Work Text:
By seven-thirty, Hannah Wells had developed a new policy regarding Garrett Graham.
The policy was simple.
Do not answer his texts immediately.
Do not reread them.
Do not wear his hoodie while pretending to be unaffected.
Do not let Allie call the hoodie “evidence.”
Unfortunately, the policy had been written by a woman currently wearing the hoodie, so its legal standing was questionable at best.
Her phone buzzed.
Hannah looked at it.
Then at the sleeve covering half her hand.
Then at Allie, who was lying upside down on her bed with a textbook open on her stomach and the expression of someone who had been waiting for the prosecution to begin.
“No,” Hannah said.
Allie’s eyes lit up. “Is that Garrett?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say no like your dignity just got subpoenaed?”
Hannah turned the phone face-down.
A mature decision.
A strong decision.
A decision that lasted almost long enough to be legally recognized.
The phone buzzed again.
Hannah closed her eyes.
Allie slowly lowered her textbook. “Oh my God.”
“Do not.”
“You haven’t even looked yet.”
“I can sense him.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It’s a medical condition.”
“Is the treatment plan making bad choices in borrowed clothing?”
Hannah grabbed the phone before Allie could continue being accurate.
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): important league business
Hannah stared at the message.
There was no league.
There was no business.
There was absolutely no reason for her stomach to perform a tiny, humiliating warm-up lap.
Hannah Wells: there is no league
The three dots appeared immediately, because apparently Garrett Graham’s free time was now devoted entirely to ruining her peace and exploiting Wi-Fi.
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): logan bought a whiteboard
Hannah Wells: that makes it worse not official
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): official enough for league records
Hannah Wells: league records of what
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): mario kart. my place. 8. best of five.
Hannah Wells: absolutely not
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): scared?
Hannah Wells: of rainbow road?
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): of losing in front of witnesses
Hannah Wells: your witnesses are emotionally unstable
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): true. but available.
Allie sat up. “You’re smiling.”
“I’m horrified.”
“You’re smiling with teeth.”
“That’s a threat display.”
“That’s flirting with dental involvement.”
Hannah shot her a look and typed faster.
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): he already drew you on the board
Hannah froze.
Hannah Wells: why
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): league branding
Hannah Wells: does cartoon me look dignified
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): define dignified
Hannah Wells: garrett
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): there may be fangs
Hannah stared.
Allie made a delighted sound from the bed. “There are fangs, aren’t there?”
Hannah looked up slowly. “How did you know that?”
“Because Logan understands your brand.”
“My brand is not fangs.”
“Your brand is academically threatening.”
“That is different.”
Her phone buzzed again.
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): also abs for me
Hannah Wells: cartoon you has abs?
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): logan said it was important for accuracy
Hannah Wells: logan has never encountered accuracy socially or professionally
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): come correct the record
Hannah Wells: I’m not coming over because you and logan committed art crimes
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): what if I say please
Hannah Wells: I’d assume head trauma
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): please, wellsy
Hannah stared at the screen for one extremely unfortunate second.
Allie leaned sideways, trying to see. “Oh, that was a good one.”
“You don’t even know what he said.”
“Your ears changed color.”
“They did not.”
“They absolutely did.”
Hannah typed with unnecessary force.
Hannah Wells: weaponizing manners feels desperate
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): I’m setting the tone
Hannah Wells: the tone is harassment with punctuation
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): the tone is competitive
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): bring the hoodie
Hannah looked down.
The hoodie, unfortunately, had the smug air of a textile with legal representation.
Hannah Wells: I’m returning it
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): which one?
Hannah went very still.
Across the room, Allie’s expression became unbearable.
Hannah Wells: that is not relevant
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): feels relevant to inventory
Hannah Wells: stop flirting through property disputes
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): no
Hannah dropped the phone onto the bed.
Then picked it up three seconds later to make sure he had not said anything else.
He had not.
Somehow that was worse.
Allie watched the entire thing with the calm, merciless patience of a woman witnessing history. “So are you returning his hoodie, or wearing his hoodie to return his other hoodie?”
Hannah opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Looked at the folded Briar hoodie on the chair.
Then at the Briar hoodie currently covering most of her hands.
“This,” she said carefully, “is a phased return process.”
“Of course.”
“Inventory management.”
“Obviously.”
“I am being responsible.”
“You are wearing one piece of evidence and packing another for travel.”
Hannah stood and snatched the folded hoodie from the chair. “I’m going to beat him at Mario Kart.”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to return the hoodie.”
“Definitely.”
“And then I’m going to come home like a normal person with normal dignity.”
Allie’s mouth twitched.
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “Do not breathe judgmentally.”
Allie pressed her lips together.
Hannah grabbed her jacket and headed for the door.
Behind her, Allie called, “Text me when the league enters discovery.”
Hannah did not dignify that with a response.
Mostly because her phone buzzed again.
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): logan says hoodie custody is now an official category
Hannah stopped in the hallway.
Hannah Wells: if there is a hoodie custody column, I’m breaking the whiteboard
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): he spelled custody wrong if that helps
Hannah looked at the ceiling.
The ceiling offered no counsel.
Coward.
Hannah arrived with one hoodie under her arm, another under her jacket, and absolutely no intention of explaining the math.
The hockey house smelled like pizza, laundry detergent, and the faint metallic tang of hockey gear. The living room was already loud with the sound of Mario Kart on the TV and at least six guys shouting over each other.
Someone had dragged in a whiteboard.
Of course someone had dragged in a whiteboard.
BEST OF FIVE LEAGUE was written across the top in Logan’s aggressive block letters.
Beneath it were two cartoon faces.
Garrett’s had abs.
Hannah’s had fangs.
Under hers, someone had written: CURRENT HOODIE POSSESSION: UNDER REVIEW.
Hannah stopped dead.
“Absolutely not.”
Hannah picked a spot just inside the doorway, one hoodie clutched in front of her like a shield while the other sat under her jacket committing treason against her dignity, and tried to look like someone who was not actively participating in whatever this was.
This lasted approximately four seconds.
Logan spotted her first.
His grin spread slow and evil, the kind of grin that suggested he had been waiting for this exact moment all week.
“WELLSY!” he bellowed, loud enough that half the room turned. “The league champion has entered the building!”
A controller slipped from someone’s hand and hit the carpet.
Hannah took one careful breath and considered whether Mario Kart counted as a weapon if thrown with enough conviction.
Garrett, sprawled on the couch with a controller in his lap, didn’t even look up from the screen.
He just smiled like he’d known she was there the second she walked in.
Hannah pointed at the whiteboard. “Erase hoodie possession.”
Logan pressed one hand to his chest. “I can’t alter official records.”
“You spelled custody wrong.”
“That’s why I wrote possession.”
Garrett finally glanced over, eyes bright with the exact brand of smug she was not going to acknowledge. “Bold of you to walk into enemy territory wearing my colors.”
“I’m returning property.”
“You’re wearing two pieces of property.”
“One is in transit. The other is…” She glanced down at herself. “Climate control.”
Logan made a delighted noise from somewhere near the whiteboard. “She just pleaded the Fifth on a hoodie.”
“That is not what that means,” Hannah said.
Tucker, from the wall, said, “Honestly, in this house, it might be.”
Allie appeared at her elbow like a judgmental ghost, one eyebrow arched so high it was basically in orbit.
She didn’t say anything.
She didn’t have to.
The look said everything.
Tucker, bless him, tried to play neutral. He was leaning against the wall with a slice of pizza, expression carefully blank. “We’re just playing Mario Kart, relax.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re all terrible liars.”
Garrett’s mouth tilted. “Come sit down. Unless you’re scared.”
“Of Mario Kart?”
“Of losing in front of witnesses.”
Hannah looked at the couch, the scoreboard, the stolen hoodie in her hands, and Garrett Graham’s entirely too pleased face.
There were several respectable choices available to her.
Naturally, she chose the worst one.
She sat down beside him.
The second Hannah sat down, Logan slapped both hands against the whiteboard like a man about to conduct a very serious investigation.
