Chapter 163: That’s All of Hockey on a Phone

Blair found her sweater under the window.

Her bra was hanging from the lamp. She didn’t remember how it had gotten there, and she decided she never would.

Jack was already dressed. He moved around the office picking transfer forms off the floor and squaring them against his palm, as calmly as if he did this every night. She didn’t want to think about whether he did.

She dressed with her back to him. Her fingers kept missing the hook of her bra.

Warm knuckles brushed her spine. He fastened it on the first try and stepped away before she could turn around.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Hm."

Her panties were under the desk, beside a stray transfer form. She snatched them up with her face on fire and stepped into them while he stood looking out the window. He was looking out the window on purpose. She was almost sure.

When she straightened, he had a cigarette between his fingers. He turned it over once, opened the window, and lit it. Cold air came in. Smoke went out.

"Breakfast tomorrow," he said, without looking at her. "Then you’ll come back here tomorrow night and describe that nurse to me, down to her shoes."

"Yes, Professor."

"And, Ms. Willows." He tapped ash into the dark. "Your escort has been very patient."

Blair went cold all over.

"I don’t..."

"His scent," Jack said. He glanced at her then, his red eyes unreadable. "Wolves aren’t subtle. Neither are you."

She stared at him. The office was very small. The corridor outside was very long. And Daemus could hear a heartbeat through a wall.

He had heard. All of it.

"You knew," she whispered. "The whole time."

"You asked me to lock the door." Jack drew on the cigarette. "You didn’t ask me to be quiet."

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Something that wasn’t quite a smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Goodnight, Ms. Willows."

She fled. She was starting to think it was the only way anyone ever left this man.

* * *

The corridor had never been so long.

Halfway down it, she heard a tinny little fanfare.

Daemus was sitting on the floor with his back against the medal case, his long legs stretched across half the corridor, his phone held sideways in both hands. His tongue was caught in the corner of his mouth. His thumbs were going very fast.

He glanced up. "Hey. Two seconds. I’m on a streak."

Blair stopped beside his shoes.

He had heard. She was sure of it.

She should say something. She had no idea what. I’m sorry was wrong. Did you hear was worse. She stood there with her hands knotted in front of her skirt and her face slowly catching fire, and the silence went on.

The phone made a sad little noise. Daemus groaned.

"That was your fault," he told her. "You’re distracting."

"Sorry," Blair said, much too fast and much too high.

He looked up at her. Just looked, his silver eyes easy and warm, as if there were nothing in the world she needed to apologize for.

"The medals are very nice," she heard herself say.

Oh no.

"They’re awful," Daemus said cheerfully. "I read all of them. Some guy won Most Punctual in 2041. That’s the whole medal."

Blair looked over at the phone, "What are you playing?"

His face lit up. "Breakaway. It’s hockey." He turned the screen toward her: a tiny rink, tiny skaters, a tiny wolf in goal. "Want to try?"

"I’ve never really..." She had barely ever held a phone.

"Perfect. No bad habits." He drew his knees up and patted the floor between them.

She hesitated for a heartbeat. Then she sat.

He folded around her at once, his chest against her back, his legs bracketing hers, and put the phone in her hands. His hands came over hers and swallowed them.

"Left thumb skates," he said by her ear. "Right thumb shoots. Swipe hard for a slap shot. Tap for a wrist shot. That’s it. That’s hockey."

"That’s not all of hockey."

"It’s all of hockey on a phone."

Her first shot went into the boards. Her second went into her own net, somehow. The tiny wolf goalie put his paws over his eyes.

Daemus laughed so hard she felt it all the way down her spine.

"It’s not funny."

"It’s a little funny." His thumb pressed over hers, guiding it. "Wait for him to commit. Watch the goalie, not the puck. Okay... now."

She swiped.

The puck shot past the tiny wolf and into the back of the net. The screen exploded in fireworks.

"YES!" Daemus roared.

It bounced off every wall of the corridor.

Daemus didn’t seem to care. He hugged her from behind, phone and all, and planted a kiss on her temple. "First goal. Two more and it’s a hat trick."

"I don’t think that’s what a hat trick..."

"Two more."

She got one more. It took nine tries. By then she had stopped thinking about Jack’s office or what Daemus had heard, and she was leaning back against him with her cheek on his arm, frowning at a goalie the size of a grain of rice.

At some point he dipped his head and breathed in at her hair, just once. She went stiff.

He didn’t say anything. He only drew her closer, settled his chin on top of her head, and said, "Watch the goalie, Bunny."

Her throat went tight. She watched the goalie.

When her eyes started to blur, he took the phone back, pocketed it, and got to his feet. He pulled her up after him with one hand.

"Bedtime," he said. "You’re falling asleep on my arm."

He took her hand. His palm was huge and warm, and he didn’t let go all the way down the stairs.

On the second-floor landing, something rattled below them. A mop bucket on squeaky wheels.

A janitor was working her way up the steps, one wet stair at a time. Gray coverall. Rubber gloves. Hair pinned back in a tidy bun.

She looked up and smiled at them. A bright, friendly smile.

"Evening, dears," she said. "Mind the wet step."

"Good evening," Blair greeted back. She stepped carefully around the wet stair.

Behind them, the squeak of the mop stopped.

Blair didn’t think anything of it.