Chapter Twelve

GRACE

I can’t believe I’m letting Jensen drive me home. What is wrong with me? This night has gone off the rails. It was supposed to be a chill time with my brother but it has devolved into a stressful test of my willpower. What was I thinking, dancing with Jensen? I should’ve just left him to the blonde.

What was he thinking by almost kissing me? Carson could have seen us! This whole situation is getting way too messy and I’m so confused about my feelings right now, I can’t think straight.

I do my best to ignore his overwhelming presence next to me, even though he makes this car feel small. I gaze out the window at the passing buildings. When I realize that I don’t recognize anything we’re driving by, I frown. I’m still new to the city, sure, but I have a good memory and a sharp sense of direction. We’re not heading to my building.

“Where are we going?” I demand to know, reluctantly turning my gaze to him.

“I’m getting you something to eat,” he tells me.

“What? I don’t want to get food. I want to go home…”

At that moment, my stomach releases a loud growl, as if to intentionally protest my statement.

"I rest my case." His smirk is infuriatingly smug, and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"But at this hour?" I protest feebly, taking in how deserted the streets look. "Everything's closed."

Knowing him, he probably knows a place, or owns a place that opens just for him. Rich athletes and their privileges. "Not everything," he proclaims mysteriously, and I sigh, deciding to just go along with his plan. It saves me the trouble of preparing something back home anyway.

We finally pull up to an all-night diner, its neon lights casting a warm glow in the dimly lit street. The mere sight of it makes my stomach rumble again.

"I thought you'd appreciate a more… casual setting," Jensen says as he parks the car, killing the engine. "No dress code here."

"Can't say it's not considerate," I grumble, unbuckling my seatbelt.

He steps out of the car and maneuvers his way to open my door. The gentleman act is really getting on my nerves, especially knowing it's just a facade. There is no way he wants the real me. A part of me is still convinced he’s only caught up in getting me back in his bed. Nothing serious past that, just like every other hockey player I’ve ever known, including my brother. The other part of me—that part that does think he’s serious—knows he’s serious about Lynn, not me. Either way, it’s not good.

"Let's just eat quickly," I say curtly as we step into the diner. The smell of sizzling bacon hits me instantly, and I almost drool.

The diner has that typical old American charm about it — red leather booths, checkered floor tiles, and vintage Coca Cola posters decorating the walls. The jukebox in the corner plays some old tango music softly, adding to the quaint ambience.

We settle into a booth by a window and a waitress comes over to take our orders almost immediately.

When we’re alone again, the silence between us is heavy. I fiddle with the straw of my water glass while Jensen watches me quietly from across the table.

"Grace," he says, his tone serious. "We need to talk about what happened tonight."

"No, we don't." I argue, not ready to face the issue of our annoying chemistry head-on.

"Yes, we do," he insists. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, the determined glint in his eyes hard to miss.

I press my lips together, bracing myself for whatever he's about to tell me. “Fine,” I grumble. “Say what you need to say.”

Jensen runs a hand through his hair, his bright eyes locked on mine. He's usually so confident, so certain of everything he does. Now, he seems… nervous?

"Grace," he says again. "I think… we need to admit that there's something here. Something more than just what happened in Miami."

I scoff; I can't help it.. "Oh really? And what might that be?"

He winces slightly at my sarcastic tone but doesn't back down. "I think we both know," he says quietly. "You feel it, don't you?"

I want to deny it. I want to laugh in his face and brush off his words as nothing more than a bad joke, but I can't because he's right.

The silence stretches between us as I fight off the feelings that are rushing to the surface.

Finally, I murmur, “Jensen, Miami wasn’t real. I wasn’t Grace there. I was Lynn… and she was just a facade. You didn’t actually fall for me. ”

“Don’t say that,” he insists. “You might have used a different name, but you’re still the same girl.”

My heart sinks. “In Miami, I was relaxed and fun-loving, but that’s not how I really am. I’m anxious and type-A. I arrange my pencils by length, for god sakes! I’m not the kind of girl who has sex with a stranger on a beach!”

“Yes, you are,” he replies sharply. “Maybe you felt freer in Miami than you usually do, but everything you did there you did because you wanted to. I know you well enough to know that.”

I open my mouth to reply, but then close it when no words form. A part of me wants to latch onto his words and believe them, but a far more cautious part of me still thinks he doesn’t fully understand. Still, what he’s saying kind of makes sense… everything that happened in Miami happened because I wanted it.

"Grace," Jensen breaks the silence again, leaning forward in his seat, putting his elbows on the table. "I'm not asking for anything right now, believe me, but I think we owe it to ourselves to explore this… whatever this is. We don't have to put a label on it or anything."

My heart pounds against my rib cage at his words, my breath hitching in my throat. Is this really happening? That is just the kind of proposition I would expect from any other player, but here I was starting to think Jensen was different.

Jensen’s gaze is steady on me, waiting for a response. The intensity of the moment is cut by the waitress bringing our orders over.

“Here you go, darlings,” she places our plates down, smiling warmly before walking away again.

We both remain silent, just staring at each other while the aroma of our food fills the air around us. “I…” My voice sounds small even to me. “I’m starving. Let’s eat."

