Page 25 of Penalty Box

He was still touching my arm, still tracing featherlight patterns against my skin.

I swallowed hard. “Already falling apart at the ripe old age of twenty-three?”

“Don’t let the knees fool you,” he said, his voice brighter than before. “I’m in my prime.”

I laughed—short and breathy, and maybe a little too flustered. “You sound like those guys at the gym, in compression sleeves, pumping like they’re training for Iron Man, but everyone knows they peaked in high school.”

“How dare you?” He dragged his hand down my arm, slow and deliberate, as he went to lean back in his seat.

But I wasn't ready to let go just yet, and caught his hand in mine, fingers lacing through his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The grin slipped off his face. His eyes locked on mine, and the air between us stilled. No music, no coffee, no chatter from the counter. Just the beat of my heart drumming in my ears.

Everything about him was warm. His hand in mine. The slight flush in his neck. The way he looked at me like I was all he cared to see.

And I hated how much I wanted to believe it.

“Cass,” he whispered.

I was leaning forward without realizing it. His leg brushed mine again, sending a new wave of electric sparks through me. I was so lost in it—in him—that I almost didn’t catch the flash of movement from the corner of my eye.

Just past Mason’s shoulder, across the coffee shop near the far wall. Josie. Her phone aimed straight at us.

The spell shattered.

I let go of his hand like it scalded me, sitting up stiff and straight.

“Are you okay?” The easy smile he wore wavered a bit, his brows furrowing lightly.

“It’s nothing. I just—” I forced a smile and picked up my mug like nothing happened. “I just remembered I have an assignment due tomorrow.”

His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t buying it. And as he opened his mouth to say as much, both our phones pinged at the same time.

We glanced at each other, then at our screens.

Mine was a TikTok notification. New post from— my stomach dropped.

I tapped it, and Josie’s latest video started playing with a filter that added fake sparkles around the two people in frame: Mason and me, holding hands as we gazed at each other.

The caption read, “New romance is anything but ice cold.”

8

Mason

The locker room was quiet. Not focused quiet, or playoff quiet.

Tense.

It crackled under my skin like white noise from an old-school out-of-tune TV set. Every breath, every glance… Guys lacing up without jokes. No music to amp us up for the game. Just the low scrape of skates against tile, Velcro ripping, the occasional grunt.

Because of me.

Or more specifically, because of Josie’s post.

I hadn’t even made the damn thing. How was I supposed to know she’d be there at the right moment to film the most incriminating part of our not-date?

Grayson slammed his locker closed, and the echo snapped through the room like a gunshot. I didn’t flinch, but every part of me wanted to.