“Before we begin,” he announced, “we need official rules.”
Hannah looked at Garrett. “Why does he sound like he has authority?”
Garrett settled beside her, close enough that his knee brushed hers. “Because no one stopped him early enough.”
“That feels like a leadership failure.”
“It is. We’re all ashamed.”
Logan uncapped a marker with his teeth.
Tucker winced. “Please don’t put that back in your mouth.”
Logan ignored him and wrote OFFICIAL LEAGUE RULES beneath the aggressively drawn cartoon faces. Hannah’s cartoon had enormous eyelashes and what appeared to be fangs. Garrett’s had abs, which felt both anatomically unnecessary and artistically optimistic.
Hannah pointed at it. “Why does his cartoon have abs?”
Logan glanced over his shoulder. “Brand recognition.”
“Why do I have fangs?”
“Also brand recognition.”
Garrett leaned closer, voice low. “I think they’re cute.”
Hannah turned her head slowly. “Do not compliment the fangs.”
“Too late.”
“I will bite you.”
His grin flickered. “See? Brand recognition.”
Allie made a quiet choking sound from the opposite couch.
Hannah picked up a throw pillow and considered whether it had enough structural integrity to cause damage.
Tucker, still clinging to the fading dream of order, lifted one hand. “Maybe we keep the rules simple. Five races. Most wins takes the tournament. Loser buys pizza.”
“Boring,” Logan said.
“Reasonable,” Tucker corrected.
“Same thing, different font.”
Garrett leaned forward and grabbed a slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table. “I vote for chaos.”
“You would,” Hannah said.
“I thrive under pressure.”
“You nearly lost a fight with a coffee table five minutes ago.”
“That table came out of nowhere.”
“It was stationary.”
“Exactly. Sneaky.”
Tucker rubbed a hand over his face. “I miss five minutes ago, when I thought this was going to be about pizza.”
Logan pointed the marker at them. “Rule one: no attacking league officials.”
Hannah looked him up and down. “That disqualifies you as a league official.”
“I founded the league.”
“You drew fangs on me.”
“Founding artists are often misunderstood.”
Allie lifted her cup. “I support the fangs.”
Hannah stared at her. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am. I think the fangs are intimidating.”
Garrett nodded. “Very competitive.”
“I hate all of you,” Hannah said.
Logan wrote 1. NO ATTACKING OFFICIALS on the board.
Then, underneath it, he added in smaller letters: physical, verbal, psychological pending review.
Tucker sighed. “Honestly, the psychological category is mostly for Hannah.”
“That feels like praise,” Hannah said.
“It wasn’t,” Tucker said.
“Too late,” Allie said. “She arrived encouraged.”
Hannah crossed her arms, which unfortunately made the stolen hoodie bunch at her elbows.
Garrett’s gaze dropped to it immediately.
Of course it did.
Logan’s gaze followed.
Then Allie’s.
Then Tucker’s.
The entire room became horrifyingly aware of cotton.
Hannah sat very still. “No.”
“No one said anything,” Garrett said.
“You all became quiet with intent.”
Logan slowly turned back to the whiteboard.
Hannah pointed at him. “Do not write about the hoodie.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
“I was considering the historical record.”
“The historical record can mind its business.”
Logan wrote 2. HOODIE STATUS: DISPUTED PROPERTY.
Garrett grinned.
The front door opened.
A gust of cold air swept through the room, followed by Dean Heyward carrying a six-pack under one arm and wearing the expression of a man who had walked into chaos and immediately decided it was his natural habitat.
He stopped just inside the living room.
Looked at the whiteboard.
Looked at Hannah.
Looked at Garrett.
Then looked at the hoodie.
“Oh,” Dean said, delighted. “This is way better than what I thought was happening.”
Hannah closed her eyes. “Absolutely not.”
Dean stepped farther inside, already smiling. “I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You arrived with commentary on your face.”
“That’s just my bone structure.”
Garrett snorted.
Hannah pointed at him without opening her eyes. “Do not encourage him.”
Dean set the beer on the coffee table and leaned in to examine the whiteboard. “Hoodie status disputed property,” he read aloud. “Interesting. Is this civil court or criminal?”
“Emotional court,” Logan said solemnly.
Dean nodded. “Messy jurisdiction.”
“There is no jurisdiction,” Hannah said.
Dean looked at the hoodie she was wearing, then the one in her hands. “You have multiple pieces of evidence.”
“They’re fabric.”
“They’re motive,” Dean corrected.
Garrett’s grin made a full confession. “That’s what I said.”
“You said nothing legally useful,” Hannah snapped.
Dean studied the board with grave interest. “You’re missing motive.”
Logan pointed at Garrett. “Motive is him.”
“Objection,” Hannah said.
Dean nodded. “Sustained. Also, her competitive instability.”
“That feels defamatory.”
Tucker, without looking up from his pizza, said, “It feels documented.”
Dean glanced at Garrett. “Did you label the hoodie?”
“My name is on the tag.”
Dean whistled. “Open-and-shut case.”
Hannah stared at him. “Against whom?”
Dean shrugged. “Still determining. But there’s possession, intent, repeated offense, and”—his eyes flicked between her and Garrett, mouth curving—“whatever the hell that is.”
Allie lifted her cup. “Chemistry.”
“Objection,” Hannah said immediately.
Dean pointed at her. “Objection noted. Evidence still embarrassing.”
Logan made an awed sound. “Can you be league counsel?”
“No,” Tucker said.
“Yes,” Logan said.
Dean picked up the marker from the coffee table before Tucker could stop him and added beneath the hoodie rule:
DEAN ENTERS AS OUTSIDE COUNSEL.
Hannah looked at Garrett. “Your friends are feral.”
Garrett leaned back, smiling. “You came to the hockey house.”
“I made one mistake.”
Dean glanced at the hoodie again. “Looks like several.”
Hannah stood halfway up. “I’m leaving.”
Garrett caught the sleeve of the hoodie and tugged lightly, not enough to pull her back down, just enough to remind her he could.
The worst part was that he didn’t pull harder. He didn’t have to. The light pressure at her sleeve did more damage than a hand at her waist would have, because it left her the choice and somehow made staying feel like losing.
“Stay,” he said.
It came out softer than the rest of him had been all night.
Annoying.
Unfair.
Extremely inconvenient.
Dean’s grin sharpened. “Oh, he’s gone.”
Garrett pointed at him. “You’re outside counsel. Stay outside.”
“I’m observing the client.”
“I’m not your client.”
“You need representation.”
“I need new friends.”
“You need both,” Tucker said.
Hannah sat back down with great dignity, which was difficult because Logan immediately added SHE STAYED under the hoodie rule.
Dean stared at it, impressed. “Strong record-keeping.”
“I’m going to break every marker in this house,” Hannah said.
Logan held his to his chest. “This marker is a sacred league instrument.”
Dean picked up another marker from the coffee table and offered it to Hannah. “If you’re going to commit evidence tampering, at least use blue. It photographs better.”
Hannah stared at him.
Allie laughed into her cup.
Garrett shook his head, smiling. “Dean, you’ve been here for thirty seconds.”
“And I’ve already improved the legal system.”
Tucker reached over and gently took the marker from Logan. “Maybe I’ll write the rules.”
Logan looked betrayed. “You’re censoring the press.”
“I’m preventing a crime.”
“History will remember this.”
“History will thank me.”
Garrett shifted beside Hannah, his thigh warm against hers. “For the record, I think the hoodie should stay.”
“No one asked you,” Hannah said.
“I’m an affected party.”
“You abandoned it.”
“I lent it.”
“You failed to retrieve it.”
“You kept providing replacements.”
Garrett’s smile did something slow and prosecutable. “So you admit there are replacements.”
“I admit nothing.”
“You’re wearing evidence.”
“I’m managing evidence.”
“On your body.”
“It’s called multitasking.”
Garrett’s expression sharpened, and Hannah realized too late that she had walked directly into that conversation and handed him a map.
