Love of the Game - part 4
Garrett Graham x OC (Cora Sullivan)
Summary - Garrett crashes CJ’s study session and maybe they get to know each other better.
Warnings - brief thoughts of childhood trauma
a/n: Hey guys! Please enjoy part 4. Part 5 will be finished very soon.
Chapter 4
Light poured through the tall windows in angled sheets, catching on dust that drifted lazily whenever someone passed through the aisles. CJ sat in one of the study rooms on the second floor, door closed. Her laptop was open, but untouched for the last few minutes. A notebook sat beside it, already filled with neat lines of notes - color-coded headings, underlined phrases, margins tightened with arrows and small corrections. Not messy. Never messy.
CJ tapped the end of her pen once against the page, then twice. Paused, wrote something, then crossed it out almost immediately. She leaned back in her chair, rolling her shoulders once, eyes briefly flicking toward the window. Outside, the last of the daylight was starting to soften into gold. Inside, everything was still. Controlled. Predictable.
She liked that about studying. It was the same reason she liked hockey. Or at least, it was the reason she told herself she liked hockey.
A problem presented itself. You solved it. Or you didn’t, and you adjusted until you did. No ambiguity. CJ flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and wrote a header at the top in precise block letters.
She was about to continue when footsteps in the hallway broke through the quiet. CJ didn’t look up immediately. People passed study rooms all the time. Students drifting between classes, conversations muffled through walls, the occasional burst of laughter quickly swallowed by the library’s atmosphere.
But these footsteps slowed and stopped right outside her door. CJ’s pen paused mid-air. A beat passed and then the door pushed open. She looked up. Garrett Graham stood there like he wasn’t entirely sure whether he belonged in the space or had just decided he did. Hoodie still on from outside. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Hair slightly damp at the edges like he’d come straight from somewhere without bothering to fix it.
For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just took in the room and then her. CJ blinked once.
“Lost?” she asked.
His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Not anymore.”
She studied him for a moment longer, pen still in hand. “You look like you have a purpose,” she said.
“I do.”
“That’s new.”
That got the smile this time - small, unguarded.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
CJ tilted her head slightly, considering him the way she considered everything. A passing thought flickered through her mind that she didn’t bother acknowledging for more than half a second. He didn’t look like someone who asked permission often.
“Depends,” she said finally.
“On what?”
“On whether you’re about to distract me or actually contribute something useful.”
He stepped inside anyway. “I’ll try to keep it useful.”
“Try harder,” she said, but there was no heat in it.
The door clicked shut behind him. And just like that, the room felt different. Not louder or smaller. Just… occupied in a way it hadn’t been before.
CJ watched him for a second as he shifted his backpack off his shoulder and set it down near the chair across from her.
“You’re here… in my study room,” she said.
“I was in the area.”
“Oh really?.”
“I go to school here too.”
That earned a faint exhale from her - almost a laugh, but not quite committed enough to be one. She gestured vaguely toward the chair across from her.
“Sit if you insist on crashing my study session.”
He sat. And for a moment, neither of them spoke. CJ tapped her pen once against the edge of her notebook again, then flipped it slightly so the page was still visible but not fully on display.
Garrett’s eyes dropped to it anyway. Of course they did.
“You always study like that?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re building a case.”
CJ looked down at the page, then back up at him. “That’s because I am.”
That made him pause thoughtfully. Like he was recalibrating how to interpret her.
Outside the room, the library continued its steady hum - distant footsteps, soft pages turning, the occasional chair scraping against tile. Inside, Garrett leaned back slightly in his seat, one arm resting loosely on the table like he’d decided he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
CJ noticed that, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she clicked her pen once.
“Alright,” she said. “You’ve got five minutes before I go back to work.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Five minutes?”
“That’s generous.”
A faint grin returned.
“Then I’ll make them count.”
The silence settled back into the room after CJ’s five-minute warning, but it didn’t feel like a dismissal. More like a challenge.
