I snort. “You want me to read to you?”
He stares, his expression allWhy not?
“I doubt you want to listen to me read a romance novel.”
I’m also unsure I could say some of the words in my book out loud to him, at least not without injecting awkwardness into our dynamic. Friends don’t read smut out loud to friends. That’s a fact.
“It’s also not on the list,” I point out, fumbling for an excuse. I’m not a shy person, and I’m not shy about sex… but there’s this hesitance I can’t explain, discomfort with intimacy that comes with sharing a love story. Something to explore with Dr. Warren one day.
He turns away from me, lifting his gaze to the ceiling as he reaches behind him for a pillow. He wedges it under his head and sighs deeply. “I like your voice, Finley.”
My body flushes with heat. No one has ever once told me they like my voice. Guys have commented on my boobs, ass, smile, eyes, and pussy. They like looking at me, tasting me, fucking me.
Zach wants tolistento me.
He says statements like these like they’re no big deal, as if people talk openly about feelings all the time. He’s on his back, eyes shut, waiting for me to read. Not self-conscious about the admission in the slightest.
I want to snuggle against him, wedge myself between his body and the couch cushions. He’d pull me into the crook of his arm, naturally, like he does everything. Kiss the top of my head. Run his fingers over my wrist. Wrap his leg around my ankle.
There wouldn’t be a game plan. He’s all earnestness and instinct.
Don’t change, I pray to whatever is out there. The world needs more men like Zachary Briggs.
I clear my throat. “All right. I just got to the part where she agrees to fake-date this guy on the team who’s in love with her. Her ex gets traded to the team they both work for, and she wants him to leave her alone. She doesn’t know the guy she’s asking to fake-date is already in love with her though. I’m not sure he does either. Not exactly anyway.”
I’m rambling like Zach, and by the way his lips tip into a smile, I think he finds it as endearing as I do. Or he’s laughing at me for my choice of books, which would seriously put a damper on his appeal.
“People do that?” he asks, his eyes drifting to me.
“Fake-date?”
He nods.
“In books, all the time. It’s one of my favorite tropes.” When he doesn’t say anything, I hastily add, “A trope is a story device—”
Zach laughs. “I know I’m kind of an idiot, Finley, but I know what a trope is.”
My cheeks heat. “You’re not.” I swallow thickly before continuing, unsure why it’s suddenly so hard to talk. “You’re not an idiot, Zach. You’re smart, in ways people don’t see—”
He laughs harder. “I’ve heard this speech before. It’s fine. I know my strengths. Or rather, my strength.”
Zach thinks he’s good at hockey and nothing else. I hate every person who helped form and perpetuate this idea in his mind.
“No, of course you know. I’m sorry, that was stupid. Lots of people don’t know about tropes outside the book community. I didn’t mean to imply you’re an idiot. You’re not an idiot, Zach.”
The words rush out like a rip current.
“You know people and what they need,” I ramble on, my face in full-on flame. “And that’s better than solving stupid equations or interpreting poetry. You’re the only person who seesme.”
Zach’s laughter subsides into a seriousness most people never see from him, at least outside the hockey rink. His stare burnsinto me, and he doesn’t say a damn word. I’ve stunned him silent. I don’t know what to make of it. Clearly, he doesn’t know what to make of me or what I’ve stupidly blurted at him either.
I snatch the book from my lap, wishing the couch would swallow me whole. “I’m going to read now,” I whisper, not trusting my voice to come out steady.
I crack open the book and let the words distract me from what I said. From the intensity of his gaze, I doubt Zach will forget any time soon.
9
Zach
