Jason cleared his throat and grabbed his shower kit. “I should, uh…”
“Yeah,” I said, too fast. “Me too.”
We moved toward the showers without coordinating it, walking parallel paths that didn’t quite meet or intersect. The air between us still hummed.
I stepped into a stall and yanked the curtain shut. The water came out cold at first, then scalding. I adjusted it and stood under the spray, letting it pound against my shoulders.
My hands were shaking.
I pressed my palms flat against the tile and tried to breathe normally. It didn’t work. My mouth still tingled. My chest felt like something had cracked open inside it, spilling heat everywhere.
He’d kissed me.
No. I’d kissed him. We’d kissed each other.
And this time, he hadn’t pulled back apologizing. This time, he’d leaned in like he meant it.
I scrubbed soap over my skin, too rough, trying to ground myself in something ordinary. The smell of cheap bodywash. The sound of water hitting tile. The cold shock of air when I moved out of the spray.
It didn’t help.
I was buzzing. I was overheating. I was hard to the point it hurt. Every nerve in my body felt live, electric, like I’d been plugged into an outlet.
By the time I stepped out, towel wrapped around my waist, the locker room had mostly emptied. Jason was at his locker, already dressed in jeans and a hoodie, his hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends.
He glanced up when I approached. Our eyes met.
The silence stretched.
I focused on getting dressed. Underwear under the towel. Socks. Jeans. Shirt. Each movement felt too slow, like I was teasing him when I wasn’t. I could feel him watching me, could feel the weight of everything unsaid sitting between us like a third person.
When I finally closed my locker,we were alone.
Jason shifted his weight. “So.”
“So,” I repeated.
He rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his hand. “Next Stats session. You could, uh…you could come to my room again. If you want.”
My pulse kicked.
“If you want,” he repeated, quieter. “We can also keep it slow. Casual.” Then he remembered I preferred blunt and direct. “But I would like it to be in my room. If you want.”
I looked at him. I looked at the careful hope in his face, the way he was trying to sound casual and failing.
“I want,” I said.
His smile broke through, small and real and unguarded.
“Okay,” he said. “Good. That’s…yeah. Okay.”
We stood there for another beat, neither of us moving toward the door. Jason was probably giving me a moment, and I needed it desperately, trying to remember how to walk and breathe and blink again.
Then Jason slung his bag over his shoulder and jerked his head toward the exit. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
I followed him out into the cold.
CHAPTER TWELVE