Page 53 of Face Off
The rest of the afternoon drags. Training, errands, the usual noise of life. But the whole time, I’m buzzing under my skin, counting down the hours until tonight. Dinner with Chloe. Our second proper date that isn’t stolen in hallways or tucked into her kitchen at midnight.
By the time I get home, I’m a wreck of nervous energy. I shower, change, stand in front of the mirror like a prat debating which shirt makes me look less like I’ve tried too hard. In the end, I settle on the navy button-up, the one Murphy says makes me look like I’m trying to impress someone. He’s not wrong.
I spritz cologne, it’s the new one Tom Hardy advertises. A guy’s gotta try right? Then I run a hand through my damp hair, and for a second, I just pause. Staring at my own reflection, at the stupid grin that won’t quit tugging at my mouth.
God, I feel like a teenager again. Heart thudding, palms sweating, replaying every look, every laugh she’s given me. It’s bizarre. And it’s brilliant.
By the time I’m in the car, my knee’s bouncing like I’m waiting for a shootout. The drive feels endless, every red light mocking me. But then I’m there, pulling up outside her place, and all the nerves quiet into something steadier. Excitement. Want.
She opens the door before I can knock, and the sight of her with soft curls loose around her shoulders, dress skimming her thighs, a smile lighting her whole face, punches the air right out of my lungs.
“Hi,” she says, a little breathless, like maybe she’s been pacing too.
“Hi.” My voice comes out rough, but I can’t stop grinning.
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, until she laughs and grabs her coat. “Ready?”
“Always.”
As we walk toward the car, I can’t resist brushing my fingers against hers. She glances at me, and when our hands thread together, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Dinner’s at this little place near the river, one of those cozy spots with low lighting, wooden tables, and fairy lights strung in the windows. It’s not flashy, but it feels warm, intimate, like the kind of place where people come when they want to actually see each other.
The hostess leads us to a booth tucked in the corner, and I can’t stop staring at Chloe as she slides in across from me. Thecandlelight flickers against her skin, catching in her hair, and I swear I forget how to breathe for a second.
She notices, of course. “What?” she teases, raising an eyebrow.
I shrug, fighting a grin. “Nothing. Just… you look unfairly good. Like,‘I’m gonna get carded ordering wine’good.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “That’s your line?”
“Not a line,” I protest, hand pressed to my chest. “That’s pure honesty. You should appreciate how rare that is for me.”
“Oh, I appreciate it.” She leans forward, eyes glinting. “Even if you sound like you’ve been practicing in the mirror.”
“Alright, harsh,” I chuckle, picking up the menu. “But for the record, the only thing I practiced in the mirror was which shirt didn’t make me look like a complete tosser.”
Her gaze drops to the navy button-up I picked, lingering just long enough to make my stomach flip. “You chose well.”
I swear, I could float right out of the booth.
When the waiter comes by, Chloe orders pasta and a glass of red. I order the biggest steak on the menu with a side of extra fries and a beer, because subtlety has never been my strong suit. She smirks at me as the waiter walks away.
“Steak and fries with extra fries?”
“Listen, I burn a thousand calories an hour on the ice,” I say, dead serious. “This is survival, not gluttony.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You do realise you’re basically a golden retriever with skates on, right? Constantly hungry, always bouncing, outrageously loyal.”
I lean forward, grinning. “I’ll take it. Golden retrievers are everyone’s favourite.”
“True.” She tilts her head. “But they also get themselves into trouble. A lot.”
“That’s fair.” I tap my beer against her glass when it arrives. “But you know what else they are?”
“What?”
“Good company.”