Garrett leaned forward slightly in his chair, elbows resting loosely on the table. He didn’t take out a laptop. Didn’t open a notebook. Just sat there like he’d decided whatever he came here for mattered more than pretending to be productive.
CJ noticed. “You’re not actually here to study,” she said.
Garrett exhaled a small laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.”
“That’s insulting.”
“It’s accurate.”
That got a quiet huff of amusement out of him. CJ turned one page in her notebook but didn’t write anything. Her attention had already shifted, even if she didn’t fully acknowledge it yet.
“So,” she said, tapping her pen against the margin, “are you going to tell me why you’re here, or am I going to have to guess?”
“I was hoping you already did.”
“I have several theories.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
Garrett nodded once, like he believed her. But he knew she was joking… Maybe.
CJ studied him for a second longer than necessary. He looked different outside the rink. Less sharpened. Less engineered. Still composed, but not performing anything. It made him harder to read. Which, annoyingly, made her more interested.
“You want more critique,” she said finally.
“That’s one theory,” he agreed.
CJ narrowed her eyes slightly. “It’s not the only one?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the other one?”
Garrett paused. Not long. “I wanted to see if you actually meant it,” he said.
CJ tilted her head. “Meant what?”
“That you see things other people don’t.”
There it was again. That tone. Likely he was actually interested in what she had to say.
CJ set her pen down slowly. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
“I’m starting to notice that.”
A beat passed between them.
CJ leaned back slightly in her chair. “You came in my study room to test my credibility?”
“I came in here because you gave me a critique I didn’t get from my coaching staff.”
That made her pause. She didn’t respond immediately, which was rare. Instead, she looked at him like she was adjusting a variable she hadn’t accounted for. Garrett waited her out. He wasn’t rushing her.
That was new. Most people filled the silence around CJ like it made them uncomfortable. Garrett didn’t.
“I’m not your coach,” she said finally.
“I know.”
“And I’m not trying to be.”
“I know that too.”
“Then what am I supposed to be doing here?” she asked.
Garrett leaned back slightly, considering her.
“That’s the thing,” he said. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing anything you’re not already doing. I like your honesty.”
That last sentence came out more like a confession. And that almost made her smile. Almost. She resisted it.
“You’re weirdly okay with criticism,” she said.
“I asked for it.”
“Most people say that,” she said. “Then get defensive the second you actually give it.”
Garrett nodded once. “Hm.”
“That wasn’t a denial.”
“It wasn’t.”
CJ studied him more closely now. There was something disarming about how little he seemed interested in defending himself. Not passive - just… open to correction in a way most elite athletes weren’t.
“Alright,” she said. “Then answer me this.”
“Shoot.”
“Why hockey?”
That got his attention in a different way. His posture shifted slightly, like the question had weight.
“Why hockey?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
He exhaled through his nose, thinking. CJ didn’t rush him. That was part of it. She wanted the real answer, not the rehearsed one.
Finally, he said, “Because I was good at it before I knew how to be anything else.”
CJ nodded once. That tracked.
“And now?”
A faint flicker crossed his face. Not discomfort. Something more complicated.
“Now it’s kind of… everything.”
CJ didn’t respond right away. That answer was more honest than she expected. She tapped her pen once against the table again.
“That’s a problem,” she said.
Garrett smiled faintly. “Yeah?”
“It narrows your margin for error.”
He didn’t argue. He just said, “What about you?”
CJ blinked once. It wasn’t a deflection. It was an actual return question.
She leaned back slightly. CJ didn’t answer right away. Not because she didn’t have one. Because she had too many versions of the answer, and most of them weren’t things she usually let out where people could hear them.
She looked at Garrett for a moment - really looked. The way he sat there in her space like it didn’t intimidate him. Like nothing really did, except maybe things he couldn’t control.
That part she understood. Her pen hovered over the page.
“I chose hockey,” she said finally.
Simple. Clean. The version people usually got. But Garrett didn’t move like he was satisfied with simple.
