Easy for you to say

Lila’s POV

The main quad buzzed with midday energy, students huddled in coats against the biting wind. I tugged my scarf higher, boots crunching over light snow as I scanned for Jax. 

My stomach had been doing flips since his text last night — short, direct, like this was a business meeting instead of whatever we’d agreed to.

Just lunch. Public. Act normal.

Normal felt impossible. My hands still remembered the warmth of his palm yesterday, the way his fingers had laced through mine like it was the most natural thing. 

I’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling, replaying that moment until my brain felt raw. Protection. That’s all this was. A shield wrapped in his popularity. Nothing more.

I spotted him near the big oak tree, leaning against the trunk with that effortless hockey-player stance — shoulders relaxed, one foot crossed over the other. 

His dark hair caught the weak sunlight, and when he saw me, he straightened, a small nod pulling me forward.

My steps slowed as I got closer. He looked… different in daylight. Less guarded than in the hallway. 

A gray hoodie peeked from under his jacket, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the veins along his forearms from all those stick-handling drills.

“Hey,” he said, voice carrying that low rumble that used to calm me down during thunderstorms back when we were kids.

“Hey.” I stopped a few feet away, suddenly unsure where to put my hands. The scarf felt too tight around my neck.

He didn’t push. Just gestured to the bench he’d claimed, a couple of wrapped sandwiches and two steaming cups sitting on the wood. “Brought food. Figured you might not have eaten.”

I blinked. Thoughtful. Or calculated. Either way, my traitor stomach growled softly at the smell of warm bread and coffee. “Thanks.”

We sat. The bench was cold through my jeans, but his presence next to me radiated heat. Close enough that our knees nearly brushed. 

I unwrapped the sandwich — turkey and cheese, simple — and took a bite to give my mouth something to do besides overthink.

Around us, eyes were already drifting our way. A group of girls from the cheer squad whispered behind their hands. Two freshmen slowed their walk, openly staring. The attention prickled my skin like static.

Jax noticed. Of course he did. His arm shifted, draping casually along the back of the bench behind me. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that the message was clear.

“Relax,” he murmured, leaning in so only I could hear. His breath brushed my temple, carrying faint mint again. “They’re watching because they’re surprised. Not because they’re planning anything.”

I swallowed the bite of sandwich, my throat dry despite the coffee. “Easy for you to say. You’re used to this.”

His fingers finally made contact — light, just the tips grazing my shoulder through my coat. A test. A performance. My pulse jumped anyway, loud in my ears.

“Yeah, well. I’m used to a lot of things that aren’t worth it.” The words came out quieter than the rest, almost like he hadn’t meant to say them.

I turned my head slightly, catching his profile. Jaw set. Eyes focused on the quad but distant, like he was fighting some internal battle I couldn’t see. 

For a second, the old Jax flickered through — the one who’d share his earbuds with me during long bus rides to away games I only attended because he invited me.

Before I could stop myself, I asked, “Why me, Jax? Really.”

His hand stilled on my shoulder. The wind picked up, scattering a few snowflakes between us. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his thumb moved in a slow, absent circle — soothing or stalling, I couldn’t tell.

“Because watching them chip away at you feels worse than losing a game.” Honest. Raw. It landed heavy in my chest.

My breath caught. I wanted to believe that. Wanted to lean into the warmth of his arm and pretend this shield came without cracks. 

But doubt crept in anyway, sharp and familiar. Popularity had changed him once. What stopped it from happening again the moment this stopped being convenient?

A shadow fell over the bench. I looked up to find Marcus approaching with two teammates, trays balanced in their hands. His grin was all teeth, no warmth.

“Well, well. Captain’s got himself a new project.” Marcus’s gaze slid to me, lingering too long on my glasses. “Didn’t know you were into charity cases, Jax.”

The air thickened. Jax’s arm tightened around my shoulders — deliberate now, pulling me closer against his side. Solid muscle under the jacket. My heart stuttered at the contact, heat flooding my face despite the cold.

“She’s not a project,” Jax said evenly, voice carrying that captain authority he used on the ice. “She’s with me. Got a problem with that?”

Marcus laughed, but it sounded forced. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Chill, man. Just surprised. You usually go for the loud ones who scream your name from the stands.”

The words stung more than they should have. I kept my face neutral, focusing on the sandwich wrapper in my lap. Jax’s free hand found mine under the edge of the bench, squeezing once. Firm. Reassuring. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

“Move along,” Jax told them, tone leaving no room for argument.

They did, muttering as they went. The quad noise rushed back in, but the tension lingered in my shoulders.

Jax didn’t let go of my hand. His thumb traced small patterns across my knuckles — slow, intentional. Each pass sent tiny sparks up my arm that had nothing to do with the cold.

“You okay?” he asked after a beat, head dipping closer. His lips were inches from my ear.

I nodded, but my voice came out softer than planned. “Yeah. Just… not used to this kind of attention being… positive.”

His chuckle was low, vibrating through his chest into mine. “Get used to it. We’ve got a game Friday. You’re coming. Sitting front row where everyone can see.”

My stomach flipped again. Public. Visible. Performative.

The idea of sitting there while he flew across the ice, knowing his eyes might find me in the crowd… it terrified me as much as it thrilled something buried deep.

I turned to look at him fully. Our faces were close now — too close. Blue eyes locked on mine, searching. The world narrowed to the space between us, snowflakes catching in his lashes.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then his gaze dropped to my mouth. Just a flicker. Quick. But enough to make my breath hitch.

“Practice round?” he whispered, so quiet I almost missed it.

My mind blanked. Practice. For the kisses we’d talked about. The ones that were supposed to sell this whole thing.

I should have said no. Should have pulled back and kept the line clear.

Instead, I gave the tiniest nod.

His free hand came up, cupping my jaw with surprising gentleness. Calloused fingertips against my skin. Warm. Steady. He leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to stop him.

I didn’t.

Our lips met — soft at first, testing. A light press that sent heat rushing through me like I’d stepped too close to a fire. Then deeper, his mouth moving against mine with careful intention. Not rushed. Not for show in the way I expected.

My eyes fluttered shut. One hand found his hoodie, fisting the fabric without thinking. He tasted like coffee and mint, and something undeniably him.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine for a second, breath mingling in the cold air.

“Convincing enough?” he murmured, voice rougher than before.

I couldn’t answer right away. My lips tingled. My pulse raced. The quad had gone quieter around us, or maybe that was just my imagination.

“Yeah,” I managed finally. “Convincing.”

But inside, my thoughts spiraled.

This was supposed to be fake. A performance.

So why did that kiss feel like the start of something that could break me worse than any hallway whisper ever had?