Then again.
She asked about me.
I don’t answer that either.
Doesn’t stop me thinking about it.
Tomorrow’s going to be a problem.
Chapter nine
Nova
JaxMercermakesrestraintlook like a contact sport.
Which should not be attractive.
Unfortunately, it is.
I lift the camera. Lower it again. I write three usable lines about his edgework, his rebound control, the way the coaching staff trusts him to anchor the pace of the session.
I read it back.
Useful. Professional. Empty.
Because what I want to write is that there’s something unsettling about a man who wastes that little. Every movement looks deliberate. Controlled. Like even being still is something he decided on purpose. And being looked at by him feels like being pinned in place with almost no effort at all.
I catch him catching me. He doesn’t react, which is somehow worse than if he did.
I spend the next minute taking pictures of the boards like I’m suddenly pitching a heartfelt visual essay on chipped paint and ad placement.
The whole day splits after that.
There’s work-Nova, competent and composed, getting what she needs, lining up quotes, checking facts, staying on deadline.
Then there’s the other me, the one who keeps replaying a one-word text, the hallway, the look on his face, the fact that I can’t decide whether his lack of reaction calms me down or makes me want to shake him by the shoulders until he says something unwise.
I get a lot done. I’m good at that — staying busy is the oldest trick I have, and most days it works.
What I do not do is writeMercer should come with a warning labelin my notebook.
I think it, though. Loudly. More than once.
By the end of the day I’ve talked myself into a plan, the way you do when you already suspect you’re going to ignore it: go home, feed the ungrateful alley cat currently squatting in my life like she holds the lease, and make exactly one decision my future self won’t describe as catastrophic.
I push through the door into the parking lot.
He’s there. Leaning against his car like he’s been waiting long enough to settle in.
Of course he is.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.”
I keep walking because I have instincts, and some of them are even good.
“Nova.”