Logan made a wounded sound. “God, you two are exhausting.”
Allie’s eyebrow lifted. “Are they?”
“Yes.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Tucker wrote 3. HOODIE REMAINS NEUTRAL TERRITORY on the board.
Hannah nodded once. “Thank you.”
Garrett squinted at the rule. “Neutral seems inaccurate.”
“It’s not your hoodie anymore,” Allie said.
Garrett looked personally offended. “It is absolutely my hoodie.”
Hannah tugged the sleeve down over her hand. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“You’re citing law now?”
“I cite law whenever it benefits me.”
“That’s not how law works.”
“It is when I’m winning.”
Logan snatched the marker back from Tucker and wrote 4. HANNAH IS NOT ALLOWED TO USE LEGAL TERMS UNLESS GARRETT GETS A LAWYER.
Garrett raised a hand. “I object.”
Hannah glanced at him. “On what grounds?”
“That you’d enjoy cross-examining me too much.”
She smiled before she could stop herself. “Sustained.”
Garrett’s eyes warmed.
Allie noticed.
Of course Allie noticed.
Allie noticed things professionally.
She leaned back on the opposite couch, sipping her drink with the serene expression of someone watching a house slowly catch fire from a safe distance.
“Rule five,” Logan said, marker poised. “No foreplay during gameplay.”
The entire room went silent.
Tucker closed his eyes. “Logan.”
“What? It’s a legitimate rule.”
Hannah’s face went hot. “It is absolutely not.”
Garrett, because he had apparently chosen violence, tilted his head. “Define foreplay.”
The room erupted.
Several teammates yelled at once. Tucker made a strangled sound. Allie laughed into her cup. Logan pointed at Garrett like he’d just won a debate.
“See?” Logan shouted. “This is why we need rules!”
Hannah turned slowly toward Garrett. “You are not helping.”
“I’m seeking clarity.”
“You are seeking death.”
“Death by legal definition. Very you.”
“Garrett.”
He leaned back against the couch, wearing innocence like a crime scene. “I’m just saying, if my knee touches your knee because this couch is too small, is that a penalty?”
“Yes,” Logan said immediately.
“No,” Garrett said at the same time.
Hannah looked down.
His knee was, in fact, touching hers.
She looked back up.
Garrett’s expression was innocent in a way that deserved consequences.
“That,” she said, “depends on intent.”
Garrett’s smile shifted. “Dangerous standard.”
“All your standards are dangerous.”
“All my standards?”
“All two of them.”
“Ouch.”
“You’ll recover.”
Logan wrote 5. INTENTIONAL KNEE CONTACT = PENALTY.
Then, after a pause, he added: UNLESS FUNNY.
Tucker stared at the board. “That cannot be enforceable.”
Logan underlined it. “It is now.”
Hannah leaned toward Garrett, lowering her voice. “This is why civilizations collapse.”
Garrett’s knee pressed lightly against hers again.
Deliberate.
Obnoxious.
Warm.
“You came to the wrong civilization, Wellsy.”
Her pulse did something incredibly stupid.
She looked at the television because the television had never called her Wellsy in that voice.
“Rule six,” Allie said suddenly.
Everyone turned.
Allie smiled pleasantly. “If either of you says this is casual more than twice, you automatically lose the next race.”
Hannah’s mouth fell open. “Betrayal.”
“Allie has eyes,” Garrett said.
“Allie has a survival instinct,” Allie corrected. “And listening to you two pretend not to flirt is taking years off my life.”
“We are not flirting,” Hannah said.
Allie took a sip from her drink. “Sure. And I’m here for the Mario Kart lore.”
Logan gasped and pointed at the board. “That’s one.”
“That was not ‘this is casual.’”
“It was spiritually similar.”
“You cannot penalize spiritual similarity.”
“Watch me.”
Tucker took the marker back before Logan could write anything else. “New rule: Logan is limited to one emotionally invasive comment per race.”
Logan looked appalled. “That’s censorship.”
“That’s mercy,” Allie said.
Dean lifted his beer. “Seconded by outside counsel.”
“You are not outside counsel,” Hannah said.
Dean smiled. “The board disagrees.”
Garrett looked at Hannah, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You ready?”
“For Mario Kart?”
“For eternal glory.”
“I was born ready.”
“You were born argumentative.”
“And yet here you are, still talking to me.”
His eyes flicked down to her mouth for half a second.
Barely that.
Still enough.
“Yeah,” he said. “Here I am.”
That was much too quiet for the living room.
Much too close to sincere.
Hannah immediately grabbed her controller. “Start the race before he says something weird.”
Garrett laughed.
Logan slapped the whiteboard one more time. “Final rule!”
“No,” Tucker said.
“Yes,” Logan said. “Final rule. Winner gets bragging rights. Loser accepts defeat with dignity.”
Hannah and Garrett looked at each other.
Then both of them laughed.
Logan sighed. “Fine. Loser accepts defeat with whatever emotionally damaged version of dignity they can manage.”
“Better,” Hannah said.
Garrett picked up his controller, shoulder brushing hers as the character selection screen loaded. “Good luck, Wellsy.”
“I don’t need luck.”
“No?”
She hovered over Princess Peach with aggressive intent.
“I have skill.”
Garrett chose Bowser and leaned back, grinning.
“Cute,” he said. “I have weight class.”
“This explains so much about your personality.”
The room howled.
Logan uncapped the marker again, eyes bright with purpose. “And with that, the league begins.”
Dean dropped into an armchair like a judge taking the bench. “Proceed.”
Hannah looked at the scoreboard, the ridiculous rules, the stolen hoodie sleeves covering half her hands, and Garrett Graham sitting beside her like he had already won something.
She tightened her grip on the controller.
Fine.
If the whole house wanted a spectator sport, she would give them one.
Logan clapped his hands together like a referee with absolutely no licensing authority. “All right, Best of Five League. First race, Rainbow Road.”
“Finally,” Garrett said, leaning forward. His shoulder brushed Hannah’s. “Big night for you, Wellsy.”
“Try not to embarrass yourself before I get comfortable.”
“I’d hate to ruin your evening that quickly.”
“You ruin things at a very steady pace.”
Logan made a delighted noise near the whiteboard. “And we haven’t even started. Incredible.”
The race started.
For the first thirty seconds, it was almost civilized.
Then Garrett blue-shelled her on the final straight, and Hannah nearly threw the controller at his head.
“You absolute menace,” she hissed as her kart spun out.
Garrett’s grin was pure evil. “That was strategy.”
“That was a crime.”
“That was Mario Kart.”
“That was character assassination with wheels.”
Logan, standing by the whiteboard like a deranged sports commentator, cupped his hands around his mouth. “Graham takes the early lead with a ruthless blue-shell maneuver. Wells is wounded. Wells is furious. Wells may be considering felony charges.”
“I am considering several,” Hannah said.
Tucker, still trying to be the voice of reason, muttered, “It’s just Mario Kart.”
Dean leaned back in his armchair. “No, this is jurisprudence.”
Hannah pointed at the screen. “Tell that to the traitor in first place.”
Garrett laughed under his breath, low and warm, and his knee pressed against hers again.
This time, definitely not the couch.
“Careful,” he murmured, just loud enough for her. “You’re making the game look easy and the pretending look hard.”
She elbowed him.
Hard.
He only grinned wider.
Race two went to her.
She nailed a perfect shortcut on the final lap and crossed the finish line half a kart-length ahead. The room erupted. Logan updated the whiteboard with a dramatic slash next to her cartoon face, which looked less like Hannah and more like a potato with eyelashes.
“Wells evens the score!” he announced. “Graham looks shaken. The dynasty is trembling. Somewhere, a youth hockey coach feels a disturbance in the force.”
Dean lifted his beer. “Compelling reversal.”
Garrett leaned back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. His fingers brushed the collar of the hoodie she was wearing.
The hoodie, apparently, had developed a witness statement.
Dean leaned toward Tucker. “Are we all pretending not to see that, or is this one of those team-building exercises Coach warned us about?”
