Page 77 of Ice Cold Chemistry
I think about it. Really think about it.
Am I less clenched? I don’t know. I still feel like I’m bracing for impact most of the time. Stillwaiting for the other shoe to drop. Still convinced that anything good is just temporary, a brief reprieve before the universe remembers I don’t deserve nice things.
But when I’m with Winnie…
When I’m with her, I forget to brace. I forget to wait. I just exist in the moment without the constant background hum of anxiety that’s been my companion for as long as I can remember.
Is that what unclenched feels like?
“I don’t know what I feel,” I admit. “I’ve never been good at identifying emotions.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out.” Archer finishes his beer. “Just don’t push her away. Whatever this is, whatever you’re building—it’s worth protecting.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
Something flickers across his face. Something tired and sad. “Maybe.”
Before I can ask what that means, Logan is yelling something about a rematch, and the moment passes. Archer gets up to deal another hand, and I’m left sitting there, turning his words over in my mind.
Whatever you’re building—it’s worth protecting.
Am I building something? It started as an arrangement, a solution to a problem. Fake dating to keep the guys away from her, to help the team focus, to fix something that was broken.
But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling fake.
The night winds down around midnight. Guys start peeling off, heading home to wives, girlfriends, and empty apartments. I should leave too. I should go back to my place, get some sleep, and stop thinking about things I can’t have.
Instead, I sit on Archer’s back porch with a final beer, staring at my phone.
I’m slightly drunk. Just buzzed enough to make bad decisions seem like good ideas.
I pull up Winnie’s contact.
We haven’t texted much—just a few logistics here and there. Nothing personal. Nothing that crosses the careful lines we’ve drawn.
But right now, sitting in the dark with Archer’s words echoing in my head, I want to cross a line. Just a small one. Just enough to feel connected to her.
I type out a text before I can talk myself out of it.
Me:Thinking about you.
Send.
Immediately, I regret it.
What the hell am I doing? “Thinking about you”? What is this, a romantic comedy? She’s going to think I’ve lost my mind. She’s going to laugh at me. She’s going to—
My phone buzzes.
Winnie:Yeah?
One word. Not mocking. Not dismissive. Justcurious.
I stare at the screen, my heart doing something complicated.
Me:Yeah.
Winnie:What are you thinking?
