Page 43 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

I laughed it off like it was just too soon—which it is, considering we haven’t even been on a real date yet—but it was more than that.

If he’s asking me to bring her to the hospital, he doesn’t think he’s coming home soon.

I swallow hard, pushing all of that away, and force myself to be in the present moment. Chloe deserves my undivided attention.

“Are you going to Dionne’s party?” I ask.

“If I don’t, Charlotte will disown me.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

“That’s a reluctant yes. Will you be there?”

Does she want me to be?

“I’ve considered making an appearance.” One corner of my mouth lifts.

“Oh, really?”

I shrug. “If nothing better comes along, sure. I may stop by. But if the music sucks, I’m out.”

Chloe laughs, and the entire world stops so I can memorize this moment: the image of her auburn hair shining in the afternoon sun, her expression open. “Will Jenson be there?”

Time unfreezes, fast-forwards, rewinds, starts over. I can’t form a coherent thought. “Oh. No, he won’t.”

“Sorry, I just assumed…Dani said you were hanging out with him today. That you hang out a lot. I just figured you’d both come to the party.” She smiles at me, though it’s guarded now. She’s picked up on my shift in mood.

Mentally, I oil my joints so I can unclench my jaw and smile like a normal person. Shrug it off. “I wish Jenson would come, but I doubt it.”

“He doesn’t do parties?”

“He’s already got something going on that night.” Not a lie. But not really the truth either.

Chloe bends down to retie her cleat. The air is colder without her eyes on me. “Bummer. I was hoping I’d get to meet him.”

“Another time. Definitely. Want to try some penalties?” I redirect the conversation, passing her the ball.

“You think I’m ready for that?” She pauses with her foot on top of the ball, her head cocked to the side just a bit. Her blue eyes look worried, as if she’s replaying her miss during their opening game against Harrison.

“I think so. But what matters is what you think.” I wait, giving her the opportunity to catch her breath and to think.

She shakes her head. “No. Let’s keep doing this drill. It’s helping my foot skills.”

My heart aches a bit that she’s not confident enough in her abilities yet. She’s one of the best players I’ve ever seen on our field, both boys’ and girls’ teams included. But the rest of me is also secretly glad because doing this drill means I get to be physically close to her.

“Sure.” I get back into position. She passes me the ball, and I tap it back to her before assuming my defensive stance. Chloe comes at me, and I let her get close before forcing her to turn away from the goal she’s aiming for. Her back pushes against my chest as she tries to shield the ball and find a way around.

“It seems you may have learned a thing or two, Simpson.”

“Like I said before, I had a hot teacher.” I don’t even try to disguise the flirting, because I’m riding the high of her excitement that we both might go to a party we’d rather not. And it helps me leave behind bad thoughts. But after I’ve said it, I mentally kick myself. I don’t want to push too hard.

Chloe takes advantage of my hesitation and spins around me, passing the ball into the goal.

“Nice work,” I say, ignoring the churn in my stomach. I offer my hand for a high-five.

She slaps it and holds on, her eyes locked on mine. “It’s not going to work, you know.”

“What?”