

"It never worked," she repeated.

And then something unexpected happened.

Dean stepped closer.

Slowly.

Like he didn't want to scare her.

Like he still wasn't sure.

Until he was standing right in front of her.

Close.

Too close.

"Do you know what the worst part is?" he asked quietly.

Brook shook her head.

Dean let out a sad laugh.

"I couldn't forget you either."

That finally shattered her.

Because for three years she'd been convinced she was the only one.

The only one still stuck.

The only one still looking back.

The only one unable to move on.

And now she knew she wasn't.

Dean lifted a hand.

Brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.

Such a simple gesture.

Gentle.

Familiar.

And somehow it almost made her cry again.

"I hated you."

Brook closed her eyes.

"I know."

"A lot."

"I know."

"And still..."

His voice cracked.

Just barely.

"I never stopped loving you."

Brook's heart stopped.

Dean rested his forehead against hers.

And for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Because there were no words left.

Just them.

And all the years they'd lost.

"This time," Dean whispered, "don't disappear."

Brook opened her eyes.

Looked at him.

And smiled through her tears.

"I'm not going anywhere."

John Logan x Female OC

Summary: Dating Olivia Bennett in secret for six months was already complicated. Becoming the hockey team's new physical therapist makes it nearly impossible. Olivia is used to hiding kisses, dates, and lingering glances—until Hunter Davenport arrives and starts testing Logan's patience. Because pretending they aren't together is one thing. Watching another player flirt with his girlfriend and not being able to do anything about it is another.

Dating Olivia Bennett for six months had taught me a lot of things.

For example, that it was impossible to focus when she was nearby.

That I liked the way she laughed when she was tired.

And that keeping a relationship secret was a terrible idea.

A truly terrible idea.

"Are you coming in, or are you gonna stand there all day?"

Garrett's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I looked up.

The entire team was already inside the gym.

And I was still standing in the hallway, staring at Olivia.

She was organizing bandages and ice packs in the physical therapy room.

Completely focused.

Completely beautiful.

Completely out of reach.

At least in public.

I sighed.

"I'm coming."

Garrett shot me a strange look.

"You've been acting weird lately."

"I'm not acting weird."

"Sure."

"Shut up."

I headed into the gym before he could ask more questions.

Because the last thing I needed was someone figuring out our secret.

Relationships between players and medical staff weren't exactly encouraged by the university.

It wasn't technically forbidden.

But it was enough to cause problems.

That's why Olivia and I had agreed to keep things private.

At least until the end of the season.

It had sounded like a good idea.

Six months ago.

Now it just felt like torture.

Practice ended two hours later.

I was exhausted.

Sweaty.

And desperate to see my girlfriend.

Even if I couldn't actually act like her boyfriend.

I walked into the physical therapy room with some excuse about shoulder pain.

A lie.

My shoulder was perfectly fine.

Olivia looked up when I entered.

For a split second, she smiled.

A small smile.

Reserved.

The kind no one else would've noticed.

But I did.

Because I'd been in love with her for six months.

"What hurts?"

"Nothing."

"Logan."

"I wanted to see you."

A soft laugh escaped her.

"You're impossible."

"And you missed me."

"I saw you two hours ago."

"Exactly."

I was about to answer when a voice appeared behind me.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Fuck.

Hunter Davenport.

The new guy.

Olivia immediately stepped back.

So did I.

Like nothing had happened.

Like we weren't together.

Like I hadn't spent the previous night asleep in her apartment.

"Need something?" Olivia asked.

Hunter leaned against the doorframe.

"I banged up my knee."

"Is it serious?"

"Not as serious as my pride."

Olivia smiled.

Hunter smiled back.

And something ugly settled in my stomach.

I had no reason to worry.

I knew that.

Olivia loved me.

I trusted her.

Completely.

The problem was Hunter.

Because Hunter was attractive.

Funny.

Confident.

And very obviously interested.

