Page 19

Priorities

Dean

The locker room erupts in chaos after Coach’s final words—guys shouting, music blasting, water bottles and tape balls flying through the air. We took down Ohio State 4-2, with a last-minute empty-netter to seal the win. A solid road victory against a ranked team.

I should be celebrating with them. Instead, I’m methodically packing my gear, my mind already miles away.

“Earth to Carter!” Gavin appears beside me, still flushed from the game, hair damp from his shower. “You planning to join the living anytime soon?”

“Just tired,” I say, zipping my bag closed.

“Bullshit.” He lowers his voice, leaning closer so only I can hear. “This is about Nora, isn’t it?”

My head snaps up. “What are you talking about?”

Gavin rolls his eyes. “Dude. I saw your face when Evans had his hands all over her at the party. You looked ready to remove his fingers one by one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, keeping my voice neutral despite the surge of anger at the memory of Kyle’s hand on Nora’s lower back.

“Sure you don’t.” He grins, clearly not buying it. “That’s why you’ve been checking your phone every five minutes since the final buzzer. And why you nearly took Johnson’s head off when he mentioned Evans earlier.”

I hadn’t realized I was being so obvious. “Evans is an ass.”

“No argument there.” Gavin shoulders his own bag. “But your reaction wasn’t about Evans. It was about who he was touching.”

I don’t respond, which is confirmation enough for Gavin. He sighs dramatically.

“Look, I don’t care if you’re hooking up with your hot tutor. I’m just saying, the guys are heading to that bar near campus. Prime opportunity to blow off some steam. Plenty of puck bunnies already texting me about meeting up.”

“I’ll pass,” I say, pocketing my phone.

“Your loss.” He claps my shoulder. “But Dean? If this thing with Shaw is serious enough to keep you from celebrating a win like this, maybe it’s not just hooking up.”

I watch him walk away, joining the rowdy group heading for the door, trying to ignore the uncomfortable truth in his words.

The hotel room is quiet after the chaos of the locker room. My roommate Asher went out with the team, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the muted sound of traffic sixteen floors below.

I should be reviewing game film. Or working on my prosthetics design. Or sleeping.

Instead, I’m scrolling through Nora’s Instagram.

It’s not much—she rarely posts, and when she does, it’s mostly academic stuff. Conference photos. Library stacks. The occasional coffee shop study setup. Nothing personal or revealing.

But there’s one post from last spring that I keep coming back to. Nora on a hiking trail somewhere, hair pulled back in her usual practical ponytail, a rare smile lighting up her face as she stands on a rocky overlook. She’s wearing hiking boots and a faded t-shirt with the periodic table on it, looking completely different from the controlled, professional version I usually see.

The caption reads: Annual reminder that there’s a world outside the library. Back to the books tomorrow.

I like this version of her. The one who climbs mountains for fun but still wears a science shirt while doing it. The one with mud on her boots and a genuine smile. The one who doesn’t overthink everything.

I want to text her, ask about the hike, where it was, if she goes often. But that would mean admitting I’ve been looking at her Instagram from a year ago. And it would mean breaking another rule.

No texting unless it’s about hooking up.

So I set my phone aside and try to focus on the game notes Coach sent us to review. But my mind keeps circling back to Nora. To the party. To Kyle Evans with his hand on her back, leaning too close, smiling too wide.

To the text I sent her.

We need to talk when I get back Sunday night. My place. 9 PM.

It wasn’t a question or a suggestion. It was a command. And I’m not sure if I had any right to issue it.

I’m not sure of anything anymore, except that I can’t wait to see her tomorrow.

Sunday drags. The bus ride back to campus feels interminable, every mile stretching longer than the last. We arrive mid-afternoon, and I head straight to my apartment, ignoring Gavin’s invitation to grab food with the team.

I clean the already clean apartment. Shower. Change. Check the time. 6:42. Still hours before Nora will arrive.

I try to work on my Archer Initiative application, but my focus is shot. All I can think about is Nora with Kyle. Nora at my door. Nora in my bed.

Finally, at 8:56, there’s a knock at my door.

When I open it, she’s standing there in jeans and a simple blue sweater, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. No makeup. No pretense. Just Nora, looking up at me with those clear, perceptive eyes.

“Hey,” she says, her voice neutral despite the tension vibrating between us.

“Hey.” I step back, letting her in. “How was your weekend?”

“Fine. Yours? How was the game?”

“We won.” I close the door, watching as she sets her bag down and removes her coat. There’s a slight nervousness to her movements, a tension I haven’t seen before.

“That’s good,” she says, turning to face me. “So… you wanted to talk?”

The directness is so quintessentially Nora. No games, no evasion.

Just cutting straight to the heart of it.

“Yeah.” I step closer, into her space. “About Friday night.”

