Page 66 of In It to Win It

He shrugs.

“That’s why you seemed so . . . angry at me?” I tip my head to the side. “Did you think I slept with you when I was seeing someone else? Seriously?” My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t answer right away. I study his profile—his strong nose and chin, his sculpted lips, his hair falling over his forehead. The pissed-off set of his jaw. “I wasn’t angry at you.”

“Oh. Seemed like you were.”

“If I was angry about anything, it was that you left the wedding early when I thought we were going to fuck all night in my room.” He jumps to his feet and dusts the sand off his butt, smiling. “Oh well. Let’s get back.”

His words hit me in the chest.

That’s what this is about. Sex. Or lack of.

Anger churns hot in my belly as I stand too.

The walk back to his place is silent, but I barely notice because my mind is whirling.

The truth is—I’m disappointed, too, that we didn’t finish what we started that night. Because it was amazing. And hot. And fun. I was pissed off after the fight and I stormed out and . . . and okay, I’ve been regretting it ever since.

I can’t tell him that now. Because now . . . we’re just friends. And I’m seeing someone else.

And he’s an asshole, to be annoyed because I left before falling back into bed with him.

My stomach hurts by the time we arrive back at his place, but I think I’ve got my shit together. So much for being friends, though.

“So, Wednesday’s moving day, huh?” he says in his living room. Byron flops down on the floor, and yeah, he’s leaving a trail of sand, but it’s not that bad.

“Yes.” I lift my chin, determined to do this for Byron. “I’ll bring him over.”

“Sure. Just let me know.” He smiles. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“I know.”

“Here’s my schedule.” He hands me a computer printout. “These are home games; these are away. I made a note of when we’re leaving and getting back for the next month.”

I scan it and nod. Then we set his alarm system with my own code, and he shows me how to use it so I can get in and out when he’s not there. “You trust me with access to your place anytime?”

He gives me a long, level look, and says, “Yes. I trust you.”

My heart bumps. I look over at my dog. “Okay, Byron! Let’s go.”

He jumps up, tail wagging. I pick up the leash. “Thank you again for looking after him.”

This was a mistake. I mean, I’m sure Byron will be fine.

But will I?

13

TAYLOR

Dad carriesa box into my apartment and sets it on the floor. He straightens and looks around. “Not bad.”

“Could be a lot worse, right?” I, too, gaze around the space. The super gave me the keys to my place a day early and Dad’s helping me bring some things over before the big move tomorrow. “They painted it for me, so it’s nice and fresh.” I actually like the color—a warm greige that will look great with the furniture I’m bringing. “It’s small, but I don’t need that much room. At least I have a bedroom; I looked at some studio apartments that were all one room. And it’s going to be nice to be so much closer to work. No more stressful commutes in bumper-to-bumper traffic.”

“You’re being a trooper about this.” He curls an arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple. “I know this was a shock.”

“Well . . . the splitting-up part was. I figured you were going to ask me to move out, though.” I smile wryly. “It’s time.”

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