I noticed it the first time.

Confirmed it the second.

By the third, I wanted to throw him through a wall.

"You're staring again."

I looked up.

Garrett was sitting beside me in the locker room.

"Staring at what?"

"Hunter."

"I'm not."

I hated these conversations.

Because they always ended the same way.

"Why do you care so much about what he's doing?"

"I don't."

"Sure."

"I just find him annoying."

"Uh-huh."

"Very annoying."

Garrett started laughing.

"You're jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

"Logan."

"No."

"Logan."

"No."

"Logan."

"Go to hell."

Garrett nearly fell off the bench laughing.

Things got worse over the next few weeks.

Not because Hunter did anything terrible.

But because he was nice.

Too nice.

He always found a reason to stop by physical therapy.

Always had something to say to Olivia.

Always managed to make her laugh.

And I had to watch it all from a distance.

Unable to interfere.

Unable to hold her hand.

Unable to kiss her.

Unable to remind the entire world that she was my girlfriend.

One afternoon I walked into the athletic center and found a scene that nearly made me lose my mind.

Hunter was sitting on one of the treatment tables.

Olivia was examining his shoulder.

Nothing strange.

Nothing professionally inappropriate.

But Hunter was smiling.

And Olivia was smiling too.

"What's going on here?"

Both of them turned toward me.

Olivia shot me a warning look.

I ignored it.

Hunter shrugged.

"Olivia was telling me a story."

My jaw tightened.

"Sounds fun."

"It was."

"Glad to hear it."

I wasn't.

Not even a little.

That night I went to Olivia's apartment.

One of our rare nights off.

The second I stepped through the door, she pointed at me.

"No."

"What?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That face."

"What's wrong with my face?"

"Hunter."

Damn it.

I dropped onto the couch.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar."

"I'm not a liar."

"John Logan."

It was never a good sign when she used my full name.

"What?"

"You're jealous."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

She crossed her arms.

"Do you want to keep doing this all night?"

"No."

"Good."

Silence.

"I'm a little jealous."

Olivia smiled.

"I knew it."

"It's not funny."

"A little."

"No."

"A lot."

I sighed.

Because I was losing that argument.

As always.

"He just annoys me."

"What does?"

"Him."

"Why?"

"Because he likes you."

The smile slowly disappeared from her face.

"Honey..."

"I know."

"What do you know?"

"That you'd never do anything."

"Correct."

"And I know you love me."

"Also correct."

"But he still likes the idea of trying."

Olivia moved closer.

Sat down beside me.

And took my hand.

"Look at me."

I did.

"I don't want Hunter."

"I know."

"I'm not interested in Hunter."

"I know."

"I want you."

Those three words had the same effect they always did.

Like someone had flipped a switch inside my chest.

"That helps."

"I'm glad."

"I still can't stand him."

She laughed again.

Two days later, disaster struck.

The team had just finished practice.

Everyone was exhausted.

Me included.

And all I wanted was a shower.

Until I saw Hunter walk into the gym carrying a cup of coffee.

It didn't seem important.

Until he kept walking.

Straight toward Olivia.

My heart sank.

"No."

Garrett appeared beside me.

"What?"

"Look."

He did.

And immediately started smiling.

The asshole.

"Oh."

"Shut up."

"This is gonna be good."

"It's not gonna be good."

"For me, it is."

Hunter stopped in front of Olivia.

Handed her the coffee.

She looked surprised.

They exchanged a few words.

Then she smiled.

And accepted it.

I suddenly wanted to scream.

"Breathe."

"I am breathing."

"Doesn't look like it."

"I'm gonna kill him."

"No."

"Maybe a little."

Garrett was enjoying this far too much.

That night, I went straight to Olivia's apartment.

And the second she opened the door, I knew something was wrong.

Because she was smiling.

A lot.

"No."

"What?"

"Don't laugh."

"I can't help it."

"Olivia."

"Garrett called me."