She doesn’t back away, doesn’t drop her gaze. “What about it?”

“Kyle Evans had his hands on you.” The words come out harder than I intended, an edge I usually keep carefully controlled slipping through.

“He did,” she agrees, watching my face. “And?”

“And I didn’t like it.” Another step closer, close enough now to smell her shampoo, to see the slight acceleration of her pulse at the base of her throat.

“No jealousy,” she says quietly. “That was one of our rules.”

“I know.” I reach up, brushing a strand of hair back from her face, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. “I’m breaking it.”

Her breath catches, eyes widening slightly. “Dean…”

“Tell me you didn’t like it,” I say, my voice dropping lower. “Tell me you didn’t like him touching you.”

“I didn’t,” she says immediately, no hesitation. “It made me uncomfortable.”

“Good.” The word comes out rough, almost a growl. “Because you’re mine, Nora. At least for now. At least while we’re doing this.”

Her pupils dilate, a flush rising to her cheeks. “That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

“I’m changing the terms.” I slide my hand to the back of her neck, firm but gentle. “Tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me this isn’t what you want, and I’ll back off.”

She doesn’t say anything, just looks up at me with those clear, analytical eyes, like she’s solving a complex equation.

“I don’t share,” I continue, my thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Not even temporarily. Not even casually. That’s not who I am.”

“I’m not asking you to share,” she says softly. “I told you I didn’t like him touching me. I meant it.”

Relief and desire crash through me in equal measure. I lean down, my lips a breath away from hers. “Good.”

The kiss is different from our others—harder, more possessive. I back her up against the door, one hand still at her neck, the other at her waist, holding her against me. She makes a small, surprised sound that quickly turns into a moan as I deepen the kiss.

My hand slides up under her sweater, finding warm skin. Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer, her body arching into mine. The feel of her, responsive and eager, drives everything else from my mind—the game, Kyle, our rules. Nothing matters except Nora in my arms.

I break the kiss to trail my lips down her neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive spot where her shoulder meets her throat. “I wanted to do this at the party,” I murmur against her skin. “The second I saw his hand on you.”

“Dean,” she gasps as I suck harder at her pulse point, not quite hard enough to leave a mark, but almost. “We can’t—not in public.”

“I know.” I capture her mouth again, swallowing her small sounds of pleasure. “That’s why we’re here now.”

God, I want to fuck her so badly.

My balls ache.

My entire body is primed and ready to explode.

But… not yet.

My hands move to the hem of her sweater, ready to pull it over her head, when my phone rings from the coffee table. I ignore it, focusing on the feel of Nora’s skin under my fingertips.

It stops, then immediately starts ringing again.

“You should probably get that,” Nora says, breathless. “It might be important.”

I reluctantly pull away, crossing to the coffee table. The caller ID makes me freeze.

Daphne.

“It’s Daphne,” I tell Nora, whose eyes widen slightly.

“Are you going to answer?”

I hesitate, then hit accept. “Hello?”

“Dean?” Daphne’s voice comes through, shaky and tear-filled. “I’m sorry to call, I just—I didn’t know who else—”

“Daphne, slow down,” I say, concern replacing annoyance. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s James,” she says, hiccupping slightly. “He was supposed to pick me up from this work thing, but he’s not answering his phone, and I’m kind of stranded, and I think—I think he might have ghosted me.”

I close my eyes briefly. “Where are you?”

“That marketing conference center off Route 9,” she says, sounding miserable. “The one that’s like twenty minutes from campus. I’d call an Uber but my phone’s about to die and I don’t have my charger.”

I glance at Nora, who’s straightened her sweater and is watching me with unreadable eyes.

“I’ll come get you,” I say after a moment. “Give me twenty minutes.”

“Thank you,” Daphne says, relief evident in her voice. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just—”

“It’s fine,” I cut her off gently. “Stay put. I’ll be there soon.”

I end the call and turn to Nora, whose expression has shifted from desire to something more complex.

“Daphne’s stranded,” I explain unnecessarily. “Her date bailed on her.”

“You should go get her,” Nora says immediately, reaching for her coat.

“Nora—” I start, not sure what I want to say. That I don’t want her to leave? That I wish this hadn’t happened? That I’d rather stay here with her? Daphne needs me, and she was always there when I needed her.

“It’s okay,” she says, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “She needs you.”

“Rain check?” I ask, hating how inadequate it sounds.

She nods, already moving toward the door. “Text me later.”

“Wait.” I catch her arm gently. I lean down and kiss her, brief but firm.

“Go help Daphne,” she says when I pull back.

As I watch her leave, I’m struck by the irony of the situation—rushing to help my ex-girlfriend while the woman I can’t stop thinking about walks away. But what strikes me more is Nora’s reaction—understanding, practical, without drama or demands.

I’m not sure what to make of that.

I grab my keys and head for the door.