Tucker did not look up from his pizza. “I am personally pretending not to see most of tonight.”
“Lucky shot,” Garrett said.
“Skill,” she corrected.
“Temporary miracle.”
“Permanent talent.”
“Statistically unlikely.”
“Emotionally devastating for you.”
Allie took a sip from her drink. “I’m putting my money on Hannah.”
Garrett turned his head. “Et tu, Allie?”
“Allie has eyes,” Hannah said.
“Allie has standards,” Allie corrected.
Logan slapped the whiteboard. “Allie has betrayed the locker room. Huge development.”
Tucker sighed. “There are no sides.”
Dean pointed his beer at Hannah. “There are always sides. Hers is funnier.”
Everyone looked at him.
Tucker took another bite of pizza. “Fine. There are sides. I’m on the side with fewer death threats.”
“Coward,” Garrett said.
“Alive,” Tucker corrected.
Race three was chaos.
Someone—Logan, obviously—started yelling “banana peel!” every time anyone used one, and by the third lap half the room had joined in for no reason other than collective moral decline.
“Banana peel!”
“That wasn’t even me,” Garrett said.
“Banana peel in spirit!” Logan shouted.
“That means nothing,” Hannah snapped, dropping a green shell directly in Garrett’s path.
His kart spun out spectacularly.
The room howled.
Dean whistled. “Brutal. I support it.”
“That banana peel was entrapment,” Garrett said.
Dean leaned forward. “Actually, based on placement and timing, I’d call it premeditated.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I accept it as one.”
Garrett stared at the screen. “Illegal move.”
“You have never respected a law in your life.”
“I respect several.”
“Name one.”
He paused.
Hannah smiled.
“Exactly.”
Logan slapped the whiteboard. “BLUE SHELLS, BANANA PEELS, GREEN SHELLS ON THE BOARDS—this is a five-minute major for emotional damage.”
Tucker looked pained. “That is not how hockey or Mario Kart works.”
Dean lifted his beer. “It is spiritually accurate.”
Logan updated the scoreboard again. “Wells takes the lead two to one. Graham is in serious trouble.”
Garrett’s hand found her knee under the edge of the coffee table.
Just a quick squeeze, hidden from the rest of the room.
Hannah’s breath caught before she could stop it.
He leaned closer, still looking at the screen. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Obviously.”
“Mean.”
“Accurate.”
“Hot.”
Her kart drifted dangerously close to the edge.
Garrett’s grin went sharp.
Hannah recovered at the last second and shot him a look. “You are cheating.”
“I said one word.”
“You said it with intent.”
“That’s just my face.”
“No, your face is the smug part. Your mouth is the criminal part.”
Logan leaned around the whiteboard. “Do I need to add a penalty column?”
“Yes,” Hannah said.
“No,” Garrett said.
Dean raised a hand. “Outside counsel votes yes.”
Logan immediately drew a new column.
The fourth race was neck-and-neck the entire time. They traded first and second place like it was personal, which it obviously was. On the final straight, Garrett pulled ahead by a hair—until Hannah hit a perfect boost and slingshotted past him at the line.
Logan made a noise usually reserved for overtime goals. Someone slapped the couch. Tucker dropped his face into both hands. Dean raised his beer like a judge delivering sentencing.
“Wells sweeps to three-one!” Logan shouted, slamming the marker down. “This is historic. This is humbling. This is the kind of loss men write sad gym playlists about.”
Dean nodded solemnly. “I’d call this precedent.”
Garrett groaned and dropped his head back against the couch, but he was still smiling. “Rematch.”
“You just lost the rematch.”
“One more.”
“That is not how numbers work.”
“Sudden death.”
“You’re already dead.”
Allie nodded gravely. “I saw the body.”
Dean lifted two fingers. “Witnessed.”
Tucker lifted his slice of pizza. “Thoughts and prayers.”
Garrett looked between them. “This entire room is hostile.”
“This entire room has taste,” Hannah said.
His arm was still draped behind her shoulders, his fingers still brushing the fabric of his own hoodie like he was doing it by accident.
He was not doing it by accident.
Everyone was watching them now. Allie’s eyebrow had achieved new, possibly medical heights. Tucker had given up on neutrality and was openly eating popcorn from a bowl Hannah had not seen him obtain. Logan was standing at the whiteboard like a man prepared to document history badly.
Dean was lounging in the armchair with the fascinated ease of a man watching premium entertainment for free.
“Fine,” Hannah said, because apparently victory had made her reckless. “One more. Winner takes absolutely nothing, because I already won.”
Tucker blinked. “That is not how a best of five works.”
“It is when the winner is feeling generous,” Hannah said.
Garrett’s smile sharpened. “Or reckless.”
“Do not confuse charity with weakness.”
Logan pressed both hands to the whiteboard. “Historic bad math. I support it.”
The final race loaded.
Rainbow Road again, because the universe had a sense of humor and a grudge.
This one felt different.
The room went quieter, everyone leaning in. Someone actually stood up behind the couch like this was overtime. Tucker muttered, “Why am I nervous?” under his breath, which was the first honest thing anyone had said all night.
Garrett’s knee stayed pressed against hers the entire time.
Every time she gained a lead, he shifted just enough for his shoulder to brush hers, or his fingers to skim the edge of her hoodie, or his voice to drop low beside her ear.
His voice had dropped into the space between her ear and the rest of the room, low enough that no one else could claim it.
“You always this intense when you’re winning?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said, eyes locked on the screen. “I make it look effortless.”
“You almost fell off the track.”
“You almost lost your dignity.”
“That was gone before you got here.”
“Finally, some self-awareness.”
He laughed, and the sound nearly cost her the next turn.
Nearly.
On the final lap, he was right on her tail.
One more turn.
One more boost.
Garrett leaned closer. “Careful, Wellsy.”
Her thumb tightened on the controller. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to wish you luck.”
“You were about to commit psychological warfare.”
His mouth brushed close to her ear, not touching.
Somehow worse.
“Maybe,” he said.
Hannah hit the boost at the exact right second.
Her kart shot forward.
Garrett swore under his breath.
She crossed the finish line first.
For one perfect, shining second, there was silence.
Then Logan threw both hands in the air. “Wells wins! Graham falls! The empire collapses! Someone alert SportsCenter!”
Dean stood halfway, applauding with his beer still in hand. “Verdict for the plaintiff.”
Hannah dropped the controller into her lap and turned to Garrett with the slow, serene smile of a woman who had never once been unbearable in her life.
Garrett looked at the screen.
Then at her.
Then back at the screen.
“You cheated.”
Hannah’s smile widened. “I learned from the best.”
Allie stood and applauded politely. “Beautiful. Petty. Inspiring.”
Tucker nodded. “Honestly, clean race.”
Garrett pointed at him. “You were supposed to be neutral.”
“I was. Neutrally impressed.”
Logan, because he had apparently chosen death, cupped his hands around his mouth and started chanting, “Second location! Second location!”
Half the team joined in immediately.
Hannah’s face burned.
Garrett, traitor that he was, looked delighted.
Dean sat back down. “I’m not saying I support the chant, but I respect the democratic process.”
“Don’t,” Hannah warned Garrett.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re standing there with a face.”
“I can’t stand without a face.”
“Try.”
Logan’s chant got louder. “Second location! Second location!”
Hannah stood so fast the controller nearly flew out of her hands.
The room quieted with disgusting speed.
“Fine,” she announced, voice steady even though her pulse was absolutely not. “Private rematch. Now. Before I murder all of you.”
Logan slapped the whiteboard. “Historic.”
Allie covered her mouth with one hand, but her eyes were laughing.
Tucker, very wisely, said nothing.
Dean pointed toward the stairs. “Counsel advises discretion.”
“Counsel can shut up,” Hannah said.
Garrett was already on his feet, controller abandoned on the cushion. His grin was slow and legally indefensible.
“After you, Wellsy.”
Hannah walked toward the stairs with as much dignity as a woman fleeing a Mario Kart tournament under public romantic suspicion could reasonably possess.
