Page 11 of Paxton

Lawson and Nash scoot back from the table, and Nash claps a hand on Baylor’s shoulder. “Just you wait,” he says. “You’ll look just as desperate whenever you fall for someone.”

“Becoming totally wrapped up in someone else isn’t on my agenda,” Baylor says, laughing as he takes a drink of his soda water.

“What have I missed?” Hadley, Nash’s little sister, asks as she heads over to our table, looking more refreshed than usual. Before she graduated a month ago, she’d always been exhausted, busting her ass in college to graduate early, while we’d been busy busting it on the ice. It’s nice to see her getting a break.

“Half the night, kid,” Nash says, giving his sister a quick hug. “You staying for a while?”

“Yeah,” she says, claiming the seat next to Baylor that Nash just vacated. “I’m starving, and I don’t have research papers or essays taking up all my time anymore. I’m free.”

“Still can’t believe you’ve graduated,” Nash says, nothing but pride in his eyes. “I’m excited to get to see more of you.”

“Same,” Hadley says, sighing contentedly.

“Here.” Baylor shoves his half-eaten basket of fries toward her. “I’m done.”

“You actually eat fries, Torrington?” Hadley asks, picking up a fry and crunching on it. “I would’ve guessed it was nothing but carrot sticks and protein shakes from the incredible shape you’re in.”

I laugh, but Nash—who lingers by the table despite Lawson abandoning him to talk to Blakely—furrows his brow at his sister.

Baylor chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m all about indulgence in moderation,” he explains. “Honestly, building muscle isn’t as strict as people assume.”

Hadley nods and eats another fry. “Well, either way, I’m grateful. I’m going to need more.”

“I’ll put in an order for you,” Nash says, looking at Hadley, then Baylor skeptically for a few seconds, before he shakes his head and goes to the bar.

I fall into some easy small talk with Hadley, fascinated by the way she talks about her career aspirations after graduatingwith a doctorate in sports medicine. Baylor is just as interested, asking her questions before I can even get a word in.

After a few minutes, I feel like a third wheel, even though everything is innocent enough, but decide to leave them to their debate about neurological impacts and protein compounds and head over to where Monroe is sitting solo, Nash and Lawson having successfully stolen their girls away.

“You good?” I ask, leaning against the bar next to her.

She nods, a soft smile on her lips. “I am, actually,” she says. “You’d think I’d be a ball of stress, seeing as how I had to vacate my apartment, but…I don’t know. I needed tonight. Thanks for setting it up.”

“Always,” I say.

“I think I’m ready for sweatpants though,” she adds.

“I’m always ready for sweatpants,” I say, offering a wave to Baylor and Hadley who are still chatting at the table before I leave the bar with Monroe.

As we make our way back to my house, I can’t deny how damnrightit feels holding the front door open for her, watching her drop her things at the entryway table and heading straight to her room to change into comfier clothes. My mind spins a fantasy I’ve had way too many times—a future where we come home together, only we have one room instead of two.

I head to mine, changing quickly and filling up our water bottles before moving to the couch in my living room. “Want me to queue up that documentary we’ve been watching?” I call out toward her room.

“Yes, please!” she answers before she comes around the corner, looking like a freaking knockout in a pair of purple sweats with a few holes in them and an oversized white T-shirt.

I swallow hard, doing my best to quell the fire in my veins as I grab the remote and pull up the documentary we started before going out tonight. Fuck me, it’s hard as hell to concentrate whenshe settles right next to me, leaning against me with all the comfort and ease we’ve always shared.

Physical touch has been a staple of our friendship for years—all innocent and all comforting—but this feels…fuck me, it just feels so damn good.

“See,” Monroe says as she gestures to the screen a few minutes into the third episode of the documentary. Her head is against my shoulder as she shakes it. “Marriage ruins everything.”

I chuckle softly, glancing down at her. “You can’t blame that situation on marriage,” I say.

“Why not?” she fires back, a tease in her voice.

“Because,” I say, pausing the show. “That guy loved her. They had kids together. He had no idea she was going to flip a switch and pull a scheme on him.”

Monroe shrugs. “Maybe,” she says. “But, if they hadn’t gotten married, he’d never be in that situation.”

---