Page 77 of A Little Crush
“I’m just saying.” She kisses the top of my head again. “You’re allowed to make mistakes and be impulsive and have fun before you settle down and start your career. I think traveling and nannying is a great start. Now, if we could just convince you to have an actual fling or two instead of a fake one with a rockstar, then I’d be really impressed.”
I snort. Count on my mom to call me out like this.
Giving her a mock glare, I mutter, “Gee, thanks.”
“Mm-hmm.” She tosses her arm around my shoulders. “Now, come here. I’m ready for more snuggles.”
“But only if I don’t overthink it, right?”
Her light, airy laugh wraps around me like a warm hug, and she squeezes me tighter. Now that I think about it, she might be onto something. The whole, don’t take life so seriously and have a fling or two. There’s nothing wrong with it, right?
Keeping this in mind, I open another conversation on my phone, though I’ve been avoiding this one for days.
Eric
Hey! Any chance you’d be interested in being my plus-one for the banquet this weekend?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I type my response.
Me
Hey! Sorry I haven’t responded. But, yes. If the offer is still on the table, I'd love to go with you.
I hit send and flip my phone upside down in my lap, tapping the edge against my leg.
One, two, three. Pause.One, two, three.
It vibrates.
Eric
Sounds great! I’ll pick you up at seven. See you then!
28
JAXON
Scratching my temple, I try to keep my attention on what David Hoffman is rambling on about, but he isn’t making it easy. He’s on the Lions’ board with a few other men and insists that if I considered trading one of the players on the roster for his grandson, we’d be in much better shape this season. It doesn’t help that I have nothing to do with trades, or that his grandson’s stats are about as extraordinary as an average, middle-aged man who plays recreationally on the weekends.
Not that I’d ever point it out to Mr. Hoffman, though.
It’s not his fault I’m distracted. I haven’t been able to form a coherent thought since kissing Rory. Hell, if I’m being honest, my mind’s been fucked since long before then. Ever since Rory showed up for Mav’s wedding.
Looking for an excuse to get the hell out of this conversation, or at the very least a solid distraction, I take in the crowded room. A long banquet table is set up on one side. It’s covered in a black tablecloth and littered with different foods. There’s also a dance floor, a live band, and waiters in tuxes balancing trays of champagne. Members of the Lions’organization mingle with players and their families while cameras flash here and there, documenting the event.
Iris has Poppy, which means it’s Rory’s night off. You’d think it would be a good thing. The space and time apart. But it’s been driving me even more insane. I haven’t seen her since our kiss in the rain. Is she pissed? Scared? Offended? Does it matter?
“As I was saying,” Hoffman continues.
I nod as he prattles on about how biased the NHL can be when Crowther’s loud laugh echoes across the large hall. Glancing over Hoffman’s shoulder, I fight the urge to double over as the oxygen catches in my chest. Rory Buchanan in an emerald green dress.
She’s here.
She said yes.
She’s Crowther’s plus-one for the night despite her mouth on mine.
What the fuck?