Traitor.

"I'm gonna kill him."

"He said that too."

"It's not funny."

"Yes, it is."

I collapsed onto the couch.

Defeated.

Humiliated.

Completely exposed.

Olivia climbed into my lap.

Wrapped her arms around my neck.

"Was it really that bad?"

"He brought you coffee."

"Yes."

"You."

"Yes."

"I hate coffee."

"I know."

She buried her face in my neck to hide her laughter.

"You're being ridiculous."

"Probably."

"Definitely."

I sighed.

"I'm tired."

That finally made her stop teasing.

"Tired of what?"

The answer came out before I could stop it.

"Pretending."

Olivia went still.

"Honey..."

"I'm tired of acting like you're not my girlfriend."

Her expression softened immediately.

Because she understood.

"I'm tired of not being able to hold you."

My voice came out quieter than I expected.

"Not being able to kiss you."

She squeezed my hand.

"Seeing you every day and acting like you're just another coworker."

Silence filled the room.

"I'm tired too."

I looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Very."

And suddenly it didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

Keeping the secret.

Waiting.

Hiding.

It had all started to feel too heavy.

The reveal happened the next day.

And it was entirely Olivia's fault.

Practice had just ended.

The whole team was still in the gym.

Garrett was talking to Dean.

Hunter was standing near the exit.

And I was putting away my gear when Olivia walked in.

I didn't think anything of it.

Until she started walking toward me.

Directly toward me.

"Olivia?"

She didn't answer.

Just kept walking.

Everyone started watching her.

Including me.

"What are you doing?"

A small smile appeared on her lips.

"I'm tired."

"Of what?"

"Of hiding."

And before I could respond.

Before I could process it.

Before I could react.

Olivia cupped my face.

And kissed me.

Right there.

In front of the entire team.

The whole gym fell silent.

Completely silent.

When we finally pulled apart, I heard a laugh.

Garrett.

Of course.

"I knew it."

Dean pointed at Tucker.

"Told you they were together."

"I knew too," Tucker replied.

"Since when?" Hunter asked.

Garrett laughed again.

"For months."

"They were terrible at hiding it."

"Horrible."

"Pathetic."

I looked at Olivia.

She was blushing.

I probably was too.

But for the first time in a long time, I didn't care.

Because I didn't have to pretend anymore.

I didn't have to watch from a distance.

I didn't have to act like she wasn't mine.

Olivia laced her fingers through mine.

And smiled.

"Hi, boyfriend."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling back.

Dean Di Laurentis x Female OC

Summary: Mady lands her dream job covering the college hockey tournament. Dean is thrilled for her—right up until a sports reporter starts showing up everywhere. And while Dean insists he's not jealous, his friends seem to think otherwise.

I'm not a jealous person.

It's important to establish that right from the start.

People have a completely inaccurate image of me. Just because I've had a few perfectly reasonable reactions over the years, my friends seem convinced that I'm the jealous type.

I'm not.

I'm observant.

There's a difference.

A very important difference.

And at that moment, I was observing something I didn't like one bit.

"You're gonna wear a hole through the glass if you keep staring like that."

I ignored Garrett.

Mostly because I was busy.

Observing.

"Dean."

"What?"

"You've been doing the exact same thing for ten minutes."

I ignored him again.

Sometimes Garrett acted like he didn't understand that certain situations required surveillance.

For example, the situation currently unfolding about twenty yards away.

Mady was standing by the rink.

A camera hanging around her neck.

Smiling.

And the reason for that smile was exactly the problem.

Noah Carter.

Sports reporter.

Editor of the university newspaper's sports section and, apparently, the funniest man to ever walk the earth.

At least according to Mady.

Because she had just laughed again.

Not a polite smile.

Not a quick little chuckle.

A real laugh.

The kind that made her eyes light up.

"Oh my God," Garrett muttered.

"What?"

"You're jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

"You literally just clenched your jaw."

