Page 17 of Pucked On Camera

"Let's get out of here," I suggest. "I've got the perfect dessert waiting back at my place."

Riley's eyebrows lift in interest, the corners of his mouth curving into a grin that promises trouble—and I'm all for it. We shed our skates and grab our belongings.

We step outside, and Riley drapes his jacket over my shoulders, his fingers brushing my collarbone lightly. The gesture is intimate, sending another wave of heat through me.

"Your chariot awaits," he jokes, gesturing towards his car and making me giggle.

The ride starts off with the usual conversation of music preferences. As the city lights blur on the ride, Riley's tone shifts, and he begins to ask questions that go deeper than just surface level.

"Ever think about how nice anonymity can be?" he asks, his gaze flickers to me, then back to the road. "Like, on online platforms where no one knows who you are?"

The question catches me off-guard, a lump forming in my throat. Is he onto me? Did he see my studio after all, he hasn’t acted like he had since that morning her left my place.

"Sure," I say, keeping my answer simple. "It's... freeing, in a way."

"Exactly," he nods, seeming to be satisfied with my response. Yet there's still a small smile and the look of curiosity in his eyes. "You know, gaming platforms, forums... it's easier to just be yourself without any baggage."

"Right, right." I force a laugh, though it sounds more like I'm choking on the word. "Baggage is the worst."

There's a lingering silence, filled only by the hum of the engine and the occasional whirl of passing cars.

He glances my way again, and I wonder if he sees through the tension I'm trying so hard to mask. His next words come slowly, deliberately.

"Amelia, what's your favorite part about working with the Blades?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," I deflect, eager to steer away from dangerous territory. "Honestly, the perk of having free home game tickets where I can go watch the games."

"Oh, so you like to watch me play," he says, glancing over to me with a wide smile.

“Not just you, the whole game,” I respond and tap his arm playfully.

“Right…” He drags the word out and winks at me.

As we pull up to my apartment building, my brain is running questions through it. What does Riley know? How much has he guessed? However, there’s something there that tells me he's not here to judge or pry—he's genuinely interested in who I am, secrets and all.

"Thanks for the ride," I say as we climb out of the car. "Now, let's go see about that dessert."

"Lead the way," he replies.

We step into the elevator, and as it raises up to my floor, Riley leans back against the wall, watching me. "So, Amelia, tell me about your family," he asks casually.

"Ah, they're... There’s not much tell," I quip, evading a direct answer. My family is not a topic I'm quite ready to talk about to him. "What about yours? Any siblings?"

"Actually, yeah," Riley says, his face lighting up. "My sister, Kindra. She's got this wedding next year—it's like her full-time job planning it. Mom's all in too. Truly, it's all they talk about." He rolls his eyes. "I think my dad and I are counting down the days until it's over just as much as Kindra is until it happens."

"Wedding fever, huh?" I laugh, imagining Riley dodging bridesmaids and escaping from endless conversations about floral arrangements and color schemes. "Sounds intense."

"Understatement of the year," he chuckles, shaking his head. The elevator dings, and the metal door slides open.

As we walk down the hallway to my door, Riley throws another question my way, one that makes me tense up despite the casualness of his tone. "This is a nice place you've got. How do you manage it on a Blades' salary?"

"Good budgeting," I say quickly, my mind racing for a subject change. "And some luck." I unlock my door, grateful for the distraction. "You want coffee with dessert?"

"Sure, coffee sounds great," he replies, following me inside. As I lead him through to the kitchen, I think that Riley is seriously trying to figure me out.

I flick on the kitchen lights and grab two mugs from the cupboard, my movements deliberately slow. Anything to buy time, to avoid the gaze that Riley fixes on me — one that’s a little too perceptive for comfort.

"Your place has character. I liked it when I briefly was here last," he says, leaning against the doorway, his eyes roving down the hall that leads to my studio room's closed door.

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