Page 15 of Puck Wild (Storm Warning #1)

"Kid's not perfect. Hell, none of us are.

But he's real, and he sees you. Actually sees you, not only the spreadsheets and the color-coded everything.

" He took a long pull from his beer, then pointed the bottle at me like he was making a crucial point.

"Don't miss a good thing just 'cause it doesn't come with a label. "

Around the bar, conversations continued—someone arguing about power play statistics and laughter from a group near the dartboard as the next singer made their way to the stage. Life continued around me while my carefully constructed worldview sustained significant structural damage.

I leaned in close to Hog. "What if I screw it up?"

He reached out to grip my bicep. "Then you screw it up. That's what people do. They mess up, they figure it out, and they try again." His smile was kind. "But you can't screw up something you never try."

Before I could respond, Jake appeared at my other side. There was a distinctive flush across his cheekbones.

"Hog, you corrupting my roommate?"

"Only sharing life wisdom. Speaking of which, I should probably head out before I do something that requires an apology tomorrow."

He clapped Jake on the shoulder with enough force to make him stagger slightly, then turned to me with a knowing look.

"Think about what I said, Spreadsheet. Some things are worth the risk."

And then he was gone, weaving through the crowd toward the exit with the careful dignity of someone who knew precisely how drunk he was and was managing it accordingly.

Jake watched him go and then turned to me with raised eyebrows. "What was that about?"

I stared at my ginger ale. "Nothing important."

"Right." Jake's voice was dry, but not unkind. "It bet it was Hog dispensing his famous relationship advice."

Jake said the word relationship without thinking. When he realized what had rolled out of his mouth, he started to say something else but couldn't form the words.

"We should probably head home," I said.

"Probably."

The apartment was dark when we got home. Jake flicked on the kitchen light.

I went straight to the refrigerator, needing the mundane ritual of getting a glass of water after everything that had happened at The Drop.

The cold air hit my face as I opened the door, and I focused on the precise arrangement of containers and bottles, each one labeled and organized according to the system I'd perfected over months of living alone.

Behind me, I heard Jake open a beer. It hissed softly as the cap came off. When I turned around with my filtered water pitcher, his beer sat untouched on the counter while he watched me.

"You came tonight," he said quietly. "I wasn't sure you would."

"Coach likes it when the veterans show up." The response was automatic. It was a weak attempt at deflection, and Jake saw right through it.

"Right. Very dutiful of you." He pushed off from the counter and took a step closer to me. "So when you were there, watching me make an ass of myself with The Killers—was that wincing, or were you enjoying the show?"

"You didn't make an ass of yourself."

"That's not an answer."

He took another step closer. Jake was less than three feet away, close enough for me to smell a faint whiff of cologne mixed with the beer.

I chose my words carefully. "You have a good voice."

"Better than my rapping?"

"That's not a high bar."

Jake laughed. "Fair enough, but you still didn't answer my question."

I retrieved a glass from a cabinet and poured a glass, buying myself time to think. The truth was his performance mesmerized me. It wasn't only his voice but how he'd transformed from the Jake who left socks in the fridge into someone commanding, confident, and magnetic.

"I wasn't wincing."

"Good." Jake moved closer again, close enough to touch. His hair fell across his forehead in waves, and I thought about how soft it would feel against my fingers. "Because I was singing for you."

Something cracked inside me.

"Jake—"

"I know this is complicated." He paused. "I know you like things organized and predictable, and I'm neither of those things. Still, when I was up there tonight, all I could think about was whether you were watching. Whether you wanted to be there while I sang."

My grip tightened on my water glass. "I wanted to be there."

My admission was like stepping off a cliff without a net below.

Jake reached out to touch my cheek

"Can I kiss you?"

He asked for permission, and I melted. Instead of answering with words, I leaned into his touch.

Jake kissed me. It was more confident than before. He tasted like beer and something sweeter, mint gum maybe, and when his tongue touched mine, I forgot how to think about anything except the heat building between us.

I barely managed to set the glass on the counter without dropping it. Jake's hands were suddenly in my hair and he pushed me back against the counter. Every one of my nerve endings began firing at once.

His mouth was hot and urgent against mine, and when I pulled at his shirt—needing to reach for his bare flesh, feeling skin instead of cotton—he made a sound, something like a whimper, that pierced me to the core.

