Page 57 of Face Off
For a long while, we sit there like that, sipping coffee, hands brushing, the kind of easy intimacy that sneaks under your skin and makes ordinary mornings feel electric. And in that quiet, simple moment, I know this is real. The fire, the heat, the reckless urgency of last night, it’s still there, simmering, but beneath it, there’s trust, connection, and something dangerously thrilling that feels like the start of everything.
Eventually, we start tidying up together, fingers brushing every time we reach for the same utensil or mug, laughter spilling over the clatter of plates. It’s playful, domestic, and intimate, all at once. I glance at him, the man who just made my hallway and kitchen nights unforgettable, and I feel my chest tighten with something more than desire, something soft, tender, and exhilarating.
“Promise me something?” he asks suddenly, voice quiet now, no teasing in it.
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll let me keep doing this,” he says, thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “Not just the…well, you know…all of it. But mornings like this, and evenings like last night. Us.”
I bite my lip, heart hammering, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. “I…,” I whisper. “I think I could manage that.”
He grins, soft, victorious, and leans in for another slow kiss, lingering, the kind that leaves your heart racing and your stomach light. “Good. I hoped you could.”
And in that simple, perfect morning, with sunlight streaming across my kitchen and the man I can’t stop thinking about grinning at me like I’m the only person in the world, I believe him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
OLLIE
The morning air is crisp as I pull my hoodie tighter, lacing up my trainers. Game day isn’t until tomorrow, but today’s all about the charity gala, and the team’s been roped in. Dylan and Mia organised it, promising a “low-key dinner with sponsors and friends” that’ll somehow end with the media circling like sharks. I’ve already explained to Jacko that I’m taking it seriously, sort of. Mostly, I’m thinking about Chloe.
I check my phone for the fifth time in the last two minutes. No new texts from her, just a blinking battery icon reminding me I should charge it. I shove it into my pocket, exhaling slowly. Chloe hasn’t signed up for public appearances with the team, which is fine. Perfect, actually. I don’t want her exposed to the media frenzy yet. Not while Murphy is lurking and the others are inevitably going to be scrutinising every interaction.
The Raptors’ locker room hums with energy as the team trickles in, some already suited for the evening, others still laughing over last night’s banter. Jacko greets me with a nod, a quiet acknowledgment of our ongoing, unspoken conversation about Chloe. He knows. I can feel it in the glance he gives me, half-grin, half-question. I shake my head at him subtly. Not yet.
Murphy bounds over, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oi, Taylor! You look suspiciously normal for an event you’ll claim is voluntary. Something I should know about?” His grin is wide, teasing, but I catch the sharp edge beneath it, he’ll sniff out anything out of place.
“Nothing,” I mutter, shrugging. “Just keeping it classy for once.”
“Classy?” He snorts. “You? That’s like calling Dylan a comedian. Bold choice, mate.”
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. He doesn’t need to know about Chloe. Not yet.
The rest of the guys filter in, suits and ties colliding with laughter and roughhousing. Jacko hands out last-minute notes from the event organisers. I notice the subtle way he keeps the conversation light with me, checking that I’m in the right frame of mind without prying. There’s trust there, unspoken, and I appreciate it.
By the time Coach shows up, rallying the team for a quick briefing, I feel the tension in my chest loosen. There’s a rhythm here; team, banter, strategy, ritual, that helps me compartmentalise. Chloe is in the back of my mind, humming quietly, but this is our world. My world.
The drive to the gala is filled with chatter. Dylan keeps up a running commentary about the food and drinks, Murphy’s joking about the potential awkward conversations with sponsors. And Jacko? Well, Jacko’s quietly observing, probably cataloguing everything for the post-event debrief. I sit back, letting the familiarity of the team’s energy settle around me, while my thoughts wander to Chloe and her laugh, the way she looked yesterday morning, that smile that makes my chest tighten.
We pull up to the venue. It’s an elegant, understated ballroom, chandeliers glittering, a soft hum of conversation drifting out as we step inside. The team fans out immediately, some shaking hands with sponsors, others making small talk with local dignitaries. I adjust my tie and take a deep breath. Here comes the tricky part. Chloe.
I spot her near the entrance, in a sleek outfit that somehow makes her look effortless and magnetic at the same time. She catches my eye, smiles subtly, and I feel a rush of something uncontainable. Her presence is grounding and destabilising all at once. I want to walk over, wrap my arm around her waist, make some cheeky remark, but I hold back. Not here. Not now.
“Ollie,” Murphy’s voice cuts through my internal monologue. “Eyes on the prize, mate. This isn’t a chance to stare at whoever’s walked in. Get your head out of the clouds.”
I laugh softly, shrugging. “Got it,” I murmur, giving him a half-smile that’s equal parts teasing and distracted.
Jacko nudges me slightly. “Remember, this is networking, not romancing. Keep it smooth, Ol.”
I nod, inwardly groaning. Easy for him to say. Smooth? I’m already five steps away from smooth in the mental department, lost in the thought of Chloe’s laugh, her warmth pressed against me in the kitchen this morning.
The event itself is a blur of polite conversation, handshakes, and inconsequential chatter. Sponsors pat backs, offer smiles, and I smile back, nodding, but my peripheral vision is always drawn to her. She’s chatting with a small group near the bar, laughing softly, the way she does when she’s genuinely engaged. And I can’t help it, I want to be in that circle, her laughter bouncing off my chest, her warmth radiating over to me.
I catch her eye again. She tilts her head in a subtle, “Don’t make this awkward” signal. I smirk faintly, fingers twitching. She’s playful and restrained at the same time. It’s maddening.
Dinner is served, and I sit near Jacko and Murphy, still keeping Chloe in my peripheral vision. Every time she laughs, I feel my chest tighten. I try to focus on the conversation, Murphy regaling us with some outlandish story about Finn, Jacko quietly critiquing the dessert setup, but every so often my gaze drifts.
“Ollie!” Murphy hisses, nudging me with his elbow. “You’re spacing again. That’s a rookie mistake. Focus, before I have to start giving you one of my patented pep talks mid-bite.”