Which was, admittedly, not much.
She didn’t look back.
She didn’t have to.
Garrett followed so fast he nearly lost a playoff series to the coffee table.
The second Garrett’s bedroom door clicked shut behind them, the noise from downstairs cut off like someone had flipped a switch.
Hannah turned to face him.
The room was dim, lit only by the desk lamp near the window and the thin glow spilling from under the door. Garrett leaned back against it, one hand still on the knob, his mouth curved in that slow, dangerous smile that made her want to kiss him and commit a felony.
Possibly in that order.
She crossed her arms. “I won Rainbow Road.”
Garrett’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “I noticed.”
“That means I get first pick.”
“Of what?”
“Rules. Position. Whether or not you’re allowed to touch.”
His smile faded into something hotter. “That sounds less like Mario Kart and more like a hostile takeover.”
“You brought Bowser energy into my evening. This is consequence.”
Garrett laughed under his breath and slid his hands into his pockets like he had all the time in the world. “Fair.”
“You keep smiling like you didn’t lose.”
“I’m being gracious.”
“You followed me upstairs so fast you almost died on a coffee table.”
“A tactical stumble.”
“A dignity injury.”
“Temporary setback.” His eyes flicked over her—hoodie, flushed cheeks, the way she was trying very hard to look in control. “Name your rule, Wellsy.”
Hannah stepped closer until she was right in front of him.
Garrett did not move.
That was annoying.
She wanted him to move. Or touch her. Or do something smug enough that she could pretend this was still mostly about beating him.
Instead, he just watched her, patient and pleased, like waiting was its own kind of cheating.
The last two times, there had been excuses.
A dare. A timer. A not-date with bad fries and worse judgment.
This time there was only Garrett, his bedroom door, and the fact that she had walked up here in front of half the hockey team like a woman with absolutely no survival instinct.
Fine.
If she was going to make a bad decision, she was at least going to organize it.
She lifted her chin. “Hands on the headboard.”
His gaze darkened.
She smiled.
“You keep them there until I say otherwise,” she continued. “No touching.”
For the first time all night, Garrett went quiet.
Only for a second.
Then his mouth twitched. “Kinky. I like it.”
“You like losing?”
“I like finding out what you do when you win.”
It should not have worked on her.
Her body, unfortunately, had resigned from the committee.
Garrett pushed off the door and walked backward toward the bed, eyes still on hers. He sat on the edge and stretched both arms up to grip the top of the wooden headboard.
The position pulled his shirt tight across his chest.
Hannah told herself she was not staring.
Unfortunately, her eyes had resigned from her moral committee.
Garrett’s mouth curved. “You good over there?”
“I’m assessing compliance.”
“Sure.”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The words landed between them with entirely too much precision.
Hannah’s pulse jumped.
Garrett noticed.
Of course he did.
She climbed onto the bed and straddled his lap, knees bracketing his hips. For a second, neither of them moved. His hands stayed exactly where she’d told him to keep them, fingers curled around the headboard, arms tense but obedient.
Obedient was a terrible word to think about Garrett Graham.
She was going to think about it anyway.
The restraint showed in every inch of him: the tight line of his shoulders, the tendons standing out in his forearms, the way his fingers flexed like they were trying to talk him into a bad idea.
Hannah watched him fight himself and felt something smug and molten unfurl low in her stomach.
“You’re being very quiet,” he said.
“I’m concentrating.”
“On beating me?”
“On deciding whether you deserve mercy.”
His laugh was low. “I vote yes.”
“You don’t get a vote.”
“Democracy is dead.”
“Good. It kept making bad choices.”
Then she leaned in and kissed him.
It started slow, mostly to prove she could. A careful press of her mouth to his, a pause, then another. Garrett let her set the pace for approximately four seconds before he made a low sound in the back of his throat and kissed her back like he’d been waiting for this since the first race.
Which, given his face, he probably had.
His mouth was warm and sure and unfairly good at making every clever thought in her head scatter like coins dropped on tile. She deepened the kiss, hands sliding up his chest, then under his shirt, and felt the way his stomach tightened beneath her palms.
His arms flexed against the headboard.
But he kept them there.
Barely.
Hannah smiled against his mouth. “Good boy.”
Garrett’s breath caught.
Then he laughed, a little wrecked. “That is absolutely cheating.”
“You started the praise thing.”
“I did not start it as a weapon against me.”
“You should have read the terms more carefully.”
“There were terms?”
“There are always terms.”
“Hot.”
She kissed down his jaw before he could keep talking, then his throat, then the little dip at the base of his neck. His head tipped back by a fraction, giving her more room, and the sight of it did something vicious to her confidence.
Oh.
This was fun.
She rocked her hips once, experimentally.
Garrett’s fingers tightened on the headboard.
“Wellsy.”
“Hands stay up,” she reminded him sweetly.
He groaned. “You’re evil.”
“Winning.”
“Both can be true.”
She did it again, slower this time, and his jaw clenched.
The room was quiet except for his breathing, her own pulse, and the muffled thump of bass from downstairs. It should have felt embarrassing. Instead it felt like having an audience had only wound them both tighter, and now all that noise and teasing and public almost-touching had nowhere to go but here.
Hannah dragged her mouth back to his, kissed him until his breathing turned uneven, then pulled back just enough to look at him.
Garrett’s eyes were dark. His hands were still on the headboard.
His entire body looked like it objected.
“How’s the self-control?” she asked.
“Terrible.”
“Good.”
“You know,” he said, voice rough, “Rainbow Road this, Wellsy.”
Hannah pulled back just enough to stare at him. “That was so bad I almost lost interest.”
His mouth twitched. “Almost?”
“Unfortunately.”
He laughed like she’d just scored on him again. “Story of my life tonight.”
The sound did terrible things to her concentration.
She rocked against him again, and the word he muttered under his breath was not suitable for polite company, which was fortunate, because there was nothing polite about the way he looked at her.
Finally, she took pity.
Barely.
“You can touch me now.”
His hands came down so fast she almost laughed.
One slid into her hair, the other under the hem of the stolen hoodie, palm hot against her waist. He pulled her against him and kissed her hard, all the restraint snapping at once.
Hannah made a sound into his mouth that she would deny under oath.
Garrett’s hand flexed at her waist.
“There,” he said, voice rough. “That one.”
“What one?”
“That noise.”
“I made no noise.”
“You did.”
“You hallucinated.”
“I’m going to make it happen again.”
“You are incredibly confident for a man who just lost Rainbow Road.”
His smile went sharp. “My turn, then.”
Before she could respond, he flipped them in one smooth move, pinning her beneath him with her back against the mattress and his body braced over hers.
Hannah blinked up at him.
“That,” she said, catching her breath, “was deeply unsportsmanlike.”
Garrett’s grin was all teeth. “You say the sweetest things.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I am reviewing my options.”
“You do that.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw. “Rule two.”
“That was not an official round.”
“I won control back. Counts.”
“Under whose jurisdiction?”
“Mine.”
“Biased.”
“Extremely.” His mouth moved to her neck. “Rule two. You tell me exactly what you want. Out loud. No vague bullshit.”
Hannah’s face heated immediately. “That is not a rule.”
“It is now.”
“You’re making up rules because you lost.”
“I’m adapting under pressure.” He kissed the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. “Hockey skill.”
“You are not allowed to cite hockey during this.”
“I cite hockey whenever I want.”
“Of course you do.”
His teeth grazed her skin, and her complaint dissolved into a breath she barely caught.
Garrett lifted his head, eyes bright and focused. “Use your words, Wellsy.”
She glared at him. “I want your hands on me.”
“More specific.”
“Garrett.”
He smiled against her skin. “Still not specific enough.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Thoroughly.”
She exhaled sharply and looked away, which was a mistake, because looking away meant she could feel him watching her. Waiting. Not pushing. Just holding there, close and warm and smug enough to be irritating, patient enough to be dangerous.
Fine.
Fine.
