Chapter 3
Danny
God, it feels good to say her name. I want to say it again. So I do.
“Gracie.”
Then I say it twice more in my head (Gracie, Gracie) while she adorably looks anywhere but my face for a full thirty seconds.
With her eyes elsewhere, I admire Gracie up close. She’s as beautiful as ever. Her hair is tied back halfway with a green ribbon, matching her Sharks sweatshirt. Her fair complexion is still dotted with a smattering of light brown freckles. I search for any new ones since I last committed them to memory, recalling how I used to count them with my lips. Her legs look just as long and lean as before, but her hips are a little curvier than I remember. It takes everything in me not to groan in appreciation.
“Hey, Dan,” she says, all serious.
Oof.Dan. She only ever called me that when we were arguing.
For now, I take a breath and choose not to address the whole “Dan” atrocity. I’ll save that conversation for later, if I secure a later.
“Did you enjoy the game?” I ask, with a fake frown, playing into her Very Serious mood.
“I’m sorry you lost,” the little liar replies, her walls firmly present.
A smile takes over my whole face. My real smile. I probably look like a lunatic. It feels so foreign, grinning like this. After Gracie and I went our separate ways, I quickly learned how to fake my way through polite pleasantries with most people out of necessity.
“We both know you’re not sorry,” I toss back.
Her lips part in surprise with a small smile. Finally, a glimpse of my Gracie girl and not this “Susan from Accounting” persona she has going on.
“Yeah, I’m not.” She glances down at her outfit. “For obvious reasons, I guess.”
She’s so cute, wearing her little frown and actively rooting against my success.
Gracie taps her sneaker-clad foot on the travertine floor of this massive luxury suite filled with friends of friends of friends of someone’s friends, and all I can think about is how much she still looks likemine.
I grin, gesturing to her sweatshirt. “Still a Sharks fan, then?”
“Ride or die,” she replies, her multicolored eyes a bit brighter and playful now.
She then seems to remember she’s talking to herformerbest friend andex-boyfriend, and those walls go right back up again. We both awkwardly stare at each other for a few moments, waiting for someone to break the silence. I do the honors.
“So, do you want to go for milkshakes? Or to my house?”
I snap my mouth shut in horror.Myhouse? My therapist is really going to have a field day with this whole interaction. Dr. Sheila Biddle and I have actually spoken at length about how a conversation might go in the event I were lucky enoughto see Gracie again. I will regret to inform her that I’m using approximately zero of those techniques right now.
“I, uh, just meant my house for privacy reasons. It can be hard for me to go out around here without being noticed.” Shit, that sounded so cocky. I look at the floor—I never could control the way my words come out around Gracie.
After a few beats, I meet her eyes, and I’m surprised to find amusement on her face. I hold my breath while I wait for an answer.
“Sure, Dan.”
“Danny,” I mutter grumpily.
“I took the E train straight from the airport, but we can go to your house, I g?—”
“Great! Let’s go. Now,” I interject like someone with absolutely no impulse control. I’m clearly suffering side effects from being tackled. I just never thought I’d see her here of all places. Nothing can bring me down, not even her adorable moody ass.
“DT! Hey, man.” Freshly showered and dressed in his postgame suit, Kendric, our kicker, walks down the opposite end of the hallway as Gracie and I leave the suite. “Who’s the?—”
“Talk to you later, Ken!” I cheerily interrupt, not letting anyone or anything distract me from Gracie.
