Page 42 of My Pucked Up Neighbor
His eyes don’t leave mine. "Maybe we do. You’re kind of a surprise, Mandy Fields."
"I get that a lot. Usually after I destroy someone in court simulations."
He chuckles, the mood softening. "Remind me never to cross-examine you."
"Too late. You already judged my case brief."
"And gave it glowing reviews. I might even leave a Yelp rating."
I laugh, leaning back, the tension easing.
He stands. "I’m getting more water. You want something?"
"I’m good."
He walks to the kitchen, and I notice a small leather-bound notebook on the coffee table. I recognize it. He was scribbling in it the other night.
Curious, I pick it up and flip it open.
It’s not a journal, not exactly. More like a collection of thoughts. Quotes. Mantras. Some look like pregame rituals. One page has a list of things he’s grateful for.
And my name is there.
I freeze.
He returns, pausing in the doorway. Our eyes meet. He sees what I’m holding.
"You weren’t supposed to read that."
I set it down, gently. "I didn’t mean to pry. It was just... there."
"It’s okay," he says after a moment. "I write stuff down to make sense of it. Doesn’t always work."
I nod slowly. "It makes sense to me."
We’re sitting close now. Too close. The air between us is charged, full of unsaid things and barely-there breaths.
He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
I don’t move.
"Mandy…"
I look up. "Yeah?"
He exhales, shakes his head like he’s trying to be the bigger person. "You should probably go study some more. I made your break longer than it probably should have been."
"I want to put in another hour."
But neither of us moves at first.
Then, when I get up and walk back to the guest room, I feel his eyes on me the whole way.
I like it.
And every time we talk, he surprises me. Not just with what he says, but with how much I want to hear more.
Chapter eleven
