Page 33 of Whirlwind
“I don’t know if I believe that.”
“Why not?” I ask.
She hesitates, thinking her answer through before speaking it.
“I’ll admit I don’t have much experience with the subject matter, but I don’t see how it’s possible to fall out of love easily.” She nibbles on the inside of her lip, still contemplating. It’s a tick of hers I’ve noticed several times, now. “Infatuation is more like a dopamine effect and will fade quickly, right? But true love…doesn’t that have to last? Maybe it takes years and years for it to fully fade.”
Fucking hell, I love her brain.
“I suspect it’s different for everyone,” I say, to start. “It’s been a couple of years, maybe that’s plenty of time for me to fall out of love. Or maybe it was never true love to begin with.”
Kit’s nose scrunches up as if she doesn’t fully believe what I’m saying, but again, she pauses before responding.
“Have you dated anyone since her? Or have you only had hookups?”
“I haven’t dated,” I say truthfully, knowing this won’t win me any points.
“I’d be your trial run,” she says, picking Nightmare up as she stands to walk into the kitchen. She doesn’t sound mad.
Hurt. She sounds hurt and I don’t know how I’ve fucked this up so epically.
8
Kit
“You had control of the puck two minutes and twenty-four seconds longer than Vegas in that period.”
“We,” Zander says.
“What?” I ask.
“We,” he repeats. “You’re part of the team, now. We’re a we.”
“Oh,” I say, smiling. I like the sound of that.
“Yeah, that’s a long time. We should have had more shots on goal than we did.”
“You can’t win them all,” I say.
“We can sure as hell try, though. That’s kind of the job description.”
“True,” I say.
“No more hockey talk,” Willa says, setting down a fresh plate of cookies. Damian is the baker, these days, and every time I come over, he’s baking some new recipe for dessert. “I want to know what’s going on between you and your neighbor.”
“I don’t know,” I groan. “He wants to date.”
“That’s great,” Zander says. “Isn’t it?”
“Are you comfortable with that?” Damian asks.
“No.”
“Does he make you uncomfortable?” Willa asks.
“Only because I’m so comfortable with him.”
“That’s great, though,” Zander says again. “Isn’t it?” He wears a mixture of confusion and concern, one that I’m sure mirrors my own.
