Page 92 of Playing for the Hat Trick
The last one makes me laugh, though.
Hailey: I assume you’re having a good time. Call when you can, or at least text me so I know you’re okay.
I roll my eyes, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Me: If I said hypothetically that I accidentally stayed the night at Jason’s, would that be . . . bad?
She replies instantly.
Hailey: You mean “accidentally got eaten into an orgasm-coma and woke up wearing his shirt like a little cupcake of denial”?
I snort.
Jason raises a brow from across the counter. “Something funny?”
I glance at him—shirtless, smug, feeding me bacon and pouring coffee like this isn’t entirely too much.
“Just . . . Hailey being Hailey.”
And me?
Being entirely too close to falling for the guy who made me breakfast like that’s not a big deal.
Me: That’s . . . oddly specific.
Hailey: Don’t dodge. Do you want more?
Me: I want it to be nothing. But I also don’t want it to be . . . not anything?
Hailey: That sounds like feelings.
Me: It’s not feelings. It’s logistics. Sex logistics.
Hailey: Does he look at you like he’s already picking out wedding songs?
Me: You’re ridiculous.
Hailey: So only china patterns, got it.
I groan and set the phone down.
Jason raises a brow. “What’s up with good ol’ Hailey?”
“She’s being judgmental.”
“She’s probably being right.”
I glare. “Can we not psychoanalyze her texts over eggs?”
He pours more coffee into his mug. “Then stop calling it nothing.”
“What else would you like me to call it, Jason?” I ask, more tired than angry now. “Because I’ve done the whole ‘falling for someone who’s not mine’ thing before, and I’m not interested in reruns.”
His expression shifts—something sharp beneath the surface. “I never said I wasn’t yours.”
My head snaps and I glance at him because he . . . didn’t he? My hand stills, and I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s obvious. Like the idea of him being mine isn’t something that could ruin me if I believed it and it turned out to be a lie.
