Page 37 of Hard Check

The bathroom was almost claustrophobic, with two hockey players crammed into it. Pike's shoulder pressed against mine as I rummaged through the cabinet, locating three thick emergency candles and a half-empty pack of matches.

He accepted one from my hand. "Didn't take you for a candle guy."

"I'm not. Power goes out in this building at least once every winter." I struck a match, the sudden flare creating a warm, golden glow. We were too close. My hand cupped around the flame, and his face was only inches from mine.

I cleared my throat. "Let's get back to the living room."

The apartment cooled rapidly without heat from the furnace. "Are you cold? I'll grab some blankets."

I grabbed a pile of worn family throws and joined Pike on the couch. We settled under a shared quilt stitched by my grandmother.

Pike pulled the fabric up to his chin. "This is cozy."

"Better than watching Providence's penalty kill?"

"Infinitely. Though I'm guessing the tape was always an excuse."

I considered pulling back and standing. He'd cornered me. "What's that supposed to mean? This is honestly better."

The warm, amber glow of the candle grew stronger. Outside, snow pressed against the windows, and the wind moaned. Without electricity, the constant background hum of modern life had vanished, leaving only our breathing.

"How about something to eat?"

Pike turned his head to face me. "Okay, if that will make it easier to talk."

I didn't say anything as I crawled out from under the quilt to head to the kitchen. There, I retrieved a bag of chips from Pike's groceries and settled back onto the couch.

We sat in silence, passing the bag back and forth. The silence didn't last long. "Can I ask you something?"

I swallowed, knowing whatever followed wouldn't be about hockey or the storm. "Yeah. Go ahead."

Pike flexed his fingers as if testing them after a hard practice. "I don't know what I'm doing." His voice caught slightly. "With you. With me. I've never felt like this around anyone, let alone a guy."

It was a brave confession. My pulse accelerated, but I stayed silent, afraid any response would shatter whatever courage had prompted his words.

"I used to think I was straight. Or at least..." He exhaled slowly. "I never questioned it, but now I'm sitting here, sharing a quilt, and I don't know what I want except..." His eyes locked on mine. "I keep looking at you like..."

My throat tightened. I didn't know whether to be excited or panic. I fumbled for something familiar to say—a deflection, joke, or anything to diffuse the intensity of the moment.

"Like I'm some kind of science experiment?" My attempt at humor fell flat.

Pike didn't smile. "LikeIwanttokissyou."Hisvoicewassoft,barelyawhisper. "AndI'mscaredofwhatthatmeans."

I stared at him. Not because I didn't want it—damn, I did—but because that sentence was a sparking wire, and my brain nearly short-circuited trying to process it.

I said the only thing I could. "Thendoit, orIwill."

Hehesitated."Shit.Okay."

Andthenhekissedme.

Except it was less of a kiss and more of an accidental nose bump with an awkward brush of lips. Pike's landed somewhere half on and half off my mouth. It would've been a disaster if it weren't so us.

Webothpulledbackslightly,blinking.

I grinned. "Ithinkthatwasmyeyebrow."

"No,prettysureitwasmycheekbone."He started to laugh.

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