Page 53 of Wild Love
“Hey.” I hold my phone out and smile at my bestie. “What are you doing?”
“We’re going to The Hideout tonight. You?”
“No plans.” I run a hand along the pink fabric of the couch. I swear I can smell Maverick and Hailstone.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I’m tired. Maverick and I drank wine and vodka last night. Two out of ten stars. Do not recommend.”
She laughs, and something shifts in my chest. I miss her something fierce.
“I wish you were here.”
“Ditto. It isn’t the same not waking up to the roaring noise of a blender every morning.” She plays music in the background and sets her phone down. “Ready?”
“For?”
“Dance party. Come on.” She motions for me to get up.
Reluctantly, I do. I place my phone on the arm of the couch and dance.
“Any more hockey hottie run-ins I should know about?”
“No,” I say. “Well, unless you count Maverick. I, uh, may have let him feel me up.”
Her brows raise, but she continues dancing. “I need more information.”
“We were drinking. I spilled on my shirt and thought it was a good idea to take it off. Then I told him to feel my boobs to prove they weren’t fake.”
“You do have great boobs,” she says. “Then what happened?”
“I went to bed. I cannot hook up with Maverick. He’s… Maverick.”
“Do you want to hook up with him?”
“My boobs were certainly into the idea.” My body tingles, just like it did last night. “There is no way. Not happening.”
“Okay. Well, then you need to go out with someone else and let them feel you up before your boobs start calling the shots. You’ve deprived them for too long.”
I snort. She might not be wrong. “Who would I possibly go out with? I work all day. The hockey guys are off-limits and I’m not hooking up with another intern—that’d be a weird work environment.”
“Dating app?”
“I deleted it. The options weren’t great.”
“So reinstall it.” She smiles at me. “You are in a new zip code. New options. Better options, maybe.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Talking to Reagan loosens me up. We sing and dance through two more songs, smiling and laughing at each other as we show off our moves.
“Kota?” Mav calls. The door is open a crack, and Charli pushes through.
“I’m here. Come in.”
Maverick walks in on his crutches. Reagan turns down the music.
“I gotta go,” she says, out of breath. “Love you.”
