Page 8

S tephanie

Amara Adeyemi's apartment overlooked the Toronto waterfront from a modern high-rise that somehow managed to feel both elegant and lived-in. Like her brother, she appreciated clean lines and functional design, but unlike Marcus's stark minimalism, Amara's space burst with vibrant art, plush furnishings, and enough plants to qualify as a small jungle.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, throwing open the door before Marcus could even knock. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost calculating traffic patterns on your way over."

Marcus accepted his sister's exuberant hug with the resigned tolerance of someone long accustomed to it, though the affection beneath was obvious. Behind him, Stephanie watched with fascination. Amara was everything Marcus wasn't—expressive, animated, radiating energy like a supernova.

"Stephanie," Amara turned her attention to their guest, wrapping her in an equally enthusiastic embrace. "I'm so glad you could make it. Marcus has been sulking ever since I told him we had lunch yesterday."

"I don't sulk," Marcus protested.

"You absolutely do," both women replied in unison, then exchanged surprised glances before bursting into laughter.

Marcus sighed, hanging his coat on the hooks by the door. "I see an alliance has already formed."

"The strongest kind," Amara agreed cheerfully, ushering them into her open living space. "Based on a mutual appreciation for your quirks and a shared inability to take you too seriously."

Stephanie felt the tension of the past days ebbing as they moved into the apartment. After the game, Reed's threats, and the intensity of her locker room conversation with Marcus, Amara's unfiltered warmth felt like stepping into sunlight after a storm.

The dining table was already set, and delicious aromas drifted from the kitchen. Classical music played softly—Bach, Stephanie guessed, remembering Marcus's brief mention of his father's love for the composer's mathematical structures.

"Wine?" Amara offered, already pouring without waiting for answers. "Mom's sorry she couldn't join us. Hospital board meeting."

"She's well?" Marcus asked, accepting a glass.

"Thriving. She's terrorizing the new hospital administrators and loving every minute." Amara handed Stephanie a glass of rich red wine. "Our mother is a formidable cardiologist who treats hospital bureaucracy as a personal insult to patient care."

"That explains so much," Stephanie murmured, taking a sip.

"About Marcus? Absolutely. Though Dad was the numbers person. Mom's all about systems and action." Amara checked something in the oven. "Dinner's almost ready. Marcus, make yourself useful and set out that salad I prepared."

As Marcus moved to the kitchen with practiced familiarity, Stephanie watched the siblings' easy interaction with a twinge of longing. An only child raised by career-focused parents, she'd never experienced this kind of casual family banter.

"So," Amara said, returning to refill her glass, "since my brother is busy arranging lettuce leaves to mathematical perfection, tell me how the presentation for Darby & Darby is going."

The question seemed casual, but Stephanie caught the protective undertone. Amara was assessing the professional situation that had brought her brother into alliance with someone he'd previously considered an adversary.

"We've integrated our approaches better than I expected," Stephanie replied honestly. "Marcus's analytics actually support many of the community initiatives I've been championing, when properly contextualized."

"He's good at that—seeing patterns others miss," Amara agreed, her eyes softening as she glanced toward her brother. "Though sometimes completely blind to the human side of things."

"I can hear you," Marcus called from the kitchen.

"I know," Amara replied cheerfully before lowering her voice to add, "He couldn't stop talking about your strategic thinking. High praise from Spreadsheets."

Heat spread through Stephanie's chest at this revelation. "He's not exactly generous with compliments."

"Quality over quantity," Amara winked. "When Marcus appreciates something—or someone—it's absolute."

Before Stephanie could respond to this intriguing insight, Marcus returned with a salad that could have appeared in a food magazine.

"Your volume drops by at least 30% when discussing me," he observed, setting down the bowl. "Clear sign you're talking about something I'm supposed to ignore."

"So perceptive," Amara teased, retrieving the main course from the oven. "And yet completely oblivious when it suits him."

