Page 67 of The Puck Contract

We settle at the breakfast bar, me determinedly focusing on my food while hyperaware of every movement he makes beside me. The domesticity of the scene isn't lost on me—sharing coffee and breakfast, him in yesterday's rumpled clothes, the lingering memory of the night before still hanging in the air between us.

"Umm," he says finally, setting down his mug. "About last night."

Here we go. The morning-after conversation. My least favorite sport.

"What about it?" I ask, striving for nonchalance.

"I just want to be clear about... what this is." He gestures between us.

I set my fork down carefully. "What do you want it to be?"

Real mature, Williams. Answer a question with a question. Next level avoidance technique.

Mateo takes a deep breath. "I don't know. That's the thing. This is all new territory for me."

"I know," I say softly. "No pressure, remember? We can figure this out as we go."

"But where are we going?" he persists. "Does this change the arrangement? Are we still fake dating for PR purposes, but also... whatever this is? Or does the contract not matter anymore?"

Ah. The contract. Reality intrudes with all the subtlety of a freight train.

"The contract still matters," I say carefully. "At least from a professional standpoint. We signed paperwork. The team is expecting certain appearances, certain social media content."

"Right." He nods, some of the light dimming in his eyes.

"But," I continue quickly, "what happens between us in private doesn't have to be defined by that. It can be separate. Whatever we both want it to be."

"So we're fake dating for the cameras, but really dating in private?" he asks, forehead creasing in confusion.

"Not necessarily dating," I clarify, though the word sends an unexpected pang through my chest. "Just... exploring. No labels, no pressure. Just two people who enjoy each other's company and happen to have spectacular sexual chemistry."

The corner of his mouth ticks up. "Spectacular, huh?"

"Did I overstate it?" I tease, relieved to see the tension leaving his shoulders. "I mean, I can downgrade to 'pretty decent' if your ego needs managing."

"Fuck you," he laughs, shoving my shoulder.

"I mean, if you're offering..."

His cheeks flush, but he doesn't look away. "Maybe next time."

Next time. The promise in those two words sends heat coursing through me.

"I'd like that," I say, voice rougher than intended.

He glances at his watch and sighs. "I should go. Need to stop at my place before class."

I nod, tamping down the ridiculous urge to ask him to skip class, to stay here in our bubble for a little longer. "Need a ride?"

He shakes his head. “Uber’s faster.” At the door, he hesitates, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. "So... I'll see you later?"

"Definitely," I confirm. "There's a team thing Friday night. You still up for it?"

"Yeah, of course. Part of the job description, right?" There's a hint of something wistful in his smile.

"Right. But maybe we could do something before then? Just us?"

His face brightens. "I'd like that."

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