“Uh, Henry telling me he’d call a few people about getting me an interview for an NFL team.”
“Hell yeah.” I grinned. “That’s great news. Where at, do you know?”
“Chicago.”
“They’re a good team right now. I like their head coach. He used to attend Illinois State as a player, and my buddy there ishis biggest fan. I don’t know about their athletic program, but I’m sure its solid.” I tapped the wheel as I neared the football house. “What?—”
“Your turn. Best part of your day.”
“This is about you.”
“You don’t get to pull your trickery on me, buddy.”
Buddy.Hearing her call me buddy was weird, but I shook it off. “Trickery?”
“I remember the little games you played.” She laughed, which was a good sign. I liked the sound of her giggle. It reminded me of years of joy. An irrational part of me wanted to keep all her laughs to myself, but that was barbaric. My sisters would kill me for even having that thought. “You told me how you always ask the ladies questions so they talk about themselves and that psychologically, when people talk about themselves it makes them feel good, so when they feel good, they like you. Remember, my brain is a steel trap of things I can’t forget.”
Frowning, I adjusted my grip on the wheel as I parked on the side street near the house. That was shit I did. But never to her. “I don’t do that to you.”
“I know. I’m not one of your ladies, Callum.” Her tone was off somehow, like she was shielding the real feelings she had. I hated when she did that. I used to call her on it, and she’d cave, but with the three years of distance, I wasn’t sure I had that privilege. Also, she was one of my ladies… one of my favorite ones.
Her shoulders sagged as she stared out the window, and I took a moment to study her. Her chest moved fast, and she tapped her fingers together in a pattern, almost like she was stressed. Was she stressed because of me? Because of her pain?
Or was she sad?
Fuck. I didn’t know her tells anymore, and I vowed to become the Ivy expert again. It made me feel… like I mattered. I could be there for her, whatever she needed, and it felt good.
I had to make this right, to appease this ache in my heart.
“To clarify, I never once used any of my tricks or douchebaggery on you. Never you. You’re not in that part of my mind.”
“What part am I in?”
Ivy met my gaze head on, her wide eyes clear of any judgement per usual. She was so curious. Always asked questions in class, never settled for a half-answer. Her glasses slid down her nose just a half of inch, and it was cute as fuck. Not the moment to tell her, but my finger twitched with the urge to push them up. Maybe run my fingers through her long hair for a second.
“You have your own special Ivy part. Football takes up a good chunk, then my family and friends. There’s at least a section in there for food alone. God, I love food.”
She smiled like I wanted her to.
“But then there is a whole part that is just you.” I shrugged, my pulse speeding up at admitting the truth. Because it was true. I didn’t put Ivy in the same portion of my life as everyone else. She was different, better, somehow. It was why I never compared her to any of the other girls I slept around with. They never measured up to her, ever. “While I might use tactics with others or joke around instead of talk about real shit with people, I don’t do that with you.”
“Is this… normal?”
“What?”
We left my car, her bag on my shoulder again, as I led her into the front door. “What do you meanis this normal?”
“Just. You don’t do that with your other friends. Should we… slow down? Be regular friends and not…”
“What is this? Why are you asking me that?” My tone came out clipped and harsh. Slow down? What the fuck?
“Ivy, what are you doing in the house?” Luca asked as he came around the living room corner. His usual hard expression softened just a bit. “House checks now required by Henry?”
“Yes, actually,” she fired back. “I’m here to monitor your calorie intake.” She jutted her chin at the big ass sandwich Luca shoved into his mouth.
“Fuck that.”
He continued moving toward the stairs, leaving Ivy and me alone again. “What did you?—”
