She cocks a brow. “You’re smiling.”
“Am I?”
“Mm-hmm. What’s so amusing?”
I shrug and stab at the salad with my fork. “Nothing, really. Just thinking about how you’ve turned me into someone who actually follows instructions.”
With a laugh, she wanders toward the bag by the door. “Oh, so this is character development?”
“Something like that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
kennedy
With a sigh,I shift in the leather seat of the black town car Cameron ordered. I figured we’d take a rideshare, but Cameron looked at me like I’d grown a second head when I mentioned that. He grumbled “fuck no” and then went into the bathroom to sponge bathe.
I glance at the bruised goalie on my left. “Are yousureyou’re okay?”
He looks up from his phone and rolls his eyes.
Drama king.
“I’m fine.”
“Right, but when I say I’m fine, I’m usuallynotfine.”
He levels me with a glare that would probably have his opponents on the ice knocking each other over to hide in the penalty box.
I simply wait him out.
He tried to hide his bruise this morning so I wouldn’t see how terrible it looks now. But it’d be impossible to miss the deep purple-black mark on his inner thigh unless I wore a blindfold.
“Kennedy, I’m fine,” he grumbles. “And if you ask me again if I want to cancel brunch, I’m going to think you’re the one who wants to cancel.”
A scoff escapes me. “Why would I want to cancel? I love brunch.”
He turns to the window, watching as skyscrapers whiz by as our driver navigates the streets like a pro. “Maybe because you don’t want me to meet your sister.”
I wave off the notion. “Don’t be stupid.”
He shrugs, but when he lowers his shoulders again, they sink, and there’s vulnerability there I haven’t noticed.
Oh. He actually thinks I don’t want him to meet my sister.
I lace my fingers with his and rest them on the empty middle seat. “Fallon texted me this morning and told me to avoid sex for forty-eight hours because it could aggravate your bruise. Clearly, we did not do that, so yeah, I’m a little worried that your leg is hurting and you need to rest.”
Cameronandour driver—through the rearview mirror—shoot me matching looks of horror.
Whatever. As if sex between two consulting adults is so taboo.
“Fallon told you that we shouldn’t have sex? That’s so fucking out of line,” he practically growls. “How did she even get your number? She?—”
I squeeze his hand. “Before you get all riled up, Cole gave her my number so she could check in on you and get an accurate answer since she rightfully predicted that you’d underplay it. And she only told me about the sex rule because I specifically asked about it.”
His mouth drops. “You asked Fallon if we could have sex?”
“I asked theBobcats’ athletic trainerif I could have sex with thestarting goaliewhile he’sinjured,” I correct, releasing his hand and patting him on his good leg. “And she was totally chillabout it. She’s great, by the way. We’re grabbing drinks next week.”
