Page 99 of My Pucked Up Enemy

“And you don’t think I’m worth that risk?”

I swallow hard. “I think you’re the only risk that scares me.”

His jaw tightens. “Then stop pretending you’re not already all in.”

I hesitate. “Even if I am…it’s complicated. If I take this job, I’ll be flying across the country every week. I’ll be managing a team of consultants in every time zone. It’s not like I’ll be able to just drop in for dinner after practice.”

He nods slowly, jaw clenched. “And if you don’t take it?”

“I stay. We see where this goes. But I’d always wonder if I passed up the biggest opportunity of my career for something that might not last.”

Alex takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. “So what are you saying? That you’re leaving because it’s safer to let this die before it ever becomes real?”

“I’m saying I don’t know if long distance is sustainable. We’re both in high-travel careers. Between your season and mine, we’d see each other once a month if we’re lucky.”

He laughs, dry and bitter. “So that’s it? We don’t even try?”

“I’m not twenty-two, Alex. I don’t want a situationship that’s all airport reunions and text messages. Do you?”

He meets my gaze, voice low. “No. I want something real, with you. But I don’t want to force something that’ll fall apart just because we’re too scared to admit it’s not the right time.”

We stand there, caught between truths that hurt more than lies ever could.

“What if the right time never comes?” I whisper.

He looks at me for a long beat, and his voice is so quiet it barely registers.

“Then maybe we weren’t meant to work after all.”

He exhales, his voice thick. "Because I think you are worth it, Nina. All of it. The distance. The mess. The uncertainty. But it sounds like you don’t think I am."

“That’s not true,” I say quickly, chest tightening. “Alex, this isn’t about your worth. It’s about whether either of us can actually build something that lasts under the pressures of distance and work requirements.”

His eyes are stormy, searching. “If I thought there was even a sliver of a chance, I’d fight like hell to make it work. But I can’t be the only one willing to fight.”

I bite my lip, trying to hold back everything building inside me. “Do you think I don’t want to? Do you think I haven’t imagined every version of us somehow making this work?”

“Then why does it feel like you already made your choice?”

“I haven’t.”

“But you’re standing there,” he says, voice cracking just slightly, “like you're bracing for goodbye.”

We stare at each other, breathing hard. The silence between us isn’t empty—it’s loaded. With anger. With heat. With need.

And then I move.

Or maybe he does.

Either way, our mouths crash together like a match to gasoline.

Hands grab. Clothes tug. We don’t make it far…just to the hallway wall, his back hitting plaster as I press up into him.

He groans into my mouth. My fingers dive under his hoodie. His grip clamps on my hips, guiding me until we’re flush, breath tangled.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he pants.

I kiss him harder.

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