“That’s it?” he asked.
CJ exhaled softly through her nose. Of course not. Her eyes dropped briefly to the edge of her notebook, where the different colors of ink bled into each other in organized chaos.
Control, she thought. That was always what she said first. Not because it was a lie. Because it was only half the truth, and half was safer.
She shifted slightly in her chair. “I liked control,” she added.
Garrett didn’t interrupt. He just waited. That made it worse in a way. It was harder to hide behind the usual exits.
CJ’s gaze drifted unfocused for a second. Control hadn’t started on a rink. It had started in a house where she learned very early that control was something you borrowed when you could and survived without when you couldn’t.
A father who decided things loudly. A presence that filled rooms before she ever stepped into them. Expectations that didn’t feel like guidance so much as gravity. You didn’t argue with gravity. You adjusted around it.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her pen. So she learned to control what she could. Her body. Her time. Her output. Hockey had been the first place that made that feel real instead of theoretical.
And even that hadn’t been the beginning. There had been figure skates first. She remembered them. White, stiff, too pretty in a way that already felt wrong on her feet. The way they pinched at her ankles. The way she was supposed to glide, to turn, to be light.
Her mother had thought it was a good idea. “Grace,” she’d said once, like it was something CJ should grow into. CJ had hated the word before she even understood it.
One afternoon, maybe an hour into pretending she was meant for spins and edges she didn’t care about, she’d seen them.
A group of hockey players on the far rink. No music. No choreography. Just chaos that made sense.
Stops that sprayed ice like explosions. Collisions that didn’t look like mistakes. Movement that had weight in it. Real weight.
One of them had crashed into the boards and laughed like it didn’t matter. Like falling was just part of getting somewhere faster.
CJ had stopped skating. Just… stopped. Her coach had called her name, but she hadn’t responded. She was only eight at the time, but she knew something with absolute clarity. That’s where I belong.
Back in the study room, CJ blinked once and pulled herself forward again. Garrett was still watching her. Not impatient. Just there, listening and waiting like he understood exactly what she meant.
She let out a quiet breath.
“I liked control,” she repeated, steadier now. “Hockey was the first place I could actually get it.”
A beat. Then, quieter, “Not even in my own home.”
The words came out and immediately he knew she didn’t mean to say them. Her eyes widened before she looked away. She stared out the window a moment before shifting her gaze back to him. The words had landed in the space between them and stayed there.
She didn’t offer more and she didn’t need to.
Garrett didn’t react the way most people would’ve. No pity. No awkward shift. No overcorrection. Just understanding flickering into place like he’d connected a dot he hadn’t been given before. That, oddly, made it easier to continue.
“I tried figure skating first,” she said, like it was less important than it actually was.
Garrett’s eyebrows lifted slightly. That was the first real crack in his composure. CJ almost smiled at that.
“Yeah,” she said. “It wasn’t for me.”
A pause.
Then, because she didn’t usually talk this long about herself unless there was a reason:
“I remember the first time I saw hockey players on the adjacent rink. They were scrimmaging. No music. No routine.”
Her gaze drifted again - not back in memory this time, but anchored to it.
“I was supposed to be practicing edges,” she continued. “But I just stood there watching them instead.”
Her voice softened, just slightly - not emotional, just precise.
“They weren’t graceful. They were… relentless.”
A faint exhale left her nose. “That was the difference.”
Her eyes came back to Garrett.
“I didn’t want to be graceful,” she said. “I wanted to be relentless… maybe dangerous.”
Silence settled again. Not uncomfortable. Just full. CJ tapped her pen once against the table, like she was re-grounding herself.
Then she added, more matter-of-factly, “So I switched.”
Garrett nodded slowly, like he understood it mattered. CJ watched him for a second longer than she meant to.
“You’re thinking too hard,” she said finally.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“About what part?” He challenged.
CJ leaned back slightly, then decided to lighten the room.
“Maybe that I should’ve stuck with figure skating to be pretty on ice.”
