Penalty Kill

Harper

We're sitting across from one another in the corner of a cozy coffee shop, lattes and pastries successfully obtained after a healthy bit of quarreling at the register. As I dug into my bag to grab my wallet to pay, I was met with a large hand pushing my money down as Jake reached across with his own card.

"You do know I have a job that pays me real money that I can use to buy things, right?"

"No way, they pay you to look at and touch books all day? That's too good to be true. I thought you just inhabited the library, like some kind of wise, mystical book guardian."

I give him a little shove as the barista hands him his card back, her eyes curiously glancing between the two of us before turning to make our drinks. He then proceeds to insist that we sit in a booth next to each other, an idea I quickly shoot down due to my inability to function when he's within a few inches of me.

I'll give him credit—he gave me his best puppy dog pout before settling for the table in the corner, surrounded by a variety of green plants and windows with the glass fogged. The lighting was soft and low, helping to calm some of my frayed nerves that I've been struggling with since we left the airport.

Looking across the table, Jake has his chin propped up on his hand, the steam from his drink rising up in front of him. I can't help but copy his posture, except my fingers are tapping restlessly on my mug full of delicious hazelnut oat milk latte. I'm trying desperately to find somewhere to start, anywhere. I know what I need to say, but no idea how to get it out where I'm not overexposing myself.

I've got him right where I want him, sitting and ready to listen with rapt attention. There won't be a better chance than this, and I just need to get it over with for fuck's sake. Turning my gaze down my drink and flaky pastry, I pick a place in my brain and dive in headfirst. No more stalling, no more second guessing.

"This is a lot, what's happened in the past week. Don't you think?" There. The words have left my mouth, and they're hanging in the air between us now. He'll do with them what he will, and I'll deal with the aftermath the best I can in stride.

I opt to pick at my food, putting a little bit of pastry in my mouth before gathering the courage to look up at him again. The question I posed was innocent enough, but I can tell he's trying to suss out my ulterior motives as I meet his green eyes again. He's searching my face intently, his gaze critical as he watches me tug on a few strands of my hair before he gazes out the window.

"A lot of good things, if you're asking me. I met you, we've gone out together a few times, and I managed to convince you to tune into three hockey games to watch me play—although I'll need to quiz you on each one to make sure you actually watched them in their entirety." He gives me a wink before sipping his latte, and I give him a signature eye roll in return as I continue to pick at my pastry with one hand.

With a sigh, I replace my fingers around my mug and continue to fidget by tapping the warm ceramic over and over again. Shifting my hand from my chin to my cheek, I swallow hard and look back to Jake. He's leaning forward towards me over the table, his expression earnest, but soft.

"I don't know how to explain this to you, Jake. I really don't." I can't help but sigh, trying to gather my wild thoughts that are running off in every direction in my mind. "I've been trying all week to figure out how to put it into words, and I just end up getting pissed off at myself for not being articulate enough to speak my mind. I'm having fun, it's making me happy, and I want to believe it, I do. I want to give into it, but god, Jake, it's fucking terrifying."

His hand reaches out across the table, and his fingers rest on my own, finally stilling them from their constant state of movement against my mug. His touch forces me to take a deep breath, and while it's shaky, I do find myself a little more centered and less restless on the exhale.