Page 103 of Bleacher Report
"Necessary," she fires back, already kicking off her shoes and heading for the kitchen.
I chuckle under my breath and head for the bedroom, peeling out of my jeans one-handed and tugging on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.
Every movement tugs at my sore shoulder, but I ignore it. Ice, rest, skate tomorrow—that’s the goal.
Barefoot, I make my way back into the living room.
Peyton’s moving around the kitchen with quick, focused efficiency—grabbing a pint of ice cream from the freezer, tossing a gel ice pack over her shoulder, refilling my water bottle.
She’s everywhere at once—like this is second nature—like taking care of me has always been part of our story. There’s a natural ease between us I’ve never had with anyone else, not this fast.
I lower myself carefully onto the couch, grunting a little as I shift into the cushions.
Peyton plops the ice pack onto my shoulder, wrapped in a hand towel, the cold shocking a grunt out of me.
"Sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. "Ice first, pizza second."
She snags her phone, already pulling up the pizza place’s app.
"Are you hungry?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder.
I snort. "Always."
"Hawaiian, add bacon and extra pineapple?"
"You know me so well," I say, and it slips out before I can stop it.
She ducks her head but smiles.
God, that smile.
A few minutes later, she pads back over and sets the water bottle on the coffee table.
She grabs the remote, and with a few quick clicks,10 Things I Hate About Youstarts playing.
“You’re kidding,” I say, teasing.
She shrugs, all innocence. “House rules: Nights in require chick flicks.”
“Is that a scientific fact?”
“You’re the one who started this new tradition…so you tell me.”
I huff out a laugh, sinking deeper into the couch as she drapes a blanket over my legs. It barely covers them—most throw blankets are too short—but I don’t care, as long as she climbs in under it with me.
And she’s right. I’ve been doing this for her since I moved in. Now, she’s doing it for me.
It’s not lost on me that she picked up my habit.
My mom would be doing the same thing right now if she were here.
Shit.
Mom.
She called after the game, but I was too busy getting out of there with Kendall patching me up.
I grab my phone from the cushion beside me and check.