That got a laugh out of him. “Not at all. You’re pretty no matter what skates you’re wearing.”
“Good.”
A beat. Then, softer - almost to herself, but still audible, “But pretty doesn’t win games.”
Garrett’s expression shifted at that. Like that sentence fit into something he already believed, but hadn’t heard phrased that way before. And for the first time since he walked into the room, he didn’t just look at her like she saw the game differently. He looked at her like she saw everything differently.
“I was thinking that that all sounds like you,” he said.
CJ gave him a look. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“I know enough,” he said.
That made her pause again. Annoyingly. She changed direction before it could sit too long.
“You’re different off the ice,” she said.
“I get that a lot.”
“No,” CJ said. “I mean you’re… lighter. I’d expect someone who plays like that to take up more space.”
Garrett studied her for a moment.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said about me today,” he said.
CJ snorted softly. “That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I took it as one.”
She ignored that. Mostly.
“What do you think hockey is?” she asked.
Garrett didn’t hesitate this time. “Timing.”
CJ nodded slightly, like that matched something she already believed.
“Good answer,” she said.
“You approve?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
CJ pointed her pen at him slightly. “Careful. That’s how you end up overanalyzing everything I say.”
He smiled. “Too late.”
That landed differently than it should have. CJ looked down at her notebook briefly, then back up.
“You asked for critique,” she said.
“I did.”
“And you got it.”
“I did.”
A pause. Then Garrett added, quieter, “It’s better than what I usually get.”
CJ’s expression softened just slightly at that, though she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she closed her notebook halfway.
“That’s because most people are talking about results,” she said. “Not decisions.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I noticed.”
Another quiet settled between them. It wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, Garrett was beginning to realize he liked the silence that came with Sullivan. She never seemed to feel the need to fill it just because it existed.
His eyes drifted across the table to her notebook. The highlighted textbook. The stack of articles clipped neatly together. She was as organized here as she was on the ice.
"Can I ask you something?"
CJ looked up.
"You just did."
He laughed. "...Can I ask you another something?"
"I'll allow it."
He gestured toward the open textbook. "Why this?"
She followed his gaze. "My homework?"
"No." He shook his head. "Your major."
A small crease formed between her eyebrows, like she hadn't expected that question. "Journalism."
Garrett blinked. "Really?"
"You sound surprised."
"I just..." He searched for the right words. "I figured it'd be something like kinesiology or sports management."
"Because I play hockey?"
"Little bit."
She leaned back in her chair. "I like asking questions."
"Hm."
"I like finding answers more."
Garrett smiled. "I've noticed."
CJ glanced down at the article in front of her before looking back up.
"People usually tell you what happened." She tapped a finger lightly against the paper. "I'm more interested in why it happened."
Garrett thought about Saturday night. About the way she'd ignored the fact that he'd scored the winning goal and instead explained why one glance toward Logan would've gotten him burned at a higher level.
"...Yeah," he said with a quiet laugh. "That tracks."
A ghost of a smile crossed her face.
"So on the very low chance you don’t go to the PWHL, you want to be a reporter?"
She nodded.
"A sports reporter?"
She surprised him by shaking her head and shrugged, "Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"I haven't decided."
"What else?"
CJ looked toward the window for a moment, considering. "I like investigative journalism."
Garrett tilted his head. "Really?"
She nodded once. "Anyone can report what people are willing to tell you."
Her voice remained even, matter-of-fact.
"I'm more interested in what they aren't."
Something about the way she said it made Garrett pause. There wasn't any drama in her tone. No attempt to sound profound. It was just... true.
For a second, he wondered if she approached people the same way she approached hockey. Watching. Listening. Waiting for the details everyone else missed. It explained a lot.
"So," she said, folding her hands together on the table, "your turn."
"My turn?"
"Why your major?"
Garrett let out a small groan.
"I liked you better when you were only critiquing my hockey."
That finally earned him a real smile. "Too bad."