“I want your hands under my clothes,” she said. “I want you to touch me like you did last time. And I want you to stop looking so pleased with yourself.”
Garrett’s face changed.
The smugness stayed, because he was Garrett and apparently medically incapable of humility, but something underneath it softened into heat.
“There she is,” he said.
“Do not make that sound fond.”
“Too late.”
“Garrett.”
“Okay,” he said, and kissed her before she could threaten him.
His hands moved immediately, pushing the hoodie up, sliding under her shirt, thumbs brushing over her ribs. Hannah’s body betrayed her with terrible enthusiasm, arching into his touch like it had been waiting for instructions.
Garrett’s mouth curved like he’d been handed proof, which was irritating because the proof was currently her entire body arching into his hands.
“So good at following directions when you want something,” he murmured against her mouth.
“I am going to win this round too.”
“Sure you are.”
His hands moved higher, and whatever comeback she had prepared went missing.
There was no timer this time. No shrieking alarm. No detergent bottle. No friends upstairs pretending not to know exactly what was happening.
Well.
There were friends downstairs, but that was a separate legal issue.
Here, in Garrett’s room, there was only the warm press of his body over hers, the softness of the stolen hoodie bunched around her ribs, his mouth dragging down her throat, and the terrible, inconvenient fact that he seemed to remember exactly how to ruin her.
He took his time.
That was rude.
His mouth followed his hands, kissing lower as he worked her jeans open. He glanced up before he went farther, the question clear even with that wicked look still in his eyes.
Hannah swallowed.
“Yes,” she said, before he could ask.
His mouth curved. “Look at you. Anticipating instructions.”
“Do not get cocky.”
“Too late.”
He kissed her stomach, and her fingers twisted in the sheets.
Garrett looked entirely too pleased with the evidence.
“Still with me?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
His smile softened. “I’ll take unfortunately.”
That should not have done anything to her.
It did.
Again.
Then his mouth moved lower, and Hannah’s remaining dignity left the building.
She tried to keep score for maybe thirty seconds.
A heroic effort, honestly.
Garrett’s hands. Garrett’s mouth. Garrett’s voice, low and filthy and pleased, murmuring things against her skin that made her want to hide her face and pull him closer at the same time.
“That’s it,” he said, like she had done something impressive instead of falling apart embarrassingly fast. “Just like that.”
“Garrett.”
“I know.” His fingers curled, and her hips lifted before she could stop them. “You’re doing so good for me.”
The praise landed hot and low.
She hated that he knew it.
She hated more that he was right.
When she came, it was with one hand fisted in his hair and the other gripping the sheets, her mouth pressed tight to her own wrist to keep from making a sound that would give Logan material for the rest of his natural life.
Garrett held her through it, gentler now, mouth soft against her thigh, hand smoothing over her hip until the last shiver passed.
Then he kissed his way back up her body, looking like he had just found the weak spot in her argument and planned to live there.
“Round three?” he asked.
Hannah was still catching her breath.
She shoved at his chest until he rolled onto his back, then climbed on top of him again.
“New rule,” she said, voice a little unsteady but recovering nicely. “You keep talking.”
Garrett’s eyebrows lifted.
“The filthier the better,” she added. “And you don’t get to come until I say so.”
His eyes darkened so fast it felt like winning another race.
“Jesus, Wellsy.”
“Problem?”
“No.” His hands slid to her thighs. “I just really like when you make terrible decisions.”
“Then you must be thrilled all the time.”
“Lately?” His mouth curved. “Yeah.”
That was too close to sincere.
Absolutely not.
Hannah kissed him hard enough to shut him up, which was technically the opposite of the rule but emotionally necessary.
His laugh broke against her mouth.
“Already cheating,” he murmured.
“You like it.”
“I love it.”
“No feelings,” she warned.
“Fine. I’m competitively invested in your poor sportsmanship.”
“Better.”
She peeled his shirt off, then tugged her own over her head, tossing it somewhere near the floor. Garrett’s gaze moved over her, hot and intent, and for one second the room went quiet in a way that made her pulse trip.
He opened his mouth.
She pointed at him. “Do not say something sweet.”
His lips twitched. “I was going to say you’re terrible at Mario Kart.”
“Liar.”
“Yeah.”
Then she worked his jeans down, and the joke went right out of his face.
When she took him in her hand, Garrett groaned like it hurt.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re mean when you’re winning.”
“I learned from the best.”
“Say that again.”
“That you’re the best?”
His hips jerked.
Hannah smiled.
“Oh, that’s useful.”
Garrett’s eyes narrowed. “Careful.”
She stroked him slowly, watching the way his jaw tightened. “Or what?”
“Or I’m going to forget your rule.”
“You already did that once.”
“That was tactical.”
“That was horny.”
“Also tactical.”
She laughed, and the sound broke something in him for half a second. His hands gripped her hips, then loosened like he remembered himself.
Hannah leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re allowed to touch me.”
“Thank God.”
His hands settled on her hips, warm and firm, and his voice dropped into that rough, dangerous register that always made her feel like she’d stepped too close to the boards right before impact.
“You like having me like this, don’t you?” he murmured. “Trying so hard to be in charge.”
“I am in charge.”
“Sure you are.”
She tightened her grip, and he cursed.
“There,” she said sweetly. “That sounded respectful.”
“That sounded like survival.”
“Then survive better.”
He laughed, wrecked and breathless, and she took her time because she could. Mouth, hands, little pauses when his breathing got too ragged. The occasional reminder that he was not allowed to finish yet.
Garrett, to his credit, tried very hard to obey.
Unfortunately for him, Hannah was a sore winner.
“You’re enjoying this,” he accused, voice rough.
“Immensely.”
“That word is starting to feel personal.”
“It is.”
“You’re evil.”
“You keep saying that like it’s not working for you.”
He made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost not.
Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, deliberate motion, and Garrett forgot every word he had ever learned.
For about three seconds, which was a heroic streak, considering the circumstances.
Garrett’s hands tightened on her hips, then stilled. “Still okay?”
Hannah looked down at him. “Garrett.”
“I know. Answer anyway.”
Her chest did something inconvenient. “Yes. Still okay.”
His mouth curved, soft and ruined. “Good.”
Garrett’s head tipped back against the pillow, his hands tightening on her thighs. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Wellsy.”
Hannah braced both hands on his chest, trying to look less affected than she felt.
A doomed effort.
“Still talking,” she reminded him, voice unsteady.
His laugh came out wrecked. “You just committed a felony.”
“You keep using that word incorrectly.”
“I’m using it emotionally.” His eyes dragged back to hers, dark and ruined. “You feel incredible.”
“That’s not trash talk.”
“No?” His thumbs stroked up the inside of her thighs. “You want trash talk?”
“I want compliance.”
“Bossy.”
“Accurate.”
He huffed a breathless laugh, and she rolled her hips just enough to make the sound break in his throat.
“There,” she said. “That sounded compliant.”
His grip flexed. “That sounded like evidence.”
“Then stop confessing.”
Garrett looked up at her like he was trying to decide whether to kiss her or let her ruin him first.
“Okay,” he said, voice rougher now. “You want me to talk? Fine.” His gaze moved over her face, then down to the hoodie bunched around her waist. “You walked in wearing my hoodie like you already owned the place. Sat down next to me like you weren’t there to make my night impossible. Beat me at Rainbow Road in front of witnesses.”
“You deserved it.”
“I deserved a rematch.” His mouth curved, but the smile barely survived the next roll of her hips. “This feels like cruel and unusual punishment.”
“This is victory procedure.”
“This is you getting off on being right.”
Hannah’s breath caught.
Garrett noticed immediately.
“Oh,” he said, low and pleased. “That one worked.”
“Do not sound proud of yourself.”
“I’m extremely proud of myself.”
She rolled her hips again, slower this time, and his eyes went briefly unfocused.
“Less proud now?” she asked.
“No.” His voice cracked. “More concerned for my long-term health.”
“Good.”
“Evil.”
“Winning.”
“Yeah.” His hands slid to her waist, guiding but not taking over. “You are.”