Dinner progressed with surprising ease, conversation flowing naturally between professional topics and personal stories. Amara proved to be a skilled mediator, drawing out sides of Marcus that Stephanie had never glimpsed—childhood stories, family traditions, even occasional self-deprecating humor typically buried beneath his analytical exterior.

"He was eight when he created his first statistical model," Amara recounted, eyes dancing with mischief over her second glass of wine. "A complex calculation to convince our parents that staying up late to watch Hockey Night in Canada would improve his grades."

"It was a valid hypothesis," Marcus defended, the slight curve of his lips betraying amusement. "Sleep deprivation was outweighed by educational content and motivational factors."

"And did it work?" Stephanie asked, enjoying this glimpse into young Marcus.

"Surprisingly, yes," Amara laughed. "Dad was so impressed by the methodology that he allowed it as an experiment. Marcus tracked his test scores for six weeks with and without hockey viewing."

"The results supported my hypothesis," Marcus added. "Though looking back, the sample size was too small and had confounding variables."

"Of course you'd critique your own childhood experiment," Stephanie said, shaking her head with a smile.

As Amara cleared their plates, insisting they remain seated, Stephanie studied Marcus in this new context. Away from the arena, away from the team, surrounded by family—he seemed both more relaxed and more human than she'd ever seen him.

"What?" he asked, catching her gaze.

"Just processing new information," she replied, deliberately using his terminology.

A smile touched his eyes, if not quite his lips. "And your initial conclusions?"

"That the Spreadsheets has more depth than initially assessed." She took a sip of wine, feeling bolder in this warm space so far from the pressures of New Haven. "You're more complex than advertised."

"Most things are," he acknowledged quietly.

A moment of understanding passed between them—something deeper than their professional alliance or even there few shared kisses. Recognition, perhaps, that they were both more than the professional personas they presented to the world.

Amara returned with dessert—maple cookies that Stephanie recognized from their lunch conversation, alongside rich coffee—and settled back at the table.

***

M ARCUS

The night air hit sharp and cold as they left Amara's building, Toronto's skyline glittering against the dark sky. Stephanie pulled her coat tighter, breathing in the familiar scent of the city—so different from New Haven, yet carrying its own distinctive energy.

"Your sister is incredible," she said as they walked toward her rental car. "You never mentioned how different you two are."

"Complementary rather than different," Marcus corrected. "Amara processes information emotionally first, analytically second. I work in reverse."

"And your mother?"

"Systems-oriented. Practical. Attacks problems by identifying structural weaknesses." A fond expression softened his features. "She would have made an excellent coach."

Stephanie smiled, imagining the formidable woman who had raised these two very different but equally impressive children. "I'd like to meet her sometime."

The words slipped out before she could analyze their implications—the assumption of future visits, of continued connection beyond this road trip and their professional alliance.

Marcus didn't seem troubled by the presumption. "She'd appreciate your strategic approach to communication. Though she'd probably tell you you're too guarded with your emotional responses."

"Like mother, like daughter, apparently," Stephanie observed wryly.

The atmosphere of Amara's apartment had created a bubble of normalcy, temporarily shielding them from Reed's threats and Darby & Darby's looming changes.

"Thank you," Marcus said suddenly. "For having lunch with Amara yesterday. It meant a lot to her."

"I enjoyed it," Stephanie replied honestly.

The Uber arrived and as they drove back toward the hotel, a comfortable silence settled between them. By the time they pulled into the underground parking garage, Marcus had already mapped out the most strategic approach to minimize their risk of being seen together. Separate elevators. Staggered timing. Different entry points. All logical, responsible choices that evaporated from his mind the moment they stepped out of the car and walked to the entrance.

The dim lighting of the nearly empty garage cast shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her lips, the elegant line of her throat, the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. Heat surged through him, catching him off guard with its intensity.

"We should head up," she said, but made no move to go.

"Separately," he agreed, equally motionless.

Her eyes met his, and whatever she saw there made her breath catch audibly. "Marcus..."