She picked up her pen again, but instead of writing, she twirled it between her fingers. "Well?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "History."
CJ blinked. "...History?"
"You sound even more surprised than I did."
"I am."
"I'll try not to take that personally."
"I just..." She frowned thoughtfully. "I was expecting business. Maybe communications."
"Because my dad played in the NHL?"
She caught the shift in his tone immediately. It was subtle. So subtle most people would've missed it. But the question hadn't sound curious. It sounded practiced. Like he'd answered it before.
"A little," she admitted. "And because hockey players usually pick majors that work around their schedules."
"They do."
"So why history?"
Garrett leaned back in his chair, thinking. "I've always liked stories."
CJ's eyebrow lifted. "Stories?"
"The real ones."
She waited and he smiled.
"I know. That sounds stupid."
"It doesn't."
"It kind of does."
"It doesn't," she repeated.
Garrett looked at the table for a moment before continuing. "I like figuring out how people got where they ended up."
He shrugged one shoulder.
"You read about these huge moments in history - the wars, revolutions, presidents - but none of them happen because of one thing."
CJ nodded slowly.
"They're a thousand little decisions."
His eyes met hers. For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then CJ let out a quiet, almost amused breath. "That's... very you."
Garrett laughed. "Is it?"
"You just described history the same way I describe hockey."
He thought about that. "...I guess I did."
"You don't care about the final score."
"I mean, I do."
She gave him a look. "You know what I mean."
He smiled. "I care how everyone got there."
"Exactly." CJ pointed her pen at him.
Garrett hadn't expected this. Most conversations about majors lasted thirty seconds.
What's your major?
History.
Cool.
End of discussion.
CJ treated every answer like it had another question hidden inside it. It was... refreshing.
"So," she said, "what period?"
"What?" He frowned.
"If you had to spend the rest of your life studying one era."
Garrett laughed. "That's an aggressive follow-up."
"You should've expected it."
"I probably should've." He thought for a second. "Twentieth century."
"Specific."
"It narrows it down."
"It narrows it down to a hundred years."
"I like the World Wars." He chuckled.
CJ stared at him. "I hear it now."
"Hear what?"
"The history major."
He laughed. "What about you, Sullivan?"
"What about me?" She tilted her head.
"If you could write about anything."
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked down at her notebook, absentmindedly straightening the edge of the page.
"The things people ignore."
Garrett waited.
She continued.
"The stories everyone thinks they already understand."
"Like what?" He frowned slightly.
"Okay, take hockey for an example."
That surprised him.
"Hockey?"
She nodded.
"Everyone writes about the goals. I'm interested in why someone stopped shooting."
Garrett's expression shifted.
"You'd rather interview the guy who missed?"
"I'd rather figure out why he was afraid to take the shot."
He held her gaze. There it was again. That feeling he'd had Saturday night. She didn't just see the play. She saw the person making it.
"You'd be good at that," he said quietly.
CJ shrugged, almost uncomfortable with the compliment. "I like to think so."
Garrett smiled to himself. She was the first person he'd met in a long time who talked about what she loved without trying to impress anyone. She wasn't selling journalism. She wasn't trying to convince him it mattered. She simply cared. And somehow, that made him care too.
****
It had already been way more than the five minutes she’d allotted him. They’ve talked about music, cars, films. She was surprised to learn he was partial to rom-coms or chick flicks.
“Well my mom liked them, so I watched a lot.” Garrett said with a small, almost shy, smile on his face.
Liked. He had said liked. Past tense. CJ clocked it and filed that information away. She wouldn’t push. Not when he was offering up information she found - irritatingly - she was itching to learn. Also, it wasn’t her place to push. He would tell her if and when he wanted to.
“What’s your favorite?” She leaned forward in her seat.
Garrett paused, like he was deciding whether he wanted to divulge this particular piece of information. “Dirty Dancing.”
“Wait… Really?” She grinned and decided to do her best Patrick Swayze. “‘Nobody puts Baby in a corner.’”
