My shoulders slump. I even took both dogs out first thing, hoping she might want to linger here with me. But I’ve got to stop hoping for things that won’t happen. I slough off the disappointment as we reach the door. Along the way, she tosses a knowing glance at the sleek living room couch, covered in charcoal cushions and sporting brushed metal legs. Then the electric fireplacewith its marble mantel, home to a few sleek candles, then back at the kitchen, its white counters pristine.
“I was right, by the way,” she says.
“About how many times I could make you come? Yes, you said many, and I delivered. Four, Skylar. Four,” I say, then blow on my nails.
Yeah, we were busy last night.
She laughs, and it sounds likeOh, you silly boy. “No, about your house. I predicted it’d be neat and clean, with metal accents, and a minimalist look.”
I pfft. “That’s not hard to guess. Also, what’s wrong with being neat?”
“Nothing. But I also suspected,” she says, scanning my living room once more, her gaze landing on the tiny plants that don’t need much watering, “that you’d have plants. And I spy all sorts of succulents.”
I bristle a bit. I don’t know if I love or hate that she nailed the brief of me. Maybe both. “You were right,” I concede, then curl a hand around her waist, pressing my palm firmly to her back. “But I’m right too—I only saw your living room, but I bet the rest of your home is bursting with every color of the rainbow, books everywhere, and more mugs than any person should rightfully own.”
Her eyes widen to moons.
Yup. I’m right.
And I don’t hate that. I love it.
26
ME? OBSESSED WITH YOU?
FORD
“Dude.”
That word can mean a million things, but Wesley’s tone later that morning, after I gave up a yawn the size of Wisconsin, I can translate.
What did you do last night?
“Yeah?” I ask while I lace up in the locker room. I barely glance at him, not sure I want to talk about Skylar as the whole team gets ready for practice. Wait—Iamsure I don’t want to. I’m not a kiss-and-tell type of guy. Besides, last night felt private. Just for Skylar and me.
“How does it feel?” Wesley asks, tugging on his jersey while Miles sets his watch in the stall next to him.
“How does what feel?” Something doesn’t compute. “Yawning? Having better stats than you?”
Across from us, Asher whistles as he tapes up his stick. “Man, that’s gotta hurt, Bryant.”
Wesley scoffs, grabbing his phone from the stall, then turning his attention back to me. “One, you don’t. Two, you’re on the socials.”
I blink, tension slamming into me. No one likes tohear that. With my skates laced, I sit up straighter. “What do you mean?”
Max lumbers over from his locker, wiggling his fingers. “I hate social media, but this I have to see.” He already looks pleased at whatever’s happening to me online.
Wesley hoards his phone. “Now I’m not sure I want to show you,” he says.
“Yeah, that’s a brilliant idea, Bryant,” Miles says, rolling his eyes. “Hide your phone like he can’t find it any other way.”
Now they’re worrying me. Is there a trade rumor on social media? Did someone see Skylar and me in the hot tub? I grab my phone and get ready to start scrolling through…I don’t even know where to look. “What’s going on? Just serve it up,” I say evenly. I’d rather know bad news than be blindsided later.
“When you admit my stats school yours,” Wesley tosses back.
“Don’t do it, Devon,” Tyler calls out from the bench as he pulls on a jersey.
“Boys, enough games,” Miles declares in his captain’s voice, then motions to Wesley. “Just show us.”
