“Did you have fun?” I ask Iz as we’re taking the exit. Judging by the FaceTime call she just got off, the piano lesson was a hit.
“So much,” she agrees. “Do you think we can go back? Donna says she teaches other kids. I know you can’t bring me every week, but maybe you can drop me off there before your next game, so Savannah can see her parents, and we don’t have to spend hours at the arena before your game starts?”
“I can ask, but no promises. I’m sure she’s busy, and I can’t ask Savannah to drive all over just to do us a favor.”
“She likes hanging out with me,” Izzie argues, and I want to tease her for her confidence, that I am so glad she has, but I think it’s true with Savannah.
“I’m sure she does, but it’s still a long drive.”
“I don’t think she’ll mind. She often goes to brunch with them to make up for missing dinner for your games,” she shares, something I had no idea about and now feel guilty for. “She’s the best.”
“She is,” I agree.
“Do you love her?” Izzie asks like she’s trying to figure something out.
“We’re friends.”
She doesn’t drop it.
“I love my friends.”
“I love her like a friend then.”
“Only as a friend?”
“Iz, what are you getting at?”
“I think you love her. But you don’t tell her, which is odd, because you tell me and Mom – even Tatum – all the time.”
“You guys are my heart.”
“Isn’t Savannah too?”
I want to dismiss it as her being too young to understand, but I’m afraid she might get it better than I do, without the burden of being afraid of it.
“She’s very special to me.”
“I think I’d really like having her as a sister.”
“We are nowhere near there,” I argue.
“But you love her like that.” This time it isn’t a question.
Because we both know I do.
Chapter Forty-Six
Savannah
All Yours
I thought a week with Noah before the semester starts would be the perfect opportunity to figure out what we are, but he has a hockey tournament that requires a bunch of extra training in addition to away games, and twice he falls asleep while trying to convince me to ditch my readings so we can ‘cuddle’, which I’m no longer convinced is a euphemism.
That isn’t to say we haven’t seen each other, but we don’t really talk. I go to the hockey house, we make out, he gives me multiple orgasms, has a few of his own, then he holds me in his arms under the covers and I sleep like a baby – the expression, not how infants actually sleep. Half the time, he leaves for morning skate before I’m awake, then I leave to write at Words and Lattes before they come back, though I usually make some kind of breakfast treat before I go. Noah is constantly telling me not to, but his roommates not only thank me profusely, they’ve put in requests.
It's…confusing. Some days I walk home feeling ashamed, like a booty call he’s stringing along, especially when I come over late and we barely even speak before we’re naked. But other days, when he holds me and nuzzles close, reaching for me in the night, and has a latte waiting for me on the kitchen counter when I get down…God, those days I feel like he might even love me back.
But I don’t tell him. I never slip.