That was too sincere.
Absolutely not.
Hannah leaned down and kissed him hard, mostly to punish him for making her feel anything besides smug.
When she pulled back, Garrett’s eyes were hazy. “Rule three,” she said, because rules were safer than whatever his face was doing. “You don’t get to look away.”
His gaze locked on hers. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“And you keep talking.”
His smile went slow. “You sure?”
“Garrett.”
“Right.” His thumbs pressed into her waist as she moved. “You look so fucking pretty like this.”
Her rhythm faltered.
He felt it.
“There she is,” he murmured.
“Do not make it sweet.”
“I’m not.” His voice dropped. “I’m saying you look pretty when you’re making a mess of my self-control.”
The headboard knocked once against the wall.
They both froze.
Downstairs, someone yelled something unintelligible over the music.
Hannah stared down at him.
Garrett stared back.
Then, very quietly, he said, “Penalty?”
She should not have laughed.
She did anyway, breathless and helpless, and the laugh turned into a gasp when he moved beneath her.
“That one’s on you,” she said.
“I accept full responsibility.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I accept partial responsibility under extremely motivating circumstances.”
Hannah kissed him again because if he kept making her laugh while looking at her like that, she was going to do something catastrophic.
The rhythm turned messy after that. Less controlled. Less clever. Her hands slid over his chest. His mouth found her throat. His voice kept going, lower now, breaking around her name and half-formed praise and filthy little admissions that made her clench around him just to hear what it did to his breathing.
“You like this,” he rasped. “Having me under you. Making the rules. Acting like this is all strategy.”
“It is strategy.”
“Sure it is.” His hips lifted to meet her. “Win, then.”
That did it.
She came with her face buried against his shoulder, one hand fisted in his hair and the other braced against the headboard. Garrett held her through it, cursing softly against her skin, his own control shattering almost immediately after.
He followed with her name in his mouth, hips snapping up once, twice, forehead pressed to hers as the last of his restraint finally gave out.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved.
The room went soft around the edges.
Downstairs, someone yelled something about pizza.
Reality, apparently, had survived without them.
Tragic.
Hannah stayed exactly where she was for a long minute, face pressed to Garrett’s shoulder, trying to convince her pulse to calm down.
It was not cooperating.
Garrett’s hand traced lazy circles on her back under the hem of the hoodie she had definitely not meant to steal.
Again.
She should move. She should say something about how she had technically won the tournament and therefore the night and therefore everything. She should at least pretend this was still just a rematch.
Instead, she muttered against his collarbone, “For the record, this does not count as emotional evidence.”
Garrett’s chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. “Of course not. Nothing says casual like fleeing my bedroom in my hoodie with tribute pizza.”
She shoved at his chest half-heartedly.
He didn’t budge.
His arm stayed looped around her waist like it belonged there.
No.
Rude.
After another moment, she rolled off him and reached down to snag the Briar hoodie that had somehow ended up on the floor. She pulled it over her head. It smelled like him — soap and arena ice and something unfairly good — and she told herself that was irrelevant.
Garrett propped himself up on one elbow, watching her with that soft, smug expression that made her want to both kiss him and file a complaint.
“I like when you steal my hoodies,” he said.
Hannah froze mid-zip on her jeans.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m returning this one. Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late.” His grin widened, slow and entirely too pleased. “You’ve stolen multiple now. That’s a pattern.”
“It’s inventory management.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s efficient.”
“Extremely.” He tugged lightly at the hem of the hoodie she was wearing. “Looks better on you anyway.”
She swatted his hand away.
Downstairs, the party noise had picked up again. Someone was yelling about a rematch on the Switch, but neither of them made a move to go back down.
Garrett reached out and hooked a finger in the pocket of the hoodie, pulling her back toward the bed.
“Best of seven?” he asked, voice low.
Hannah looked at him — messy hair, bare chest, that ridiculous hopeful glint in his eyes — and felt her stomach do something humiliatingly hopeful.
She leaned down and kissed him once, quick and light, mostly so he would stop looking at her like that.
“Shut up, Graham.”
She straightened, grabbed her jacket, and headed for the door before she could do something even stupider.
Like stay.
Garrett’s voice followed her anyway. “Text me when you get home, Wellsy.”
She did not answer.
Answering would imply obedience, and Hannah Wells had already made enough questionable choices tonight without adding following Garrett Graham’s instructions to the evidence file.
Instead, she opened the bedroom door and slipped into the hall, pulling the hoodie sleeves down over her hands like fabric could somehow restore dignity.
It could not.
The hoodie had clearly chosen a side, and it was not feminism.
The hallway was mercifully quiet for approximately four steps.
Then she reached the stairs.
The noise from the living room floated up immediately — music, laughter, someone yelling at the television, Logan’s voice rising above the rest with the unmistakable confidence of a man who had never once suffered consequences at the appropriate time.
Hannah paused on the top step.
There was still time to turn around.
There was still time to climb out a window.
There was still time to develop a new identity, transfer schools, and live the rest of her life somewhere no one knew about Mario Kart or hoodies or Garrett Graham’s mouth.
Downstairs, Logan shouted, “No, that shell was personal! That was a targeted attack!”
Hannah closed her eyes.
Right.
Civilization had already fallen.
She started down.
The living room went quiet when she hit the last step.
Not immediately.
Worse.
Gradually.
One voice dropped off.
Then another.
Then the Mario Kart music kept playing cheerfully into the silence like it had no survival instinct whatsoever.
Hannah stopped at the edge of the living room.
Every single person looked at her.
Allie was on the couch, legs tucked under her, holding a slice of pizza halfway to her mouth. Tucker sat on the floor near the coffee table with the resigned expression of a man trying very hard not to know things. Logan stood by the whiteboard, marker in hand, frozen mid-tally.
Dean sat backward in an armchair with a slice of pizza in one hand, looking delighted to have stayed for the second act.
The whiteboard had changed while she was upstairs.
Of course it had.
Beneath BEST OF FIVE LEAGUE, someone had added several new columns.
RACES WON
PENALTIES
HOODIE EVIDENCE
SECOND LOCATION STATUS
FINAL SCORE: HANNAH 1, GARRETT 0
Under Garrett’s cartoon face, Logan had drawn a question mark.
Under Hannah’s, he had drawn what appeared to be a crown.
And fangs.
Again.
Then, beneath the score, in smaller letters, someone had added:
GARRETT: MORALLY VICTORIOUS?
Hannah stared at the board for a long, silent second.
Then she looked at Logan.
“Erase it.”
Logan reached for the marker.
Tucker caught his wrist like he was stopping a live grenade.
“No,” Tucker said.
“History demands accuracy.”
“History can survive ambiguity.”
Dean lifted his pizza. “As outside counsel, I advise everyone to stop creating discoverable material.”
Allie looked Hannah up and down, then said mildly, “Your hair looks victorious.”
Hannah turned to her very slowly.
“That,” Hannah said, “is somehow worse than anything Logan has written.”
“I know,” Allie said.
Logan pressed the marker to his chest. “This is an official league document.”
“This is about to become your obituary.”
Tucker cleared his throat. “For the record, I told him not to add the hoodie column.”
“You also said it was statistically relevant,” Allie said.
Tucker looked wounded. “I was trying to redirect him into math.”
Dean took a bite of pizza. “Math is a valid defense.”
Hannah pointed at both of them. “Do not hide behind statistics.”
Tucker looked resigned. “I have very few defenses left.”
Dean looked at the board. “I have several, but none of them are morally sound.”
Logan’s eyes dropped to the hoodie she was wearing.
His grin started slow.
Hannah lifted one finger. “No.”
He opened his mouth.
“No.”
He closed it.
For half a second, she thought she had won.
Then Logan turned to the whiteboard and silently added a tally under HOODIE EVIDENCE.
Hannah lunged.
Tucker caught the marker first and yanked it out of Logan’s hand. “Survival instinct,” he explained.
Logan looked betrayed. “History is being censored in real time.”
