Page 60 of Fake Shot

I feel oddly defensive that he’s questioning my judgment here. It’s not like I don’t think they’re important, it’s just that I couldn’t imagine how I’d take that call when we’re sharing a room at the inn and have some sort of breakfast plans with his parents. At the same time, I’m touched that he’s willing to reschedule things like that.

My feelings for him, and about him, are getting so damn complicated.

He reaches for his phone where it rests on the charging pad and hands it to me. “2-6-3-8.”

“What?”

“That’s my passcode. Enter it.”

“Okay ...” I drag the word out as I unlock his phone. “Now what.”

“Open my contacts.”

“Why? I don’t want to see what’s there.” Is this some form of torture, making me look at the long list of women he’s slept with, with details about the location and experience noted prominently in their name?

“I’m pretty sure you do, actually.”

“I kind of hate you right now.” I hate him the way you hate something you know you want, but can never have. I hate the way he always thinks he knows what I’m feeling. And I hate it even more that he’s always right.

“You don’t hate me, Tink. You just wish you did.”See? Bullseye, every freaking time.“Now, open my contacts.”

I do as he says, wrinkling my nose in advance of what I imagine I’ll find there. But I’m not really sure how to process the screen I land on.

I use my finger to scroll through the contacts, all thirty of them. And I recognize, or can at least place, every single name. His parents and brother, his teammates, my brother and sister ... I’m about to object that I’m not in there, but find myself listed near the end asTinker Bell.

I know why he’s showing me this, but I still feel the need to hear him say it. “Yeah, so?”

“I deleted them all. And blocked them. And turned off my DMs on social media.”

“Why would you do that?” I try to keep my tone nonchalant, making it sound like this makes no difference to me. But it does matter, and we both know it.

“For exactly the reasons you think.”

I’m about to tell him that he doesn’t know what I’m thinking, but we’d both know that’s a lie. So instead, I just say, “Hmmmm.” I’m so intent on looking out the window at the passing trees like they are the most interesting thing in the world that I startle when he places his hand just above my knee and gives my leg a little squeeze.

When he doesn’t pull his hand back, I relax into the seat. I’m starting to feel safe any time Colt’s hands are on me, no matter how dangerous that might be.

Chapter Twenty-Three

COLT

“Why did you buy so many of those?” I ask when she comes back to my car with about ten boxes of Hot Tamales.

“They’re your favorite, so I grabbed them all.”

It’s no secret that I’m addicted to cinnamon—it’s my favorite flavor of candy, gum, and tea. I don’t know what I like about it so much, except that it reminds me of my childhood. Mom was known for her apple pies, which were heavy on the cinnamon and sugar, and she baked one every single holiday no matter what time of year. I find it oddly touching that Jules apparently bought out all the cinnamon candies in the gas station.

We drive in silence, with me holding my hand out every few minutes and Jules dropping a few Hot Tamales at a time into my palm, but she looks lost in thought, so I haven’t tried to engage her in conversation. We’re only a coupleof miles from the Canadian border when Jules says, “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, Colt.”

It seems tonight’s sleeping arrangements are weighing on her mind. “I really don’t mind,” I tell her. I do mind, because I know I’ll get a crap night of sleep, but I’d rather it be me that sleeps poorly than her.

“Colt, you’re used to sleeping in that ginormous king-size bed you insisted on moving into my house because Jameson’s existing bed wasn’t big enough. There’s no way you’re going to be able to get comfortable on a couch.”

“I brought my bed with me when I moved in because I sleep thereeverynight that I’m not on the road. I’ll be fine on the couch foronenight.”

“You sure you didn't bring that big bed for all your hookups?”

I’ve made it abundantly clear that I haven’t hooked up with anyone in months. I even showed her my updated contacts in my phone. But she’s not willing to let go of my reputation—kind of seems like she’s clinging to it so she doesn’t have to see that maybe she’s a part of the reason I’m changing.

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