The sound of his name on her lips broke his restraint. He reached for her, one hand sliding to the nape of her neck as he pulled her toward him. Their mouths met with none of his usual calculation—just raw hunger.

Stephanie responded instantly, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she kissed him back with matching intensity. The taste of her—wine and something uniquely her—shot straight to his core. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that pulled a soft moan from her throat. The sound ignited something primal in him, something he'd always kept tightly controlled during games and practices and team functions.

"Wait," she gasped against his mouth. "Not here. Anyone could walk by."

Logic briefly reasserted itself. Marcus pulled back just enough to look at her—lips already swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with the same need coursing through his veins.

"Elevator," he managed, his voice a rough growl he barely recognized.

They hurried through the hotel lobby. Every step was torturous, his body thrumming with awareness of her beside him, the memory of her taste still fresh on his lips.

The elevator bank was tucked into a secluded corner of the hotel, temporarily out of sight from security cameras and prying eyes. The moment they rounded the corner, Marcus's control snapped. He backed Stephanie against the wall beside the elevator, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her hip.

"Eight seconds until the elevator arrives," he murmured, eyes locked on hers. "Tell me to stop."

"Marcus," she breathed against his mouth, and hearing his name on her lips nearly undid him.

His hand slid from her waist to her thigh, feeling the heat of her skin through her jeansAll that mattered was getting closer to her, tasting more of her, feeling the way she trembled slightly under his touch.

When she bit gently at his lower lip, a growl rumbled deep in his chest. He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth along her jaw, down to the pulse point on her neck where he could feel her heartbeat racing against his lips. Her head fell back, giving him better access as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there.

"This is—" she gasped as his hand slid higher on her thigh, "—not exactly keeping a low profile."

"Don't care," he murmured against her throat, the vibration of his words making her shiver. "

His declaration seemed to break something open between them. Stephanie ground herself against him, and there was no hiding his physical response to her—hard and insistent against her body.

"I can tell," she whispered, a smile in her voice as she rocked subtly against him.

Marcus groaned, his hands moving to her hips to hold her in place. The friction was maddening, even through layers of clothing. He recaptured her mouth, kissing her deeply as his hands slid under her sweater to find bare skin.

The heat of her under his palms sent electricity racing through his system. Her skin was impossibly soft compared to his callused hands, but she didn't seem to mind, arching into his touch as his fingers traced the curve of her waist, the edge of her bra, the ridges of her ribs.

The elevator dinged.

They broke apart instantly, both breathing hard, just as the doors slid open to reveal Dmitri, who was holding a bottle of rum. His eyes widened comically at the sight of them.

"Spreadsheets! Media Witch!" he exclaimed with his usual exuberance. "I did not expect to find you out so late. You work on presentation for new owners, yes?"

Marcus straightened his shirt, painfully aware of the state he was in, grateful for the dim lighting and his long coat. Beside him, Stephanie smoothed her hair with remarkable composure, though her lips remained tellingly swollen.

"Just finishing up some strategy discussions," she said, her professional tone betrayed only by the slight huskiness in her voice.

"Strategy looks very intense," Dmitri observed with a knowing grin, holding the elevator door open for them. "Very... passionate approach to analytics integration. I’m glad I found you. I left my key in Kane’s room and forgot what number it is."

“He’s in 712.”

“Good. You come with me for a night cap.”

“I really should get an early night.”

“It is early. Besides, Kane wanted to talk to you.”

As they stepped into the elevator, Marcus caught Stephanie's eye, the heat still simmering between them despite the interruption. Whatever was happening between them hadn't been cooled by Dmitri's appearance—if anything, the forced restraint only intensified the anticipation.

Later, he promised silently, his eyes conveying what he couldn't say aloud.

Her nearly imperceptible nod told him she'd received the message loud and clear. They'd continue this evolution in private, away from teammates and security cameras and complications.

For now, though, Marcus had to endure the longest elevator ride of his life, strategizing how quickly he could credibly ditch Dmitri and find his way to Stephanie's door.