Page 65 of Dream Chaser
No, no, none at all. We’re not making plans.
He shrugs, not cocky, not cold—all Skinner. “No snacks. That’s a red flag, Iz.” And then he walks toward the door, pausing to give Wile just a little attention, before he is thenoutthe door.
Just like that.
No kiss. No wink. No drama.
He’s just … gone.
I stare at the door for a full thirty seconds, not sure if I’m annoyed, humiliated, or relieved.
I should be relieved, right? I said I don’t want to do the whole clingy thing. But this … this feels like he got everything hewanted and bailed … even though it totally isn’t, ’cause we’re not pretending this is a thing.
I get up, grab my leggings, and pull them on as I hop toward Wile. “I’m sorry, boy.” I squat down and kiss his head.
He sighs.
“Okay, I will never do that to you again.”
Which is, of course, when I hear boots on the stairs.
The door swings back open, and Skinner walks in, holding up a brown paper bag with theBrooks Brewery Logostamped on it. “Relax, Izzy Ross. I went to grab the takeout I got earlier, not for a getaway car.”
I blink at him.
He drops the bag on the counter, opens it like he’s home, and pulls out two burgers, a side of loaded fries, a salad, and—oh my God—a slice of that salted caramel pie from Brooks.
“How—”
“I overheard a conversation Mags and Lexi were having at the brewery earlier,” he says, sliding me a plastic fork. “I overheard the whole ‘Iz is moving in’ thing. I also received the full rundown on your business plan for BV Press, as well as the merchandise shop for broke-ass student athletes. Was one, Iz, and I wanna support in any way I can.”
I stare at him, wondering if I should be annoyed at that or at the fact that it makes me feel seen in a way I’m not sure anyone but Mom and Dad sees me.
He offers me a bite of his burger.
“Does it have caramelized onions?” I ask, as if, if it doesn’t, I won’t take a bite, which I totally will.
Amusement dances in his eyes. “I know exactly what Izzy Ross likes on her burger; it happens to be all the things Griffon Skinner likes on his.”
I take a bite despite the way he just talked about himself in the third person.
“But I also like a bit of barbeque sauce.”
I make a face when I taste it, and then it hits. I place my hand in front of my mouth and murmur, “So freaking good.”
“Don’t tell your girls,” he whispers as he leans in, “but Grands homemade BBQ is better.”
I nod as I cross my heart.
“Fun Griffon Skinner fact?”
I cover my mouth and answer, “Only if you promise not to ever speak of yourself in the third person again.”
He smirks. “My grands lived off retirement. Gear was”—he shakes his head—“a lot.”
I smile as he looks up.
“I bought used cleats. Still have them.”
