Page 62 of Gave Proof Through the Night

“Felt that one, did ya?”

The corner of his mouth kicks up. “That save Josh pulled didn’t hurt either.”

“Good guy. Doesn’t get enough ice time.”

Quiet settles for a second too long, which is usually when Brady starts fishing.

“Heard you’re headed to Irvine,” he says. “Brand new squad. Met anybody yet?”

“Not till camp starts. Right now it’s a bunch of press releases and an ungodly amount of merch left in my room.”

“Been there. Nonstop since the Olympics, for me too.” He turns his glass on the table without drinking from it. “My agent’s already texted twice about a date for the gala.”

There it is.

“Mine too, actually.” I stop, wondering why we can’t just go stag.

Then he asks if I have someone in mind, and the first face that pops into my head is her. Dangerous. Sticky Fingers. America. Or whatever her name really is.

“There’s this girl,” I say, almost to myself. Like my subconscious brain is control of my mouth now, and I have not been consulted.

He takes a sip of his beer, urging me to go on and I just word vomit. How she keeps turning up everywhere I go. How at this point I don’t know if the universe’s setting me up or messing with me.

“I asked her name once. Pretty sure what she gave me was made up on the spot.”

Brady laughs, short and rough. “Man, that’s not exactly a strong foundation.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I get it, though.” Whatever’s loose and performing about him drops for a second. “There’s somebody I might’ve already blown it with. Long story. I’m working on it.”

“That’s the worst kind of tough.”

“Yeah.” He studies me for a second like he’s about to ask something he shouldn’t, and I brace for a question about my mother I’m not going to answer tonight.

Instead, my eyes catch the lobby past his shoulder, and every other thought in my head clears out at once.

I’m on my feet before I’ve decided to stand, pulling bills out of my wallet and dropping them on the table.

“You good?” Brady asks.

“It’s her.” I’m already backing toward the lobby. “If I don’t go now, I won’t get another shot before we leave DC. Catch you later?”

“Sure thing.” He lifts his glass, more amused than offended. “Try not to lose to us again.”

I don’t have a comeback for that. I don’t have anything, honestly, except the sight of her standing at the edge of the lobby like she just belongs everywhere.

Her choice of clothing is… interesting. A black pantsuit, a tie knotted sharp at her throat, hair twisted back into a fierce bun. For a second I don’t even recognize her.

Then she shifts her weight and it’s unmistakably her, and none of it makes a single lick of sense. Her eyes move fast around the lobby, door to elevator to the concierge desk and back again, but she hasn’t seen me.

And I go to her, drawn to her flame.

For three days I’ve been rehearsing exactly what I’d say to her the next time I saw her face. Something calm. Something that would let her know I hadn’t stopped thinking about her for one single hour.

I stand there, and every rehearsed word goes straight out of my head.

“Hey,” I say, which is apparently the best I’ve got.