Page 106 of Dream Chaser
“I will delete your entire social media presence. Don’t test me.”
“I’ll just rebuild it better.” Mags shrugs. “And add a whole fan page for your new football player kink.”
Lexi nods solemnly. “He’s not even my type, and I’d still ride him into the sunset like a rescue pony.”
“I swear on all things holy, if either of you says one more word,” I hiss, pointing a finger at them, “I will start that group chat with your frenemies and exes and let the chaos reign.”
Both of them go super quiet.
I smile sweetly. “Exactly.”
A beat.
Then Mags whispers to Lexi, “Totally worth it.”
Lexi grins. “Every second.”
I collapse back against the pillows with a dramatic groan. “Lord, grant me the strength to survive my girls with no chill and mouths like TMZ.”
“You wouldn’t want us any other way,” Lexi says, flopping beside me.
I push up on my elbows. “It was a hook-up—period. It does not leave this room. I don’t want people playing matchmaker, and you know?—”
“Say less. They deserve this after ditching girls’ night.” Mags flops down beside me.
I mean, sure, that works.
I hold up my pinky, and they both hook theirs around mine.
Mags whispers, “But if it ends up more, everyone’s gonna know I knew first.”
Chapter 22
Flight
Griffon
The flight from Syracuse was bad. The layover in Charlotte? Somehow worse.
I’m standing at gate B12, watching the departure time flicker like it’s playing roulette.Delayed.Again. That’s the third delay, and the sky outside is starting to turn that bruised gray. A thunderstorm is coming.
A kid with a Knights hoodie spots me first. Then his dad. Then the guy behind the smoothie kiosk. I see it in their eyes before they even say anything—recognition, followed by something darker.
“Hey, you played in that Philly game, right?” one guy asks, phone already up like I’m about to do a TED Talk in Terminal B.
“Yeah, man. Hell of a game,” I offer, easy smile.
“Hell of a robbery, you mean,” the smoothie guy says. “Refs were blind or bought. Who was paid off, Philly—the refs, or you guys?”
I clench my jaw, still smiling. “Tough game. No comment.”
He snorts and turns away, like I’ve disappointed him. LikeIcalled the play.
Another guy, probably college-aged, leans in. “So, was it really rigged? Or are you guys just choking again this year?”
I shake my head. “No comment. Appreciate you watching, though.”
That ends it. Kind of. Mostly.