His jaw clenches again. It’s clear he isn’t going to let me dodge this conversation, but I dig into my cheeseburger and act as though it has my full attention. After several moments of stony silence, he tucks into his burger as well.

We don’t speak as we eat, which is good. It gives me time to gather my thoughts and try to calm down. I know the moment we’re done and back in his car, he’s going to try and talk about us again. There’s a buzzing in my ears as his no-labels proposal plays over and over again in my head. It’s a stark reminder that he doesn’t really know me, otherwise he’d understand why that idea is such a turn-off for me. I get that part of the way he worded his offer is probably because of me. I’ve been resisting him so hard, but really, I don’t know why he won’t just let the whole thing go. If our circumstances were different, yes, I’d absolutely want to pursue something more with him. But it just wouldn’t work between us with things as they are now. I just don’t know how to make him see that.

When we finish our meals, Jensen pays and we head back out to his car. I brace myself as I settle in my seat, anticipating he’ll launch into an argument to try and convince me we belong together or something. However, to my surprise, he doesn’t say a word and just starts driving. Confused, I almost ask him what’s wrong but then catch myself and press my lips together to stop the words from slipping out.

We drive in silence to my neighborhood and I feel a wave of relief wash over me when I spot my building. However, he doesn’t drive up to it. Instead, he maneuvers into the parking lot for the building directly across the street from mine.

“What are you doing?” I ask, shattering the quiet that’s engulfed us.

“I live here,” he answers. “I figured I’d park and I’d walk you to your building.”

He lives across the street from me? I bite back a groan. Of course he does. Why am I even surprised?

“That’s okay,” I assure him, opening my door to climb out of the car. “I’m a big girl. I can make it across the street.”

I slam the door shut and try to make a break for it, but I hear his door slam and he barks, “Grace, hold on. I still want to talk to you.”

I stop and roll my eyes to the sky in frustration. Haven’t we talked enough? What game is he playing now?

Reluctantly, I turn back around to face him and cross my arms over my chest.

“What is there left to say?” I demand to know.

He moves around the car to stand in front of me.

“You still want me,” he growls. “You want me as much as I want you and we both know it. If you’d just stop being so damn stubborn, we could have something really great between us.”

I grind my teeth as a hundred different emotions flood through me. At the forefront, though, is anger. “Why do you keep pushing this?” I snap. “I keep telling you, Miami was a fling, nothing more. Anything we’re feeling now is just a result of the lingering nostalgia we’re feeling.”

“That’s not true and you know it. Grace, I want to be with you!”

“No, you want to be with Lynn!” I shout. I’m stunned by my own words. I hadn’t realized until this moment how tightlyI was hanging onto that fear. “You fell for a girl who doesn’t even exist. You don’t want me. You don’t want Grace. You want who I was pretending to be back then.”

His shocked expression confirms that he didn’t see that coming.

“Is that what you think this is?” he asks, a hurt frown pulling at his lips. “Do you really believe I fell for a facade?”

“You tell me, Jensen,” I spit out. “It’s clear you’re living in some fantasy world where you think we can just pick up where we left off in Miami.”

“I’m not,” he insists, shaking his head vehemently. “I know things are different now, Grace, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still have something special.”

I scoff at his words. “Something special? That’s not what this is, and you know it.”

He looks pained, like he’s struggling with what to say next. For a moment, neither of us speaks.

“Grace, I?—”

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “Save it, Jensen. You’ve made your thoughts all too clear. But this… us? It can’t happen.”

I turn to storm away but I feel his fingers wrap around my upper arm to stop me.

I whirl back to him. “Jensen, let me?—”

He cuts me off with a searing kiss, pulling me tight against him and dropping his lips on mine. For a moment, I tell myself to resist. To fight the urge to give in and melt for him. However, I simply don’t have the willpower to pull away, because as much as I’m fighting this, I’m craving it all the same.

His mouth moves over mine with a desperate fervor that sends ripples of warmth flooding through me. My eyes flutter closed, my hands sliding up into his hair as I kiss him back. He tastes of sweet regret and unfulfilled longing, a potent combination that has me forgetting my defiance. The cold chill of the night is forgotten as fire sparks between us.

I feel my resolve melting away and all the reasons I’ve been telling myself this shouldn’t happen don’t seem to matter anymore. I just want him. It’s that simple. I want his body pressed against mine. I want to feel him deep inside me. I want him to stare down at me with his eyes glazed with passion.

At length, he pulls back and meets my gaze.

“Come upstairs with me,” he murmurs.

Upstairs. To his apartment. Where we will most likely have sex. He watches me expectantly as he waits for my reply, and as I look back up at him, memories from Miami flood my mind. I remember how good it felt in his arms and how much pleasure he’d been able to wring from my body. My skin heats up at the thought and I feel myself getting wet. My body is aching for his, and I decide I’m tired of denying myself. Maybe I’ll never have all of him, but at least we can have tonight.

“Okay,” I whisper.

His lips curl into a grin and he takes my hand. Turning, he leads me toward his apartment building and I go with him, consequences be damned.