Page 218 of Make the Play

Chase’s condo door clicks open, and for a second, I just stand there.

It’s dark. Quiet. The lights are off, and the air smells the same—clean, slightly citrusy, unmistakablyhim.

My stomach clenches at the familiarity of it all. Thewantof it all.

I step inside, shoes wet against the hardwood, the sound too loud in the silence. My heart thumps in my chest, a little more urgently than it should be, but I ignore it.

This isn’t an emotional crisis, no. This is merely weather-based logistics.

I drop my keys and bag on the hallway console out of habit, which makes me flinch, then head down the hallway. Every step feels louder than it should, almost as though I’m trespassing on a life that I shut out and am now crawling back to.

In and out. Coat-stealing ninja. Easy.

I make it to his bedroom and pause at the doorway. The sheets are different. Newer, I think, but the same color. A deep charcoal gray he said was “low maintenance,” but that I knew he picked because it didn’t show sweat or remnant hockey blood or anything remotely human. The room smells like his shampoo, his aftershave, like heat and memory and comfort.

I train my eyes on the closet and walk over slowly, opening it. My coat’s hanging on the inside hook where I left it. I reach for it, fingers brushing the soft fabric—

And then I hear it.

The soft creak of a floorboard. A shift of movement.

My breath catches just as the ensuite door swings open, and there he is.

Chase.

Fresh from the shower, wet hair pushed back, water glistening on his collarbones, and a towel slung low around his hips. Barefoot. Bare-chested. Very, very here.

We both freeze.

“Zoe?”

I shriek and nearly throw the coat at him.

“Oh my god! I thought you were at morning skate,” I blurt, backing up as though physical distance is going to undo the last ten seconds. “I swear I’m not breaking in—I just… left my coat, and it’s raining, and—” My eyes drop to the towel again. “Yeah. You’re very… naked.”

His brow lifts slightly, clearly finding my dismay silently hilarious.

“I mean, I see the towel,” I clarify. “You’re technically not naked. But also, like, barely. What is that, like tea-towel size?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, one eyebrow arching higher. “You’re judging my towel?”

“I’m judgingnothing,” I say too fast. “You can wear whatever you want in your own home. I just—I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“I live here,” he says, deadpan.

“Iknowthat, but it’s morning skate,” I snap, as if that explains the entire universe and justifies me breaking and entering.

“I took the day off.”

I blink. “You took the day off? Younevertake days off.”

He shrugs, still frustratingly casual. “Coach told me to rest.”

“Right,” I mumble, eyes darting anywhere but back to his chest. “Rest.”

I’m still holding the coat like a shield, and my heart is hammering so loud I’m surprised he can’t hear it.

And he’s just standing there. Like this isn’t weird or monumental or that we’re not two people that haven’t seen each other in two weeks and are tiptoeing around a cliff edge.

---