"Evan," he breathed against my lips. Hearing my name in a cloud of lust made me dizzy.

I kissed him harder, one hand sliding up under his shirt and the other gripping his waist. He was warm, solid, and real.

Jake's fingers began to work at my shirt buttons, and I arched into his effort without conscious thought. It was all inevitable. Hog was right. We'd been building toward it since Jake moved in and started disrupting my carefully ordered life.

Suddenly, my hands started to shake.

It was barely perceptible at first—only a slight tremor in my fingers that rested on Jake's waist. Then, it grew stronger, spreading up my arms until I couldn't ignore it anymore.

Jake noticed immediately. He pulled back, breathing hard, eyes dark with concern.

"Hey. You okay?"

I stared at him, taking in his swollen lips, disheveled hair, and how his shirt had ridden up slightly to reveal a strip of pale skin above his jeans. He was beautiful, and I wanted him so badly it hurt.

But I was shaking like I was terrified.

"I—" I started, then stopped, unsure how to explain the terror crawling up my spine.

Jake's hands framed my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones.

"We don't have to rush this. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. Unless..." He paused. "Unless you want to?"

It was a clear invitation. I could walk through the door or close it completely. Standing there in our kitchen with Jake's hands on my face and my pulse pounding in my ears, I didn't know what to do.

I wanted him with such feral hunger but also craved safety and control.

"I don't know what I want," I whispered. I recognized the words as one of the most honest things I'd uttered in years.

Jake nodded, and there was no disappointment in his expression. I didn't read frustration either.

He took a deep breath. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

Jake pressed a soft kiss against my forehead and stepped back, giving me space to breathe.

"I should—" I gestured vaguely toward the hallway, my room, and the safety of solitude.

"Yeah," Jake agreed. "Me, too."

Neither of us moved for at least another minute.

"Good night, Evan," Jake said finally.

"Good night."

I made it halfway to my room before I realized I was still shaking.

I didn't stay in my room. Ten minutes later, I was back in the kitchen, restless. The traces of what happened were there—Jake's abandoned beer on the counter with my water glass.

One of my cookies sat on the counter beside his beer, half-eaten and forgotten. It looked ordinary—a chocolate chip with cornflakes, golden brown, and made with the exact careful measurements I always used.

Jake had taken a bite after I left, and somehow that transformed it into something else entirely—evidence of how his presence changed even the most familiar things.

I picked it up and took a bite, tasting butter and vanilla and the faint salt from Jake's fingers. It was still good, still perfectly textured, but eating was like crossing an invisible line between his chaos and my control.

I turned on the cold water and held my hands under the stream, hoping the shock of it would ground me somehow. The water was Lake Superior cold, but it didn't stop the trembling that had started during our kiss and showed no signs of stopping.

We'll figure it out.

Jake's words echoed in my head. He'd seen me falling apart, and he didn't run. He didn't push either. He offered time and space and the radical suggestion that figuring things out was something we could do together.

I dried my hands on the dish towel Jake had folded with surprising precision earlier, and I smiled at the memory. He'd been trying to speak my language and show me he could be careful with the things that mattered to me.

Maybe I could learn to speak his language too. Perhaps I could stop being so afraid of the mess that came with wanting someone.

Standing in the quiet kitchen, pulse still pounding and lips still tender from his kisses, I realized something.

I was tired of being afraid.

Tired of organizing my feelings into neat categories that kept me safe but left me lonely. Tired of watching Jake move through the world with careless confidence while I recorded his infractions and pretended I didn't want to be pulled into his orbit.

He'd asked if I wanted to plunge headlong into a future with him, and I'd told him I didn't know what I wanted. That wasn't entirely true.

I wanted him to kiss me again. I wanted to stop shaking when he touched me. I wanted to discover what it was like to let someone past all my carefully constructed walls.

I wanted to trust that Jake Riley—disorderly, impossible Jake Riley—might stay long enough for me to figure out how to be brave.

The apartment was quiet around me but didn't feel empty anymore. Jake was just down the hall, probably awake, thinking about the same kiss that had rearranged something fundamental inside me.

Tomorrow, there would be practice, team dinners, and all the ordinary moments that made up a life shared with someone else.

Tonight, there was only me standing in our kitchen, staring at a half-eaten cookie, finally understanding that some things were worth the risk of wanting them.

Even if they didn't come with a label.