“History can be quiet,” Hannah said.
From the television, the game announced the start of a new race.
No one moved.
Hannah crossed the room toward the front door with as much dignity as possible, which was difficult because she was wearing Garrett’s hoodie, her hair was not behaving like hair anymore, and the entire living room was watching her like she was the post-credit scene.
She made it past the coffee table before Logan cracked.
“So,” he said.
Hannah stopped.
The room inhaled.
Logan pointed at the stairs. “Who won the private league?”
Allie closed her eyes.
Tucker whispered, “Why would you choose death?”
Dean leaned forward. “Before anyone answers, I want it noted that this is how people end up in depositions.”
Tucker whispered, “Why do you know that?”
Dean took a bite of pizza. “I contain multitudes.”
Hannah turned around.
Slowly.
Garrett’s hoodie hung halfway down her thighs. The sleeves covered most of her hands. Her face felt hot, but that was irrelevant. She was a woman of principle. A woman of strategy. A woman who had survived Rainbow Road and would not be defeated by a man holding a dry-erase marker.
She considered lying.
Then remembered she had dignity, a crown on the whiteboard, and Garrett Graham’s hoodie hanging halfway down her thighs.
“Me,” she said.
Logan made the kind of sound that belonged in a championship parade. Allie nearly lost her pizza. Tucker dropped his forehead into one hand. Dean raised his slice in salute.
“WELLS SWEEPS THE SERIES!” Logan shouted.
“Clean record,” Dean added.
Hannah lifted her chin. “Clean victory.”
From the top of the stairs, Garrett said, “Interesting interpretation.”
Hannah froze.
Very slowly, she looked over her shoulder.
Garrett stood there in gray sweatpants and a clean Briar shirt, hair still a disaster, mouth still smug, one hand braced against the railing like he had not just materialized at the worst possible moment.
The room lost its collective mind a second time.
Dean took one look at Garrett’s face and lifted both hands. “I withdraw from representation. Man’s guilty.”
Logan spun toward the board. “OFFICIAL CHALLENGE!”
“No,” Hannah said.
“Yes,” Logan said, already reaching for the marker Tucker had stolen.
Tucker held it above his head. “Absolutely not.”
Garrett started down the stairs, expression far too pleased with himself. “I’m just saying, the scoring system may need review.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes at him. “You want to review scoring in front of this audience?”
Garrett stopped two steps from the bottom.
His gaze flicked over the room.
Logan looked hopeful.
Allie looked delighted.
Tucker looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, including possibly underwater.
Garrett’s mouth twitched. “No.”
“Smart.”
“Growth,” Tucker said.
“Disappointing,” Logan said.
“Cowardly but strategic,” Dean added.
Garrett reached the bottom step and leaned against the banister, close enough that Hannah could smell soap and detergent and the same unfairly good something currently trapped in the hoodie. “You leaving?”
“I have a dorm.”
“I’m familiar.”
“You are not invited to become more familiar tonight.”
His smile went soft at the edges. “Noted.”
Allie made a tiny sound.
Hannah pointed at her without looking away from Garrett. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You breathed sentimentally.”
“That is not a real accusation.”
“It is in this house.”
Logan nodded gravely. “We have precedent.”
Dean tilted his head. “Actually, we have vibes.”
“No, we don’t,” Tucker said.
“We have vibes,” Logan agreed.
“Also not admissible.”
Hannah looked at Tucker. “Thank you.”
Tucker nodded. “I’m trying to restore order.”
“You’re doing terribly,” Allie said.
“I know.”
Garrett stepped a little closer and tugged once at the cuff of the hoodie sleeve covering Hannah’s hand. “You’re really taking that one?”
“I told you. Inventory management.”
“You’re managing a lot of inventory.”
“You should label your belongings better.”
“My name is on the tag.”
“Then you should label them less persuasively.”
His laugh dropped low enough that, somehow, the room seemed to fall away. His thumb brushed once over the inside of her wrist where the sleeve had slipped back.
Brief.
Easy.
Annoying.
Hannah pulled her hand back before her pulse could file a formal complaint.
Logan made a strangled noise.
Dean looked at Logan. “Don’t.”
Logan looked betrayed.
Dean shook his head. “I mean it. I just withdrew from representation. We’re all exposed.”
Hannah did not look at either of them. “Speak and perish.”
The noise stopped.
Garrett’s smile widened.
“I mean it,” she told him.
“I know.”
“Stop looking amused.”
“I can’t. You threatened a room full of hockey players while wearing my hoodie.”
“Your hoodie is irrelevant.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Allie coughed.
Hannah turned. “Do you need water?”
“No,” Allie said. “I’m thriving.”
“Unfortunate.”
The television chirped again, still waiting for someone to resume the race. On the whiteboard, Hannah’s fanged cartoon face stared back at her with what she had to admit was an appropriate level of menace.
Logan, deprived of the marker, picked up a slice of pizza and held it out like a peace offering. “Road slice?”
Hannah stared at it. “Road slice?”
“For the walk home.”
“You think I’m going to take public humiliation pizza?”
“It’s not public humiliation pizza. It’s victory pizza.”
Dean lifted his own slice. “Tribute pizza.”
Hannah hesitated.
Garrett’s eyebrows lifted.
She snatched the slice from Logan’s hand. “I won. I deserve tribute.”
Logan looked deeply moved. “That’s the spirit.”
Garrett leaned in slightly. “Want me to walk you?”
The room made the kind of silence that was somehow louder than cheering.
Hannah kept her eyes on Garrett. “No.”
He didn’t pout. Didn’t bargain. Didn’t turn it into a joke for the room.
He just nodded, simple and easy, like no was an answer he respected the first time.
Terrible.
Awful.
Much worse than arguing.
Hannah hated, deeply, that this was starting to feel less like a surprise.
“But,” she added, before she could stop herself, “you can text me in ten minutes to make sure I haven’t been murdered by your hoodie.”
Garrett’s face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
Pleased in a way that felt far too intimate for a living room full of witnesses.
“Deal.”
Logan whispered, “Historic.”
Dean whispered back, “Landmark case.”
Hannah pointed the pizza at both of them. “Last warning.”
They both mimed zipping their mouths shut.
Badly.
Hannah turned back to the door. “I am leaving now. No one follow me. No one update the whiteboard. No one say anything weird about second locations, hoodie custody, private leagues, or whatever Dean thinks law is.”
Dean placed a hand over his heart. “Wounding.”
The room was silent.
Suspiciously silent.
She opened the door.
Behind her, Logan whispered, “Bye, league champion.”
“I hate this house.”
“That was respectful for him,” Allie said.
Garrett’s eyes were warm. “No, you don’t.”
She should have denied it immediately.
She did not.
Instead, she pulled the hoodie tighter around herself, lifted the pizza slice like a trophy, and stepped out into the cold.
The door closed behind her on the sound of Logan yelling, “PUT HER DOWN FOR HOODIE POSSESSION!”
Dean’s voice followed immediately after: “MARK IT AS INTENT TO KEEP!”
Hannah smiled despite herself all the way down the porch steps.
Her phone buzzed before she reached the sidewalk.
Of course it did.
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): you forgot something
Hannah stopped under the porch light, breath fogging in the cold.
Hannah Wells: if you say dignity, I’m blocking you
The three dots appeared immediately.
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): my hoodie
She looked down at the sleeve covering half her hand.
Hannah Wells: inventory management
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): that defense is getting weak
Hannah Wells: then stop providing inventory
A pause.
Then—
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): best of seven?
Hannah stared at the message.
The porch light buzzed overhead. Behind her, the house glowed warm and loud and terrible. Her hair was a disaster. Her pulse still had not settled. She was holding a slice of victory pizza in one hand and wearing Garrett Graham’s hoodie like evidence she had no intention of returning anytime soon.
Hannah Wells: stop flirting through evidence
Garrett Graham (rematch pending): no
She laughed, breathless and quiet, and tucked the phone into the hoodie pocket.
Peace had officially been murdered.
She was already planning the rematch.