Page 96 of Play Along With Me
Audrey's breath catches slightly, her eyes searching mine. "That's a significant admission from someone who writes NHL affirmations in his journal every day."
"It surprised me too," I admit. "But here we are."
"Here we are," she echoes, leaning imperceptibly closer. "In your minimalist apartment with your mother's throw pillows, having a real conversation that has nothing to do with fake dating or family obligations or ex-girlfriends."
"Well, not nothing to do with those things," I correct her. "They did bring us here, after all."
"True," she acknowledges. "The universe works in mysterious and occasionally ridiculous ways."
"Speaking of ridiculous," I say, suddenly remembering, "you are meeting with my mother for coffee tomorrow morning. I should probably let you get home so you're well-rested for the Patricia Marshall experience."
Audrey groans dramatically. "I'd almost forgotten. What time is it?"
I check my watch. "Almost midnight."
"That's not so bad," she says, making no move to leave. "I function perfectly well on minimal sleep and maximum caffeine. Occupational hazard of bartending late and writing early."
"Still," I hesitate, not wanting her to feel pressured to stay, "I did promise you a ride home whenever you wanted to go."
Audrey studies me for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Marshall?"
"Absolutely not," I assure her quickly. "The opposite, actually. But I don't want you to feel... obligated to stay. Or uncomfortable. Or—"
She silences me by placing her finger gently against my lips. "Jake. I'm a grown woman who makes her own decisions. If I wanted to leave, I would say so. Directly. No subtext, no games."
I nod, her finger still pressed against my mouth.
"Good," she says, removing her finger. "Now that we've established that I'm here because I want to be, not out of some sense of obligation or social awkwardness, can we get back to that moment we were having before you got all chivalrous and concerned about my sleep schedule?"
I can't help but laugh. "You're incredibly direct when you want to be."
"Selectively direct," she corrects. "Only about important things. Like this."
She gestures between us, the simple movement encompassing everything that's developed since we met—the fake relationship that's becoming startlingly real, the connection neither of us expected but both now acknowledge.
"This is important?" I ask, needing to hear her say it.
"It's starting to be," she admits, a vulnerability in her eyes that she usually keeps hidden behind humor. "Which is terrifying and exhilarating in approximately equal measure."
"I know exactly what you mean," I tell her, moving closer until our knees touch. "It's like the moment before a game starts—anticipation, nerves, excitement all mixed together."
"Do you get nervous before games?" she asks, genuinely curious. "I always assumed athletes at your level were beyond that."
"Everyone gets nervous," I admit. "The trick is channeling it into focus instead of letting it become fear. Using the energy rather than fighting it."
"Very zen," she observes. "Is that what we should do with this?" Her hand finds mine, our fingers interlacing naturally. "Channel the nervousness into something productive?"
"What did you have in mind?" I ask, my voice dropping lower as she leans closer.
"I have several ideas," she murmurs, her gaze dropping to my lips. "Most of them beginning with picking up where we left off at the restaurant."
That's all the invitation I need. I close the remaining distance between us, capturing her lips with mine in a kiss that immediately deepens beyond the relative restraint we showed in public. Audrey responds instantly, her free hand coming up to curl around the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
Unlike the restaurant, there's no table between us now, no public setting to enforce moderation. Audrey shifts closer, eventually moving to straddle my lap without breaking the kiss, her knees on either side of my thighs. The new position brings us flush against each other, and I groan involuntarily at the contact.
"Too much?" she whispers against my lips, drawing back slightly.
"Not enough," I counter, my hands settling at her waist.
