Page 10

Calculated Surrender

Dean

I read her text for the twentieth time since last night.

Fine. Maybe I was. But have you SEEN him on the ice? The way he moves is almost illegal. And when he gave that rare smile? I wanted to climb him like a tree.

My thumb hovers over the screen. I should delete it. I should forget I ever saw it. I should maintain the careful boundaries we’ve established.

Instead, I start typing.

Me: Meet me at Blackwood Trail. The lookout point. 7 p.m.

I hit send before I can change my mind, then toss my phone onto my bed and run a hand through my hair.

This is a bad idea. This crosses every line I’ve drawn for myself. But I haven’t been able to think about anything else since her text came through last night.

She was watching me. At practice. When she was supposed to be anywhere but there.

And from the sound of it, she liked what she saw.

My phone buzzes with her reply.

Nora: OK

Just that. Two letters, no punctuation, no explanation or excuse. But somehow those two letters feel like the beginning of something neither of us can take back.

Blackwood Trail winds through the wooded area at the edge of campus. Most students know it for the parties that happen at the clearing near the entrance, but few venture all the way to the lookout point—a small clearing that offers a view of the valley and the lights of the town below. It’s quiet. Private. Far enough from the dorms that we won’t run into anyone we know.

I arrive early, as always, and find a flat rock to sit on while I wait. The evening is cold but clear, the sky deepening to indigo above the tree line. My breath forms clouds in the air.

What am I doing here? What am I going to say to her?

I haven’t planned this out, which is unusual for me. I operate on control, on knowing every variable, on anticipating every outcome. But with Nora, all my careful systems seem to fail.

I hear the crunch of leaves on the path before I see her. Then she emerges into the clearing, bundled up in a navy blue coat, a cream-colored scarf wound around her neck. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, or maybe from the climb. Her hair is loose around her shoulders.

She stops when she sees me, remaining at the edge of the clearing like she’s considering turning back.

“You came,” I say.

“You asked me to.” Her voice is steady, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands are buried deep in her pockets.

“I wasn’t sure you would.”

She takes a few steps forward, then stops again. “I’m sorry about the text. It was meant for Sadie.”

“I gathered that.” I stand from the rock, keeping some distance between us. “Were you at practice yesterday?”

She hesitates, then nods. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She looks away, out at the darkening valley. “Curiosity, I guess.”

“About?”

“You.” She says it simply, without artifice. “About who you are when you’re not in a classroom or a tutoring center. When you’re doing something you love.”

Her honesty disarms me. I expected deflection, maybe humor to defuse the tension. Not this direct acknowledgment of what’s been building between us. I like it much more than I should.

“And what did you see?” I ask, my voice lower than I intended.

She meets my eyes then. “Someone different than I expected. Someone who loves the game. Who laughs with his teammates. Who’s powerful and fast and—” She breaks off, color rising in her cheeks. “Well, you read the text.”

A smile tugs at my mouth despite my efforts to suppress it. “I did.”

“It’s embarrassing,” she says, crossing her arms. “Can we just forget about it?”

“Is that what you want?” I take a step closer. “To forget about it?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her eyes search mine, and I see the conflict there—caution warring with curiosity, restraint battling desire.

“No,” she says finally. “That’s not what I want.”

The admission hangs in the air between us, honest and dangerous.

“What do you want, Nora?” I ask, and it feels like the most important question I’ve ever asked.

She takes a deep breath. “I want—” she stops, recalibrates. “I can’t stop thinking about what you said. In my room. About wanting all of me.”

“I meant it.”

“I know.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture I’ve noticed before. “And I can’t stop thinking about what Daphne said. About how you are. What you like.”

Heat curls through me, low and insistent. “And that interests you?”

“Yes.” She says it without hesitation. “It does.”

There’s a long moment where neither of us speaks. The only sound is the rustle of leaves in the light breeze, the distant call of birds settling for the night.

“We shouldn’t do this,” I say, even as I take another step toward her. “The tutoring relationship—”

“I could get reassigned,” she interrupts. “Or we could keep it professional there. Separate.”

She’s thought about this. Planned for contingencies. It’s so perfectly Nora that it makes my chest ache.

“It’s not just that.” I stop an arm’s length away from her. “There’s Daphne to consider. And my focus needs to be on the Archer Initiative right now. And—”

“We could keep it simple,” she says, cutting me off again. “No strings. No expectations. Just… this. Whatever this is.”

“Friends with benefits,” I say flatly.

She nods. “Something like that.”

“And you think we could do that? Keep it casual?” I search her face, looking for doubt, for hesitation.

She doesn’t strike me like the type of girl who goes around suggesting fuck-buddy situations very often.

“I think we could try.” She meets my gaze steadily. “We’re both adults. We both know what we want. We set parameters, establish boundaries, keep communication clear.”

Something tightens low in my gut, a hot coil of desire mixed with disbelief. The way she says it—clinical, matter-of-fact, while her eyes hold that challenge—makes me want to show her exactly how far from clinical this could be.

“You make it sound like another research project,” I say, a hint of amusement in my voice.

“Maybe that’s the only way I know how to approach something this… complicated.”

