Page 71 of Check & Chase
“Same with Tyler and me. Took me longer to see it, though.”
The conversation drifts to lighter topics as we near her neighborhood. It’s easy. Natural.
I pull into her driveway, putting the SUV in park but leaving the engine running.
“Well, thanks for the ride.”
“Thanks for coming tonight. The guys liked you.”
“They like that I wear your jersey. Makes you seem less unattainable.”
“Is that how they see me?”
“According to Keller, you’re ‘Mitchell the Mysterious.’ Apparently, you don’t socialize much off the ice.”
I shrug. “I keep to myself. It’s easier that way.”
“Easier how?”
“Fewer complications.” But even as I say it, I’m acutely aware of the complication sitting beside me.
Emma nods slowly. “Well, you certainly complicated my life.”
“Regretting our arrangement?”
She considers for a long moment. “Not as much as I should be.”
The confession hangs between us, charged with implications neither of us seems ready to voice. Instead of responding with words, I find myself leaning across the console, drawn to her like gravity.
Emma meets me halfway, her eyes fluttering closed as our lips connect in a kiss that’s nothing like the hurried, desperate ones we shared on Halloween. This is slow, deliberate, an exploration rather than a claiming. Her hand comes up to cup my jaw as our mouths move together.
She tastes like the cherry soda she drank, sweet with a hint of tartness that fits her personality perfectly. I deepen the kiss gradually, giving her every opportunity to pull back. She doesn’t. Instead, her fingers slip into my hair, tugging slightly in a way that sends electricity down my spine.
This kiss has nothing to do with our arrangement, nothing to do with convincing others we’re a couple. There’s no audience here. Just us, crossing a line we’d drawn in sand rather than stone.
I’m the one who finally breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to rest my forehead against hers, both of us breathing harder than a simple kiss should warrant.
“That wasn’t part of the fake dating rules,” Emma whispers, her eyes still closed.
“No,” I agree, my voice rougher than usual. “It wasn’t.”
Her eyes open, meeting mine with vulnerability. “Chase—”
The sudden glare of headlights illuminates the car as another vehicle pulls into the driveway. Maya’s car.
Emma pulls back quickly. “I should go. It’s late.”
“Emma.” I catch her wrist gently. “We should talk about this.”
“Tomorrow. PT session at two, right?”
“Right. Tomorrow.”
She slips out with a murmured goodnight, greeting Maya in the driveway. I wait until they’re safely inside before backing out.
This arrangement is veering dangerously into territory that feels anything but fake. The lines are blurring—between pretense and reality,between professional and personal, between what we agreed to and what’s actually happening.
And the most alarming part? I don’t want to redraw those lines. I want more. More of Emma’s laughter when she’s relaxed. More of her body pressed against mine. More of her lips, soft and yielding under mine.
