I grab a cookie and a paper towel, then return to the couch. I set it on the table and change the channel toSportsCenter.
“What the hell is in these?” Jos says, licking the crumbs off her fingers. “That’s the best damn cookie I’ve ever had.”
“Hey,” Jamie snaps, carrying a box and setting it along the wall with the others. “I thought I made the best cookies.”
Both of Jos’s eyebrows arch upward, and her eyes grow wide.
I point the control at her. “Stay out of them. They’re mine.”
I wait for the report on the Stingrays’s game as Van returns, dragging her suitcase behind her.
“Where are you going?” TJ barks as she zips up her purse.
“That’s none of your business.”
I’m pretty sure TJ growls, but Van ignores him, stopping at the door.
I climb over TJ to hug her while keeping my eyes on the TV. “When will you be back?”
“A few days.” She hugs me tightly. “Talk to him. It’s so clear he cares about you. Let him.” Her whispered words surprise me as she pulls away.
I meet her eyes, and sadness reflects back at me.
“Don’t take him for granted. Not everyone can love us back the way we need them to.”
TJ makes some sort of noise and stands. “You ready?” he asks Jamie, lifting the giant box from the floor. “There’s too much estrogen and feelings floating around in here.”
“What? Afraid it’s contagious, and your cold insides might catch a breeze of warmth?” Van asks, looping her purse across her body.
TJ grumbles something on the way to the door, but we ignore him.
Van hugs Jamie as she follows TJ out with a box on her hip, then reaches for Jos. “Stay out of trouble.”
Jos grins. “Ha. Not a chance. Life’s too short not to have a little fun.”
“Love you, guys.” Van hollers.
“Even when we don’t,” Jos and I say back.
I sink back into the couch as Jos reclaims her chair.
“You seriously didn’t watch the game? What kind of ex-fake-girlfriend are you?”
I side-eye her, not needing her sassy ridicule.
“It was a good one,” she sings, baiting me to ask her questions.
I watch as the screen fills with Cole’s tall, strong body, standing behind the mic. Something in my chest expands at the sight of him.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. I listen as he talks about his wrist, a late comeback, and how he battled to make the final passes that led to the winning touchdown.
I barely make out the muffled question tossed at him.
“That pass to Ricketts from the thirty-yard line could have been cut straight from your dad’s playbook. Was that something you pulled out at the last minute, or have you been working on this for some time?”
Cole’s posture stiffens, and he braces both hands on the podium.
I lean toward the TV, knowing it was a jab to his heart.
