Page 15 of Face Off
I arch a brow. “You tell me. You’re the one who invited me.”
Her lips twitch. “True. But I figured you wouldn’t survive more than ten minutes without making it recreational anyway.”
She’s not wrong. I grin, leaning forward on my elbows. “I like to keep things interesting.”
“I’ve noticed.” Her eyes flick to mine, her gaze is steady, unflinching. It feels like a challenge.
The coffees arrive, and for a moment, we fall into a comfortable silence. She stirs her latte absentmindedly, and I can’t stop watching the way her fingers wrap around the cup, how she blows gently across the foam before taking a sip. It’s bizarre, how hypnotic something so ordinary can be.
She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. “Observing again, Ollie?”
“Maybe.” I smirk. “Depends if you’re worth observing.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Careful. I might start charging for the privilege.”
“I’d pay,” I shoot back before I can stop myself.
Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow in mock suspicion. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“Only when unavoidable,” I say, echoing yesterday’s line.
She remembers. I can tell by the way her lips curve, soft and slow.
The conversation drifts from there, easy and unforced. She asks about the team, how I started playing, and what it’s like balancing games, travel, training, and real life. I tell her stories, albeit toned down, but still enough to make her laugh. Like the time Jacko tried to cook spaghetti in the hotel coffee pot. Or Murphy’s ongoing war with the vending machine at the rink.
She listens like every word matters. And when she talks about her own work, her reasons for shadowing us, and her goals, I find myself leaning in, captivated. It’s not just her voice, though that’s part of it. It’s her conviction. The way she cares about getting the truth, about seeing beyond the surface.
“You ever think you might be too good at your job?” I ask when she pauses.
She blinks. “Too good?”
“Yeah. You’ve got this… thing. Where you make people want to tell you everything.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “And is that what you’re doing? Telling me everything?”
The question hangs in the air between us, sharp and weighted.
I swallow, glance down at my coffee, then back at her. “Not everything.”
Her eyes linger on mine a beat too long, like she’s testing how much of that is a joke and how much isn’t. And the truth is, I don’t even know.
We slide into lighter banter after that, but the tension lingers, coiled beneath the surface like a spring. Every time our hands brush, reaching for sugar, every glance that lasts a fraction longer than necessary, it winds tighter.
At one point, she leans forward, chin resting on her hand, and says, “You realise if Murphy finds out I’m here with you, he’ll murder us both.”
“Us?” I echo, grinning. “Nice to know you’re already putting us in the same category.”
She laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it. “You know what I mean.”
“Relax,” I say, though my pulse is hammering. “We’re just two people having coffee.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and I know she hears the unspokenfor now.
The clock on the wall ticks forward, and I realise we’ve been here nearly an hour. The world outside the café moves on with cars passing, people rushing by, but in here, time feels suspended. Just me and Chloe, locked in this dangerous little bubble we’ve created.
Eventually, she sighs, glancing at her watch. “I should go. Got to write up notes before training this afternoon.”
I nod, though the thought of ending this feels like a loss. “Right. Don’t want to fall behind on your observations.”