A laugh burst from Garrett's mouth. A real one. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his hand came up to his chest as his head tilted back.
“Yes! What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing! I’m just surprised.” She said.
Then, proof that she’d lost track of time, the study room door opened and her teammates started to file in - then froze when they found Garrett Graham sitting across from their captain.
Maddie had entered first, balancing a coffee carrier with practiced ease. Behind her came Avery, Dani, Brooke, and three more women from the team, backpacks already slung over one shoulder. The conversation died almost immediately when they noticed Garrett.
Avery looked from him...
...to CJ...
...then back to him.
"Well," she said slowly. "This is unexpected."
Garrett raised a hand in greeting. "Hey."
Maddie's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline.
"I thought we were doing homework."
"We are," CJ replied evenly.
Nobody moved. Garrett suddenly became very aware that he was sitting in their study room.
Avery recovered first.
"So..." She looked at CJ. "Is he tutoring you?"
CJ gave her a flat look. "In what world would Garrett Graham be tutoring me?"
“Ouch.” Garrett put a hand over his chest.
"I meant academically."
"Still ouch."
A few of the girls laughed. Maddie handed CJ one of the coffees she'd brought.
"Thanks, you remembered."
"I always remember."
Garrett watched the exchange. It was like they'd done this dozens of times before.
CJ set the coffee beside her notebook before looking around the room.
"Everyone bring what they're working on?"
A chorus of nods.
"Good."
She stood. The room settled almost instantly.
"Same rules as always," she said. "Silent study for ninety minutes. If you finish early, help someone else."
No one rolled their eyes. No one groaned. No complaints. Just quiet understanding. Garrett found himself looking around the room instead of at Sullivan. No one seemed afraid of disappointing her. They simply didn’t want to.
He'd spent years following captains who led by volume.
CJ barely raised hers.
"Any questions?"
Dani lifted a hand.
CJ sighed dramatically.
"Real questions."
The room laughed.
Dani grinned. "I forgot my calculator."
"That's tragic."
"It is."
"You should probably solve that."
More laughter. Someone handed Dani a calculator.
Garrett couldn't help smiling. This wasn't someone playing captain. This was someone her team genuinely trusted.
CJ glanced back toward him. "You've officially been replaced."
He looked around at the now nearly full study room.
"I noticed."
"I'd apologize."
"But?"
"I don't feel bad."
"I figured."
Avery was already unpacking her laptop. "Captain?"
CJ looked over.
"We still doing accountability check-ins after?"
"We always do."
Garrett frowned slightly. "Accountability check-ins?"
Maddie answered before CJ could. "Every Monday."
Garrett looked at CJ.
"You make your team do homework together?"
CJ looked genuinely confused by the wording.
"I don't make them."
"No." Avery snorted.
"She just started showing up here every Monday freshman year." Maddie smiled.
Brooke looked up from her backpack. "Then people started joining her."
"Then everybody started joining her," Dani added.
“It helps.” CJ looked mildly uncomfortable being the center of attention.
“This isn’t the whole team.” He pointed out.
“We stagger times and send Captain pics for sessions without her.” Maddie explained.
Garrett looked around the room again. Eight Division I athletes. On a Monday night voluntarily sitting down to study together. Not because a coach required it. Not because the athletic department scheduled it. Because their captain believed being a good teammate didn't stop when practice ended.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain… That impressed him almost as much as anything she'd done on the ice.
He stood, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "I should probably get out of your way."
"You don't have to," CJ said automatically. Then she looked around the room. Every chair was now occupied except hers.
She sighed. "...Okay, maybe you do."
"I'll survive." Garrett laughed.
He reached the door before pausing and looked back once.
CJ was already helping Dani find something in her textbook, completely focused. Like the conversation they'd just had had been gently set on a shelf until next time. Garrett stepped into the hallway and the door clicked shut behind him.
He made it maybe fifteen feet. Then stopped. His hand tightened around the strap of his backpack.
"...Fuck."
