Page 60 of No Contest
The coffeemaker gurgled to life, filling the kitchen with that sharp, bitter smell that meant morning was happening whether I was ready or not. I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, trying to look casual. Like I belonged here.
My phone sat on the counter next to Rhett's keys—mine cracked across the screen, his pristine. Even our phones had personalities.
I considered checking it. Jake had probably texted a dozen times by now, guessing I was at Rhett's when I didn't answer. Coach might've called about practice. Pickle had probably sent me a true crime podcast recommendation at three in the morning.
I didn't check it.
The soft shuffle of bare feet on hardwood announced Rhett was on the way. He grunted softly when he stretched.
Suddenly, his arms wrapped around my waist from behind.
I froze. Stopped breathing for a half-second.
He pressed his face into the space between my shoulder blades. Was that an "Mmmm"?
"Morning," he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep.
I smelled the shower soap and shampoo on him. "Hey."
"That's my shirt."
"Yeah. Sorry. I couldn't find—"
"Looks better on you." His arms tightened slightly around my waist. "Way better."
"I'm probably stretching it beyond repair. I'll buy you a new one."
"Don't." Rhett pressed a kiss between my shoulder blades—casual, easy, like he'd done it a thousand times before. "Keep it."
My hands shook.
My body was perfect for checking guys into boards at thirty miles an hour. For dropping gloves and trading punches until someone's nose broke or the linesmen pulled us apart. For taking hits that would hospitalize normal people and skating it off like it was nothing.
I was not built for being spooned at a coffeemaker by a contractor who made every nerve ending in my body vibrate.
"You sleep okay?" I managed.
"Best sleep I've had in months." He shifted, chin resting on my shoulder as he stood on tiptoes to see my face in profile. "You?"
"Yeah. Good. Great. Your bed is—it's comfortable."
"That's a bit of a fib. You took up three-quarters of it and spent the whole night convinced you were crushing me."
My ears burned. "I did not—"
"Hog. I woke up at two AM with your elbow in my kidney and your leg pinning me to the mattress like you were checking me into the boards in your sleep."
"Shit. I'm sorry. I should've—"
"I'm not complaining." His lips brushed my jaw. "An observation—maybe we need a king."
We.The word hung there between us, bigger than bed sizes.
The coffee finished brewing with a final sputter. Steam rose from the pot. Silence stretched like the moment before a face-off when everyone's coiled tight and waiting for the puck to drop. I heard my pulse in my ears.
"I haven't been this nervous since my first junior league fight," I blurted out.
Rhett chuckled, warm breath against my neck. "Yeah?"
