Page 34 of Blueline Baby

“You didn’t even—” She can’t get through it. “The slapping. The slapping sound—” And she loses it again.

“That was a professional-grade spanking sound and you know it.” I’m pretty damn proud of myself, honestly.

She collapses onto my chest, still giggling. I wrap her up and hold on tight. After a while, her laughing slows into just her breathing, warm against my skin.

And there it is again. That thing I keep not saying, sitting right at the top of my throat while she lies there wrecked with laughter and no clue what she does to me. I don’t say it, though I want to. I kiss the top of her head instead.

Britt will be back. And when she is, I won’t be doing bits. I’ve still got things to say to her that aren’t funny at all.

Britt comes back that evening.

I’m still there, even though I’ve got a game tomorrow and I should be home getting my head right. Instead, I’m on Chloe’s couch pretending to watch tape on my iPad while she studies at her desk, because I couldn’t come up with a single reason good enough to leave.

We both hear the key in the lock. Britt walks in, sees us, and stops just inside the door.

“I’m just here for my stuff,” she says, talking to the middle distance. “You can both relax.”

She heads for her room. Chloe caps her highlighter and sets it down. She's careful about it, lining it up perfectly with the edge of the textbook.

“Britt.”

Britt stops, but she doesn’t turn around.

“You knew.” Chloe’s voice is dead level. “Smitty told you Jack’s phone was broken. You knew where he was the whole time, and you let me sit in this apartment for three days thinking he wasn’t calling on purpose.”

Britt turns around and glares at her. “I’m not your boyfriend’s answering service.”

“Nobody asked you to be.” Chloe stands up. “But you decided to make it seem like something it wasn’t. You watched me worry and think that it was me, when actually it was you.”

Britt rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Chloe. I’ve watched you for two years act like you’re above it all. Goody two shoes, too good for parties, too good for guys, too good for me and everything I actually want. And then Jack Anderson falls through your door too drunk to stand and picks you, and you don’t even want him. He just landed in your lap like everything else does. You never work for a single thing. It just comes to you.”

I go completely still on the couch. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to stand up and end this, but I stay seated. This is Chloe’s fight.

I watch as Chloe takes a deep breath, clearly fighting not to cry. “That’s the whole thing, isn’t it. You’re not scared he’ll hurt me. You’re mad he wanted me.” She shakes her head sadly. “You could have just been happy for me, Britt. You went with this instead.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. You have no clue what you signed up for. He’ll get traded, or bored, or there’ll be some girl in a better city, and you’ll be right back here.” She turns, leaving us in the heavy quiet of the living room.

I turn to Chloe. “Move in with me.”

It’s out before I’ve even decided to say it. And the instant it is, I know I mean it more than almost anything I’ve ever said.

Chloe blinks. “Jack, I can’t do that.”

“I’m a few floors up. It’s barely even moving.”

“We’ve been together barely three weeks.”

“So? I knew in about three minutes.”

She looks at me for a long moment. Then she looks around the apartment. “I’ll think about it,” she says.

18

CHLOE

THAT’S WHAT WE’D HAVE

Jack and I find a rhythm over the next few weeks. It comes easier than I ever logically expected it to. On the nights he doesn’t have a game, he takes me out. On the nights he does, I’m up in the family suite in his jersey, which I’ve finally stopped pretending I hate wearing. He sleeps at my place more often than his own now.