He stared down the hallway for a second. He didn't have her number.
How had he spent all that time talking to Sullivan...
...and forgotten the one thing that would've guaranteed he didn't have to wait for another chance encounter?
He looked back toward the study room door. Through the glass window, he could see her laughing quietly at something Avery had written on a worksheet.
He had two choices. Walk away. Or interrupt a room full of women's hockey players to ask their captain for her number.
Garrett closed his eyes for half a second. Dean was never going to let him live this down.
He smiled anyway, then turned around and headed back toward the study room before he could talk himself out of it.
The knock this time drew every head in the room.
CJ looked up from Maddie's laptop. She blinked.
"You forget something?"
Garrett opened the door halfway.
"Actually..." He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah."
Avery looked between them with open curiosity. CJ stepped away from the table.
"What'd you forget?"
"My ability to think ahead." He stepped fully inside the room.
That earned a puzzled look.
Garrett laughed quietly.
"I just realized..." He gestured vaguely between them. "I don't have your number."
Silence. Not awkward, but noticeable.
Around the table, seven pairs of eyes suddenly found something very interesting about their notes. Nobody looked up. Nobody said a word.
Nobody was fooling anyone.
CJ looked at him for a second. Long enough that Garrett wondered if this had been a mistake. Then one corner of her mouth lifted.
"You came all the way back for that?"
"I got about fifteen feet."
Avery snorted into her coffee. Garrett ignored her.
"I figured relying on random encounters around campus wasn't a great long-term strategy."
CJ considered that. She also heard Avery behind her quietly whisper, “Long term?”
"No," she admitted. "Probably not. You have yours?"
Garrett was already fishing his phone out.
"Yeah."
"Give it here." Sullivan held out her hand.
He handed it over.
CJ held out his phone with a questioning look.
"Password?"
He typed it right in front of her. He clearly wasn’t too worried about what she’d do with that information.
Her thumbs moved quickly as she opened his contacts and entered her name and number.
Then she handed his phone back.
"Now text me."
Garrett looked up. "Right now?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Unless your plan is to lose my number before you leave the library."
Avery let out a snort from somewhere behind them. Garrett smiled to himself and opened a new message.
Remembering to ask has to count for something.
A second later, CJ's phone buzzed in her hand.
She glanced down at the screen.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Good."
She saved his number.
"What are you putting me in as?" Garrett asked.
“Sparky.” CJ looked up innocently.
"Excuse me?"
"How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days." She continued after seeing his confused look. “My favorite. Watch it - that’s your homework.”
"Oh, you’re assigning me homework now, Sullivan?"
CJ ignored that.
"For the record, Graham," she said, "this could've waited."
"It could've."
"But?"
Garrett met her eyes. "I didn't really want it to."
For just a heartbeat, CJ's expression softened. Not dramatically. Just enough that he caught it. Then she folded her arms.
"Good answer."
Behind her, Avery made an exaggerated coughing noise. Maddie elbowed her without looking up from her laptop. CJ didn't even turn around.
"Avery." Maddie whispered.
"What?" Avery whispered back.
"We're supposed to be studying."
"I am."
"No, you're eavesdropping."
"They're practically the same thing."
"They're objectively not." Maddie said a little louder.
Garrett laughed. "I should let you guys get back to it."
"You probably should," CJ agreed.
He took a step back toward the door.
"Thanks."
"For what?"
He lifted his phone. "For making it easier to ask you questions."
CJ tilted her head, then stepped around to open the door for him. And as he walking through, she said, “Don’t abuse my number, Sparky.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
After the door shut behind him, Garrett stood in the hallway for another second, staring at the contact she'd just added to his phone. Sullivan with a hockey stick emoji. She said she saved him as Sparky from her favorite rom-com. He still had no idea what that meant, but fair is fair. He promptly edited her contact name to read Baby and he kept the hockey stick emoji.
previous part
taglist: @kkkkisworld @abominablesnowman24 @andabuttonnose
