Page 66 of Playing for the Hat Trick
“Not helping.”
She laughs. “They’ve been friends for a long time. This shouldn’t change anything.”
“As long as Leif doesn’t find out,” I add to her statement.
Hailey shrugs. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t. But they’re more than best friends, Hail. They’ve been through everything together. College. Draft day. Family stuff. I mean, Jason practically lived at our house half the time growing up. And Leif’s always been . . . protective.”
“You think he wouldn’t approve?”
“I think he’d feel betrayed. By both of us.”
Hailey’s quiet again. Thoughtful.
“I know Leif,” she says finally. “And, yeah, he can be intense. But you don’t think he’d understand? Eventually?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “He still sees me as his defenseless little sister. The one he’s supposed to protect. He doesn’t see me as an adult. None of my brothers do. They see me as the girl that’s always chasing behind them, not a woman who could have a love life.”
Not sure where all that came from, but the word vomiting isn’t over. Nope.
“But Jason does,” I say before I can stop myself. The words fall out too fast, too loud. Hailey doesn’t blink. She just nods like she’s known it all along. Like she’s just been waiting for me to say it out loud. I lean back and exhale so hard it shakes something loose inside me. Something I’ve been holding for years. He sees me. And maybe that’s why I’m terrified of letting him touch me again—because once he does, I’m not sure I’ll ever want to stop.
I told him very specifically in our texts not to confuse therapy with foreplay. Somehow, I know that I might not heal if I take the wrong step.
Hailey tilts her head. “So do you want him just for sex?”
I hesitate, then remind myself that I can’t want him any other way.
“Of course I do. The sex drought has been too long.”
Hailey covers my hand with hers. “Okay, so you’re in denial, and we have to work on that part before something very, very stupid happens between the two of you.”
I honestly don’t know what she’s talking about, but that’s fine. Even with her criticism, I feel much more confident about this arrangement. I don’t mind going to Jason’s house and . . . starting our agreement.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Scottie
The Eat, Pray, Fuck Agreement
The second I knock on his door, I regret everything.
Every. Damn. Fucking. Thing.
Because this isn’t just a knock. It’s not some hey-let’s-bang tap-tap. It’s a war drum. I’m in front of Jason fucking Tate’s door. And I’m the idiot who sexted herself into a binding oral contract. Pun intended.
When the door swings open, he automatically leans against the frame like he’s been rehearsing the pose. Hoodie sleeves shoved up to the elbows. Gray sweatpants hanging low enough that I’m actively avoiding looking down. Barefoot. Which shouldn’t be sexy, but somehow it is, because of course it is. His hair’s damp like he just got out of the shower, and his smirk is primed for damage.
“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to ditch me,” he says, tone casual, cocky, criminal. “But deep down, I knew you’d want to come.”
I blink once. Twice. Refuse to react to the double entendre, even though it lands in my pelvis like a sucker punch.
“Don’t say that,” I mutter, pushing past him into the apartment before I combust on his welcome mat. “Too soon—or are you just used to coming prematurely?”
He snorts. “Wow. I’m already having an effect on you, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“And let’s keep it that way until I’ve had some actual hydration.” I toss my jacket over the back of a chair that definitely costs more than my monthly rent.