I run a hand through my hair, weighing her words. The logical part of my brain is throwing up red flags, listing all the ways this could go wrong. But another part—the part that’s been aching for her since the first time she looked at me with those clear, challenging eyes—doesn’t care about the risks.

“What are your parameters?” I ask, curious despite myself.

She straightens slightly, and I recognize her organizing thoughts, preparing bullet points. It’s endearing and maddening all at once.

“We keep our academic relationship professional. No mixing the two.” She counts off on her fingers. “We tell no one. Not even Sadie. Especially not Daphne. We’re clear about what this is and isn’t. And—” she hesitates “—either of us can end it at any time. No questions, no hard feelings.”

I consider this. It’s rational, sensible. Exactly what I’d expect from her. But there’s something missing.

“Those are your boundaries,” I say. “What about your desires?”

She blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’ve told me what you don’t want. What about what you do want?” I take another step closer, close enough now that I can see the golden flecks in her brown eyes, the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. “From me.”

Her lips part slightly. “I want…” she begins, then falters.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice dropping lower. “Be specific.”

She swallows, and I watch the delicate movement of her throat. “I want to know what it feels like. To let go. To not be in control for once.” Her voice drops to nearly a whisper.

Her words hit me like a physical force. I’ve been holding back, maintaining distance, but at this—at the naked vulnerability in her voice—something in me shifts.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I say, even as I close the remaining distance between us.

“Then show me.”

My cock twitches in my jeans.

It’s a challenge, and we both know it.

I reach up slowly, giving her time to back away, and cup her face in my hand. Her skin is cool from the evening air, but her cheek warms under my palm. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. Just watches me with those clear, steady eyes.

“Last chance to walk away,” I murmur.

She doesn’t move. “I’m not walking away.”

I lean in, pausing just before our lips meet. I can feel her breath, quick and shallow, mingling with mine.

“Tell me you want this,” I say. A command disguised as a request.

“I want this,” she whispers. “I want you.”

The last thread of my restraint snaps.

I kiss her—not gently, not tentatively, but with all the hunger I’ve been suppressing for weeks. My hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck, tangling in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. My other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her against me.

For a heartbeat, she’s still, and I wonder if I’ve miscalculated. Then she makes a small, desperate sound against my mouth and melts into me. Her arms wind around my neck, her body pressing closer. Her lips part, and the first touch of her tongue against mine sends raw electricity racing down my spine.

She tastes like mint and something sweeter—honey, maybe, from tea. Her body is warm and pliant against mine, fitting perfectly. One of her hands slides into my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp, and I can’t suppress the low growl that rises in my throat.

I back her against a nearby tree, never breaking the kiss. The bark must be rough against her back, even through her coat, but she doesn’t protest. Instead, she arches into me, seeking closer contact.

I could lose myself in this—in the taste of her, the feel of her body against mine, the small sounds she makes when I deepen the kiss. But I need to maintain some control. For both our sakes.

I pull back slightly, enough to look at her face. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark with desire. She’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” I ask, my voice rough. “When you look at me during our sessions? When you watched me at practice yesterday?”

Her eyes widen slightly. “You knew I was there?”

“Of course I knew.” I brush my thumb across her lower lip, still damp from our kiss. “I always know when you’re near.”

She looks startled, and something else—intrigued, maybe. Or excited by the revelation.

“What else do you know?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. “I know exactly what you want, Nora. Even if you don’t quite know it yourself yet.”

I feel her shiver against me, not from cold.

“Do you still want to try this?” I ask, pulling back to see her face. “Friends with benefits?”

She nods, eyes never leaving mine. “Yes.”

“Then we do it my way.” I keep my voice firm, watching her reaction. “We follow your boundaries. Keep it separate from our academic relationship. Tell no one. Either of us can end it at any time. All of that works for me.”

She waits, sensing there’s more.

“But when we’re together like this?” I continue. “You let me lead. You trust me to know what you need. You tell me if something doesn’t work for you, but you let yourself let go. That’s my condition.”

Her breath catches. “And if I say no?”

“Then we walk away now. Go back to being just tutor and student. Project partners. Nothing more.”

It’s a gamble. I’m giving her an out, and part of me—the sensible part—hopes she takes it. But another part, the part that’s been awakened by the taste of her, by the feel of her body against mine, by the vulnerable honesty in her eyes when she admitted what she wants—that part prays she says yes.

Nora studies my face for a long moment, and I can almost see her weighing options, calculating risks, making her decision.

“Yes,” she says finally, her voice steady despite the flush on her cheeks. “Your condition. My boundaries. We try.”

Relief and desire crash through me in equal measure. I lean in and kiss her again, gentler this time but no less intense. Her lips yield under mine, responsive and eager.

When we finally break apart, both breathless, I rest my forehead against hers.

“We need to talk more about this,” I say. “Establish details.”

She laughs softly. “Always so thorough.”

“In everything,” I promise, and watch her pupils dilate at the implication.

“Okay.” She nods. “We’ll talk. But not right now.”

“No?”

She shakes her head, then rises on her toes to press another kiss to my lips, this one tentative but deliberate. “Right now, I just want you to kiss me again.”

And because I’m already breaking every rule I’ve set for myself, I do exactly that.