Page 113 of A Little Crush
“Or Finley’s just sayin’,” I counter.
His smile grows. “You may have been a hot topic at the Thorne house after the wedding. Add in the miniature golf run-in, and she’s convinced you two are sleeping together.”
I grit my teeth but keep my mouth shut.
Analyzing my expression, Griffin skates forward. “And if you were, hypothetically, sleeping together, you know none of us would care. Right?”
Yes and no. No one cares until it doesn’t work out. Then, it’s a shit show. And yeah. Everything wound up fine for Griffin and Fin. Everything even wound up fine for Mav and Lia, but no one likes the reminder of Archer’s involvement in their relationship before he died, do they? Because it wasn’t so simple before he passed. I know it, and if my relationship with Rory doesn’t work out, everyone else will be reminded of it, too.
Scratching my temple, I mutter, “Rory’s…”
“All grown up now?” Griffin finishes for me. “Yeah, I know. And so does Crowther.” With a grin, he slips off his gloves and shoves them into his helmet. “I’m gonna hit the showers.”
He skates away, disappearing into the tunnel and leaving me more on edge than I’d like to admit. He’s right about one thing. I haven’t talked to Rory about Crowther since I showed up in her parents’ backyard and confessed my feelings for her. I figured it wasn’t any of my business, and maybe it isn’t, but the idea of something happening between them once he’s back is more than I can stomach. Then again, so is the idea of telling people I’m sleeping with a girl who’s ten years younger than I am and has been in love with me her entire life.
I’m so fucked.
40
RORY
Keeping our extra-curricular activities under wraps has been pretty easy, all things considered. That is, until we step outside of his penthouse and into the real world. Add in being surrounded by the entire Lions roster for today’s flight without random strangers acting as a buffer, and I can barely look anyone in the eye. I swear I can still feel him inside of me, despite us having slept together three other times. And yes, I’ve been counting.
After one too many meltdowns on flights, my dad let the team borrow his private plane since it has a bedroom suite where Poppy can nap without being bothered. Not that she doesn’t sleep like a rock, anyway, but Jax appreciated the gesture. I, on the other hand, feel like a thief on the run. Can Reeves or Griffin or Everett tell I’m sleeping with their friend slash coach? Have they figured out that I gave him my virginity and really, really like sex now that I know what all the fuss is about?
Act. Normal, I remind myself. It’s not like it’s that new. It’s been three days. Three blissful days of sleepovers and sexand playing house and basically living out every fantasy I’ve ever had without a single person knowing except me and Jaxon. Okay, Poppy knows, too, but I think she can keep a secret. Speaking of which, I’m almost disappointed that she’s curled up in the bedroom while the rest of the team is in the main area, each in our respective seats. If she was here, I could distract myself, but I guess my phone will have to do.
As I browse social media while attempting to not look like a crazed stalker with all the glances I keep stealing at a certain coach chatting with his brother, a throat clears, so I look up.
“Hey.” Eric lifts his chin toward the empty seat beside mine. “Mind if I…?”
“Yeah, of course.” I move my carry-on to the floor, nearly taking out my pinky toe in the process. He’s been dealing with family stuff for the last couple weeks, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed his absence. Truth be told, there’ve been one or two nail-biters during the last few games, and I have a feeling it has to do with a certain someone missing from the bench.
As Eric collapses into the seat, he asks, “So, how’ve you been?”
“Pretty sure I should be asking you that question.” I place my hand on his forearm, feeling guilty for not having checked in before. I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t want him to feel obligated to respond while dealing with everything else. “I heard about your mom. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
It isn’t, but I get it. The need to cover with nonchalance when reality hits too close to home. “How is she?” I ask.
“Good.” He smiles, and when I realize it’s genuine, a relieved sigh slips out of me. “They caught it early, so the doctors are hopeful it’ll be smooth sailing…other than the chemo.” He grimaces. “Yeah, that part’s a bitch.”
“I believe it. That’s gotta be rough.”
“Yeah, but my mom likes to tell me it’s harder for me than it is for her. I think she’s full of shit,” he clarifies, “but she’s handling it like a champ.”
“I’m glad she has you.”
“Yeah, me, too.” That same boyish smile plays at the edge of his lips. “She’s the best.”
“Seems like it’s genetic, then,” I reply, unsure what else there is to say. Actually, scratch that. Thereisn’tanything to say. Period. It’s like when I lost Arch. Sometimes things are just…shitty. If I’ve learned anything from my own experience, it’s that silence can be more genuine than false promises, like, “I’m sure she’ll get better soon,” or something like that. Instead, I give him a reassuring smile of my own. “Well, it’s good to see you. I’m sure the team is glad you’re back.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “Listen, I want to apologize for ghosting you after the banquet.”
“You didn’t?—”
“I kind of did,” he argues. “I was trying to stay focused on the home opener, then I got the call the morning after, and…yeah.”
