Page 4 of Maid of Dishonor

He nods, unlocking his SUV and opening the passenger door for me. I look at it warily, a jolt of anxiety shooting through me as thoughts of the hat get pushed to the background. Yes, this is Carter’s car, but he knows I strongly prefer to drive, and he usually lets me.

“It’s not far,” Carter says, his voice soothing. “But you haven’t been there in a while. Let me drive. Please,” he adds. And then, more matter-of-factly, “You’re terrible at directions, Sam.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. And yet…

“It really isn’t more than ten minutes,” he says, approaching me. With one gentle tug, he pulls me to the passenger door, just looking at me.

Finally I make myself nod, and Carter ushers me in. I feel a twinge of guilt as I climb into the car—guilt that I’ve dragged my emotional baggage into his life—and then Carter buckles me in as though I’m a child instead of a twenty-six-year-old woman.

“Sorry I have issues,” I murmur once he’s in on the driver’s side, still feeling guilty.

But all he does is smile at me. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

That’s definitely not true, but I don’t say anything. He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, and we’re silent for a second. I let my mind go to Carter’s cousin Maya. She’s five-ish years younger, but I like her, and I’ve known her through Carter for a long time. Her parents are both gone, and she’s an only child, so Carter sort of keeps an eye on her.

“What do you think this is about with your cousin?” I say, looking at him.

“Not sure,” he says, his mouth set in a tense line. “Maybe she’s finally going to dump her boyfriend.”

Ha. That would be great, but it feels unlikely. Carter and I have never met the guy—not for lack of trying on Carter’s part—but we’ve heard enough stories. Maya has regular complaints about the man she claims she loves. He’s immature and unpredictable, he’s unfaithful, he drinks too much, he can’t hold down a job—and yet they’re still together. She told Carter once that—and I quote—“the stars blessed their union,” which I think just means her horoscope said something encouraging.

Maya can be a bit of a wild card.

Carter doesn’t seem to want to talk about it though, so maybe it’s time to change the subject. I cast my mind around before finding something.

“The hat?” I say again, looking at him.

He laughs, the stress easing out of him. “Yep. Backward. When you’re wearing it with the bill forward, it can be hard to tell you’re a girl if you’re also wearing the uniform.”

I grimace. That was my conclusion too, but it’s not great to hear him confirm it. “It’s not like I’m built like a man, though.”

“You’re not,” he says with a shrug, “but you’re the only girl on the team. People don’t expect to see a woman after a dozen male players walk by. You could pass for a slender guy. The jerseys are big, anyway.”

They are big, and yet the guy at the bar hit on me despite my ugly uniform. Can everyone see I’m a woman except for Carter?

“I have a great body,” I say into the quiet.

Carter is silent for just a beat before he says, “No one is saying you don’t. I’m sure you do.”

“I do,” I say. Feeling bold now, I begin unbuttoning my jersey.

“Whoa,” he says, glancing quickly at me and then back at the road in front of us. There’s something akin to anxiety on his face. “What are you doing?”

“I’m wearing a tank top underneath,” I say, still unbuttoning.

“I believe you, Sam,” he says, and I see his hands clench tighter on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. His voice is strained as he goes on. “Keep your shirt on. I believe you.”

Does he, though?

“See?” I say, shrugging out of the jersey and looking down at myself. I really do have nice curves, even when my sports bra is clamping down on everything. “I don’t look like a man.”

“Sam,” he says, exasperated. “For the love of all that is good, put your shirt on. You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not,” I say.

I am. I fully am. But a cold sort of fear is creeping over me. What if Carterhasnoticed? What if he’s noticed all along that I’m a womanly woman—what if he just isn’t impressed?

The revelation hits me with the strength of a two-by-four, andwow, I’m an idiot. Of course he’s noticed. How could he not have? We’ve been best friends for fifteen years. He knows everything about me—including that I’m not just Sam butSamanthatoo, a woman who’s more than just one of the guys.

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