Page 48 of Brushed and Buried
Adrian was talking about something on rope tension and the need to counterweight the drop. His fingers were quick, deft, looping cord like he’d done it a hundred times. I wasn’t even really listening. I was watching the way his sleeves were rolled to the elbow, the way the light caught the tiny freckles on his forearms, and the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated.
I stepped up to help, reaching too far to grab a hanging bolt without thinking. My foot caught on a coil of cable, and the floor pitched out from under me. I crashed into him, hard.
We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and startled breath, the sound of metal clanging somewhere nearby, my hands braced on either side of his head. He landed flat on his back, and I hovered above him, my chest heaving, his hoodie bunched in my fists.
I should have rolled off. I should have said something.
But I didn’t.
He looked up at me with those wide, brown eyes, and for a second, everything locked up inside me. My body froze, my thoughts scattered, every rule I’d been taught forgotten. His breath was warm against my neck. His cheeks were pink from the fall or maybe something else; I couldn’t tell.
Then he tilted his head, barely smiling, voice low and a little breathless.
“Do you always stare like that?”
I opened my mouth, something defensive already forming, but the words never came. Because his hand slid up with quiet certainty, fingers curling behind my neck.
And he kissed me.
It was not rough or hungry. It was just soft and intentional, like he’d been thinking about it for a while and finally decided to act.
My first instinct was panic. My stomach clenched, my brain blanked, but then I felt it. Warmth, stillness, a hum deep in my chest like recognition.
He kissed me like it wasn’t a question, like he knew I’d answer.
And I did. I kissed him back.
Hesitant at first, then surer, my grip tightening in the fabric of his shirt. The world fell quiet. There were no teammates. No practices. No pressure. It was just the two of us, caught in that tiny space behind the curtain, like the universe had cracked open and offered us a moment outside the rules.
And in that second, I wasn’t confused. I wasn’t afraid. I just felt right.
For the first time in my life, something made sense in a way that didn’t need explaining. Adrian did that. He made everything feel lighter and clearer, even when he complicated the hell out of me.
When we finally broke apart, our foreheads touched. I didn’t know what to say.
So he said something first.
“Would you go to the prom with me?”
I blinked. “Me?”
He grinned, a little crooked. “Who else would I want to ask?”
I didn’t really have to think. I knew what I wanted. I knew I had to answer him before he changed his mind. “Yes.”
But before he could say anything back, footsteps echoed across the stage, slow at first, then stopping short.
We were still tangled up in the ropes when we heard the laugh.
Clay.
He stepped out from the wing, arms crossed, helmet tucked under one arm, sweat darkening the collar of his team hoodie. “Well, shit,” he said, almost like a joke.
But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
We broke apart, too late. I scrambled back, heartbeat kicking up like I’d just run drills in full pads. Adrian looked like he’d seen a ghost, hands still braced behind him like he didn’t know where to put them.
Clay just stood there, taking us in. His expression flickered through confusion, recognition, then something harder.
