Swallowing hard, I pick up my phone and think about how I should respond, but before I can, Nat texts first.
Nat: Go to sleep, shrimp.
The knot in my chest loosens. Nat gave me a perfect out and I gladly take it because whatever I was about to type next would have either revealed too much of my feelings or made things really awkward.
Riley: Sweet dreams, Nat.
I put my cellphone away, press my face into the mattress and let loose a squeal of glee so high pitched that a dog in the neighborhood starts barking its head off.
Nathan Campbell said I’m ‘not like other girls’.
That’s amazing.
I think.
Wait.
Is it?
What if he meant that I’m not like other girls because I’m like ‘family’. That would definitely put me in a separate category. An ‘I’m not attracted to you like that’ category.
I sit up in a rush, grab my phone and read through the text messages again.
How embarrassing.
Now that I’m giving it a second look, Nat never explicitly said anything to feed my delusions. And, apart from the initial meeting at the fair when he held me and asked for my name, he hasn’t done anything to hint at an attraction.
Asking me to text him when I get home is something my uncle did when I stayed at the military hanger.
And offering to buy me food is something my parents always do when they visit.
Not to mention, the way he hasn’t brought up Cordelia’s offer at all proves he’s not jealous like my neighbor assumed.
I sink into bed, flopping on my back and staring at the dingy ceiling fan. Once again, I let my imagination run like a wild horse and drag me out the gate before I have any indication that the race has started—or that I’m eveninthe race.
My suspicions about Nat’s lack of interest are confirmed when I head to Phil’s donuts the next morning for a sugar pick-me-up.
In a corner booth is a tall, mountain of a man with a square chin, closely-cropped hair and eyes the color of a field of emerald grass.
And across the table from him is the vile woman he promised he had no intentions of meeting.
Chapter Twenty-Two
NATHAN
I decide to meet with Layla early in the morning for two reasons.
One, McLanely made it clear that this matter is urgent. In fact, the Lucky Strikers captain stopped just short of suggesting I call Layla right there in the parking lot.
I knew better than to do so. Layla would misinterpret my interest and make all kinds of assumptions about our relationship.
The second reason I arranged the meeting this early is simple—I want to get it over with.
This conversation has been dangling in the corner of my mind like a guillotine. From the moment Layla told me she was in town, I had no intentions of interacting with her and now I have to eat my own words and beg my ex to play nice with my team captain.
Better to rip off the band-aid.
Layla wraps her spindly hands around a coffee cup. Her nails are a bright red, sharpened like daggers at the tips. Very apt for a woman as calculating and dangerous as she is.
