Page 24

I don’t date women who put others first at their own expense.

But fuck, I like Sutton Moore so damn much. Despite her sweet, quiet, make-everyone-happy, sunshiney personality.

Dammit.

“I think Beckett would understand that,” she finally says. “Do you want to come in and wait for him? He should be back soon.”

No, because every time I spend even five minutes alone with you, I want it to be a year.

“Sure, if you don’t mind,” I say.

I do need to talk to Beckett after all.

And nothing is going to happen between Sutton and me.

Except for me becoming even more drawn to her.

I had obviously recognized how attractive she is and how much I liked her even before finding out about the journal.

But the journal made me even more aware of her, and I have an inkling that any time alone with her will do the same.

Still, like an idiot, I step over the threshold of her house.

It’s immediately clear from the small space that Beckett lets Sutton have control of the home decor.

The walls are a neutral beige, but the sofa is a sage green with peach and pale-yellow throw pillows of varying sizes. There is a peach-colored overstuffed armchair with a cream-and-sage-green throw blanket draped over the arm.

The coffee table is a distressed wooden piece painted pale green, with peach-colored coasters on top and a cluster of peach, cream, and green candles in the middle. They’ve obviously been lit a number of times, and I like that they’re not just for decoration.

The table sits on top of a peach-and-cream woven rug covering the wooden floor.

The whole room is soft and feminine, from the warm lighting to the mix of artwork and photographs—all of people—on the walls.

It’s cozy, comfortable, and it smells like Sutton. A sweet cinnamon scent that reminds me of the roasted peaches I had this past summer in New Orleans.

I thought of her when I ate them at a new restaurant I tried with my mom.

Then I tried not to think of her.

Then I went back and bought more to go on my way out of town.

Being obsessed with a woman who is not only forbidden to me by her brother—a teammate that I very much want to get along with—and who is way too sweet and good for me, is fucking torture.

I don’t think I’m any kind of saint, but I’ll be damned if I can come up with what I’ve done to deserve this.

“You can leave your shoes there by the door,” she calls through the arched doorway across the room.

I set my shoes by the door, straightening them rather than just kicking them to the side the way I do at Brewser’s. I note that Beckett clearly does the same with his shoes and that he hangs his jackets on the wall hooks.

I smile.

Beckett is exuberant, loud, and full of ego. It’s nice to see that someone handles him, and I really like that it’s Sutton.

I wish she’d tone him down more often at the arena. I often get frustrated with him when he doesn’t listen to her in practice. She makes suggestions for games or routines, and Beckett will bowl right over her.

At least at home, it looks like she has the upper hand.

That makes me like him a little more.