HANDS OFF CAPTAIN

chapter four

Chapter Four

Tessa POV

I should have known going out with Blake Callahan was a terrible idea.

The problem was that I knew it, and I still went.

Maybe it was because I wanted to see the man behind the captain's attitude. Maybe it was because his messages had been on my mind all day. Or maybe I was simply tired of pretending I didn't feel anything whenever he looked at me.

Whatever the reason, I was standing outside a bar on Friday evening, waiting for the most troublesome man in Boston to show up.

My phone vibrated.

Blake: I'm outside. Unless you've changed your mind and decided to abandon me.

I looked up and saw him leaning against his car, dressed in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt.

Of course, he looked good.

It was irritating.

He smiled when he saw me.

"Monroe."

"Callahan."

"You're looking at me like you regret coming."

"I haven't decided yet."

He laughed and opened the door for me.

"Give me an hour. I'll win you over."

"That's a very confident promise."

"I'm the captain. Confidence is part of the job."

"Being humble should be part of it too."

"Then I'm clearly failing at two things tonight."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

His smile widened.

"There it is."

"What?"

"That laugh. I've been trying to get it out of you all week."

I rolled my eyes and walked past him into the bar.

I wasn't going to let one compliment make me forget who I was dealing with.

At least, that was the plan.

The place was busy, filled with music and conversations. We found a table away from the loudest part of the room and ordered drinks.

At first, our conversation stayed light. Blake complained about the team's strict training schedule, and I reminded him that his shoulder was the reason he couldn't train as hard as he wanted.

"You really enjoy reminding me that I'm injured," he said.

"I enjoy reminding you that you're not invincible."

"That's because you haven't seen me at my best."

"I've seen you ignore medical advice. That's already enough."

He laughed and raised his glass.

"To your terrible opinion of me."

"To your terrible habit of proving me right."

Our glasses touched.

As the evening continued, we ordered another round. The drinks made us feel warmer and more relaxed. Our jokes became less guarded, and the distance between us seemed to disappear a little at a time.

I found myself laughing at stories about his early hockey days. He told me how his father had expected him to be the best at everything, and how losing a game could ruin his entire weekend when he was younger.

"You make it sound like being you is exhausting," I said.

"Sometimes it is."

The honesty in his voice surprised me.

For once, he wasn't smiling to entertain me.

"Everyone expects you to win," he continued. "The fans, the team, the people who think they know me. If I make one mistake, suddenly everyone has an opinion."

"And what do you want?"

He looked at me.

"One person who doesn't expect me to be perfect."

I swallowed.

"That's a lot to ask from someone."

"I know."

His gaze stayed on mine.

"But I'm hoping I might have found her."

My heart stumbled.

I looked down at my glass, pretending I hadn't heard the meaning behind his words.

"You're very good at saying things that make women forget you're arrogant."

"Is it working?"

"No."

He leaned back, smiling.

"You're a terrible liar, Monroe."

"And you're a terrible flirt."

"Yet here you are, having drinks with me."

I couldn't argue with that.

As the night went on, I became more aware of how close we were sitting. Our knees brushed beneath the table. Sometimes his fingers touched mine when we reached for our glasses, and neither of us moved away immediately.

The attraction between us was no longer something I could dismiss as my imagination.

I knew I was tipsy. Blake was too, his usual sharp confidence softened by laughter and the occasional pause as he searched for the right words.

But I was still aware of what I was doing.

And I knew I wanted to be there.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"That depends on the question."

"Why do you always assume the worst about me?"

I studied him.

"Because men like you usually get away with everything."

"Men like me?"

"Famous. Handsome. Used to getting what they want."

"And you think that's all I am?"

"I don't know what else you are, Blake."

His smile faded.

"Then let me show you."

The words were quiet, but they reached somewhere inside me that I had been trying to protect.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he reached across the table, stopping before his hand touched mine.

"Can I hold your hand?"

The question caught me off guard.

I looked at his waiting hand, then at his face.

"Yes."

His fingers closed gently around mine.

It was such a small thing, but it made my heart beat faster than all his teasing had.

When we finally left the bar, the night air felt cool against my face. Blake walked beside me, his hand brushing mine.

Neither of us seemed eager to say goodbye.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes," I admitted. "I did."

His expression softened.

"Good. Because I'd like to do this again."

I should have reminded him that he was still a player on the team and that my job required me to be careful.

Instead, I looked at him and asked, "And what happens if I say I want that too?"

His teasing expression disappeared.

"Then I'd ask if I could kiss you."

My breath caught.

"You don't have to ask me twice."

He searched my face for a moment.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Blake."

He kissed me.

At first, it was gentle, almost cautious. Then I slipped my hands around his shoulders, and he drew me closer. The kiss deepened, carrying all the attraction we'd been pretending not to feel.

When we finally separated, he rested his forehead briefly against mine.

"Tessa," he whispered.

Hearing my name like that made it difficult to remember every reason I should walk away.

We both knew we had been drinking. We were tipsy, our judgment wasn't as sharp as usual, and neither of us wanted to pretend the attraction wasn't real. So we stopped for a moment, made sure we both wanted to continue, and decided to leave the bar together.

The rest of the night belonged to us.

There were quiet conversations, more kisses, and moments when Blake made me laugh so hard that I forgot to be nervous. He was affectionate and attentive, and I let myself believe that perhaps the man everyone talked about wasn't the whole story.

We chose to spend the night together, and I fell asleep beside him with his arm around me.

For once, I didn't worry about tomorrow.

I should have.

Because morning came with a truth I wasn't prepared to hear.

Sunlight slipped through the curtains, and I slowly opened my eyes.

For a few seconds, I didn't remember where I was.

Then I saw Blake beside me.

Everything came rushing back.

The drinks. The laughter. His hand holding mine. His kiss. The way he'd looked at me as if I were the only woman in the room.

I remembered everything.

And when Blake opened his eyes, I saw the moment he recognized me.

He remembered too.

I was sure of it.

"Good morning," I whispered.

He sat up and rubbed his face.

"Morning."

His voice sounded different. The warmth from last night was gone, replaced by a distance I couldn't understand.

I pulled the sheet closer around myself.

"Blake?"

He looked at me.

"Yeah?"

I hesitated, suddenly afraid of the answer.

"Do you remember what happened last night?"

His eyes met mine.

For one brief moment, I saw something flicker across his face.

Then it disappeared.

"No," he said. "I don't really remember much."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"I told you. I had too much to drink."

The room became painfully quiet.

I remembered how carefully he had asked to kiss me. I remembered him listening when I spoke and asking whether I was sure before we went any further.

He was telling me he remembered none of it.

"Nothing?" I asked, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be.

He looked away.

"Nothing I can clearly remember."

I felt something inside me sink.

"Oh."

That was all I could say.

I turned away before he could see how much those words hurt.

Because the worst part wasn't that we'd spent the night together.

It was that I had allowed myself to believe it meant something to him.

And now I had to decide what to do with the memory of a night he claimed he couldn't remember.