“So what are you saying?”
He looks at me for a long minute. My heart races with each passing second. I knew I shouldn’t have come out tonight.
“I’m saying if we go back in there and tell him you were joking, it sounds worse, not better. He’ll think it’s a lie and blow it up twice as big.” He looks down. “You see him choke on his beer?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.I really didn’t think this through.
“You’re right. I screwed up. I panicked.” And I catch myself, because I don’t panic, I am not a woman who panics. Except I did this in a panic, and it resulted in something stupid. “What now? How long?”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”
“What does it look like?”
“Tonight?” He says it easily, like he’s read the playbook a hundred times. “You walk back in there on my arm. You laugh when I say something. I introduce you to people. I do most of the talking. You drink water, you stay close, you let the whole room watch the show. Then you and I leave together, and Gavin watches us leave together, and the story tells itself.”
“I hate this.”
“You?” he questions.
“I hate this.” I cross my arms. “I’m only doing this because that man would not have stopped until he thought I belonged to someone else.”
“Got it.” He nods. “We can have every single hating-it conversation you want tomorrow. Tonight is a performance.”
Now, we’re looking at each other on a square of cold concrete.
“You love this,” I say, noticing how his face isn’t as tense anymore.
“Maybe I can get my hockey stick back.” Instant. No hesitation. “I miss her.”
And a breath comes out of me that is almost — but is not quite, I make absolutely sure it is not quite — a laugh, and I catch it before it can finish.
He holds out his hand.
I stare at it.
“Princess.” He’s almost gentle about it. “You screwed us both. Come on.”
I take it. His hand is warm and bigger than I expected. It closes around mine like it’s done it before.
“Two hours,” I tell him. “Until my roommates are ready to leave.”
“Yeah, about that.” He’s already turning us toward the door. “You’re not getting off the hook so easy, Linwood. He’s staying at my house. All weekend.”
My eyes go wide. My stomach drops straight through the concrete. “No. You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” He pulls the door open. “Stop freaking out.”
We walk back inside. He doesn’t let go of my hand, and he leads. The first thing he does — the thing I don’t expect — is he doesn’t take me to Gavin. He takes me to Benson.
Because Benson is his captain and his best friend. Stanley stops us in front of him and says, “You remember Aspen.”
Benson’s eyes move from Stanley’s hand to my face to Stanley’s face. He reads the entire situation in about two seconds flat. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t frown.
“Aspen,” he says. Just that. Like he knows exactly whose daughter I am. And the thing that throws me is that he’s not suspicious, nor does he sound surprised. Not even a little. He reaches out and grips Stanley’s shoulder, and the two of them hold a look I can’t translate, a whole silent conversation only best friends can understand.
Benson turns to Lucy. When I glance at her, she’s already smiling at me. I feel Stanley’s hand at the small of my back and try to adjust myself against it.
“Aspen,” she smiles. “Hi.” She looks up at Stanley and then back at me. “How are you?”