"I'm hungry."

"Sure."

"I mean it."

"And I'm a professional dancer."

Garrett walked away before I could respond.

Traitor.

They were all traitors.

The thing was, Mady loved her new job, and I loved that she loved her new job.

I really did.

When she landed the temporary position covering the college tournament, she'd been beyond excited.

She spent days talking about interviews, articles, and photography assignments.

And seeing her happy always made me happy.

Most of the time.

The problem was that the job involved working with Noah.

And Noah was always there.

Always.

Every time I showed up at the arena.

Noah.

Every time I picked Mady up after class.

Noah.

Every time I opened Instagram.

Noah was lurking somewhere in a group photo from the newspaper staff.

It was unsettling.

"You know this is starting to look like an obsession, right?"

I glanced up.

Logan had just dropped into the seat beside me.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't."

"I don't."

"Dean."

"What?"

Logan subtly pointed toward the rink.

"They're interviewing players."

I looked automatically.

And there they were.

Mady holding a notebook.

Noah talking to one of the players.

Nothing weird.

Nothing suspicious.

Nothing that justified the increasingly bad mood I'd been carrying around for the last two weeks.

And yet...

I didn't like it.

"It's literally her job."

I turned toward him.

"What?"

"What you're thinking."

"I'm not thinking anything."

"Liar."

"Why does everyone think they know me so well?"

"Because you're ridiculously easy to read."

That was offensive.

Deeply offensive.

I was an extremely complicated person.

Things got worse on Saturday.

Not because anything happened.

But because absolutely nothing happened.

And somehow that made it worse.

We'd just won a huge game. Everyone was celebrating. Players were pouring out of the locker rooms, reporters were running around trying to get interviews, and the whole arena was buzzing with energy.

And I was looking for Mady.

I found her near one of the exits.

She was scrolling through photos on her camera screen.

And Noah was standing beside her.

Again.

Of course.

A gust of cold air drifted in from outside and blew Mady's hair across her face.

She tried brushing it away several times.

Without much success.

Then Noah did something completely innocent.

He draped his jacket over her shoulders.

That was it.

No hugs.

No flirting.

Nothing.

Just a jacket.

Because it was cold.

A normal person would've thought exactly that.

It's cold.

That was nice of him.

I wasn't a normal person at that moment.

"Oh no."

Garrett's voice appeared beside me.

"What?"

"I just saw your face."

"And?"

"You're imagining murder."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

"I'm thinking."

"That's somehow more concerning."

Garrett started laughing.

I didn't.

Because Mady was smiling again, and suddenly I felt irrationally irritated.

Not at her.

Never at her.

At him.

Even though he hadn't done anything wrong.

Even though he was probably a nice guy.

Even though I didn't have a single valid reason to dislike him.

I just...

Didn't.

That night Mady showed up at my apartment.

The second she stepped through the door, she pointed a finger at me.

"You."

"Hello to you too."

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"No."

"Dean."

"Mady."

"You've been weird for weeks."

"I have not."

She crossed her arms.

The look on her face made it painfully clear she wasn't buying any of my nonsense.

And honestly?

Neither was I.

"Does this have something to do with Noah?"

Damn it.

"No."

"Dean."

"What?"

"It has something to do with Noah."

I stayed silent.

Mistake.

Huge mistake.

Because her eyes immediately widened.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"It's Noah."

"It's not Noah."

"It's Noah."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

I hated when she did that because she always won.

Mady stepped closer.

"Baby, are you jealous?"

"No."

"Dean."

"No."

"Dean."

"...A little."

She burst out laughing so hard it felt like a personal betrayal.

"That's not funny."

"Yes, it is."

"No."

"It's hilarious."

I dropped onto the couch.

She was still laughing.

Without a shred of sympathy.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"A little."

"You know what's the best part?"

"I don't want to know."

"Noah has a girlfriend."

I blinked.

"What?"

"For the last three years."

Silence.