Ana looks up at me, a slice of pizza in one hand. “What about you? Keep yourself busy?”
I nod. “Yeah. I, um, actually have a little bit of an update for you. I talked to Coach today.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. She’s bracing for bad news, just like I did.
Clearing my throat, I push my plate away. “The suspension is still in place for seven more games, but Kress is moving down. He’s headed to Wisconsin.”
“Wow.” Ana’s shoulders drop as the news sinks in. “That’s . . . unexpected.”
Nodding, I touch her shoulder. “I know. But it’s good news, right?”
“It is,” she says quickly, meeting my eyes.
A zing of electricity bolts through me at the memory of last night. Fuck.
The sex between us was off-the-charts incredible. But we can’t do that again. It was all kinds of inappropriate of me to cross that line. Still, I can’t bring myself to regret it. Even if it’s never happening again.
She works her bottom lip between her teeth while she considers the news that Jason is leaving. There’s a brightness to her eyes I can’t look away from.
Drop it, dude, she’s not yours. Never will be.
Rising to my feet, I carry my plate into the kitchen. “I’m tired. Think I’m going to turn in early tonight.”
Ana watches me with a curious expression from her spot on the couch. “Okay,” she murmurs while Hobbes settles in by her feet, begging for a scrap of food.
“Good night,” I say as I head off.
The truth is, I’m not even a little bit tired. I just don’t trust myself to be alone with her right now.
Ana isn’t my toy to play with, and I need to remember that.
13
* * *
It’s Time to Be a Grown-Up
Ana
The stunned silence that settles around me after Grant flees to his bedroom under the guise of being tired is deafening.
I lift Hobbes from his sleepy spot by my feet and cuddle him to me. “You’ll keep me company, won’t you?” I murmur, pressing my face into his fuzzy little chest.
He looks at me and yawns.
Releasing a sigh, I set Hobbes down again.
Grant played it off well, but I could sense something was off from the moment I came inside tonight. He was strained and uncomfortable, and trying to put distance between us, like increasing our physical proximity would somehow quash the growing attraction between us. It didn’t. Not for me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not good at compartmentalizing. I don’t have much choice.
I can’t hop from one relationship to the next—from one hockey player to the next. God, what would people say? I have more dignity than that. I can practically hear the rumors flying now about how I’m sleeping my way through the team roster. And I won’t be that girl.
Instead, I’m going to be the girl who gets her shit together, the girl who gets her life back on track and won’t allow one asshole ex-boyfriend to sabotage all her plans. And just because Grant is a gorgeous, thoughtful man doesn’t mean he’s the right man for me. He provided a level of comfort and care last night that I didn’t expect to need—but I did need it. And he freely gave it, generously and without judgment.
But I need to focus on myself and rebuilding my life. Simple as that. I can’t let a moody, decidedly sexy man deter me from that goal.
• • •
The reflection staring back at me in the mirror makes a sour face.
I’ve worn this pink sweater twice a week since I started staying with Grant, and I don’t even like this sweater that much. It was just the first thing I grabbed out of my closet that night when Grant swept me away to his condo. That and an assortment of yoga pants and spa T-shirts for work, one ill-fitting pair of jeans, and underwear of the un-sexy variety. Not that there’s any occasion for sexy underwear.
Grant’s out of town, at another away game, and I might be sulking.
He’s been a complete ghost since we slept together. It’s like we’re back to square one. Not conversationally, though. He’s not withholding or being short with me. It’s more of a physical distance.
He touched my shoulder last night, and I felt that same lightning shudder through my whole body again. But before I could blink, he disappeared. All I want is to talk to him about what happened between us, but I can tell he isn’t ready to. That’s what I get for crossing a boundary, I guess.
I tug at the sweater, willing it to fit me differently. When my phone buzzes, I open my messages distractedly. The name on my screen is like a swift kick to the gut.
Jason.
My ex hasn’t texted me in days, so I thought he was finally letting go. He’s being forced to move to Wisconsin, thousands of miles away. A huge demotion, to be sure, but at least he’s still playing hockey.
Memories of Jason—the good ones—live in a dusty, sealed box, tucked away deep in the recesses of my heart. I haven’t dared open that box since the first time he shoved me against a wall. But now that I have the assurance of thousands of miles between us, it feels safer to revisit them.
With a deep, steadying breath, I open the message.
Hey. I packed your things in boxes. Georgia is coming to get them for you today. I’m moving to Wisconsin, so I ended the lease early. Let me know if the landlord harasses you. Bye, Ana.
My heart seizes, and I steady myself against the dresser. With numb fingers, I call Georgia.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Georgie.”
“Hey, babe, what’s up?”
“You going to my old apartment today?”
There’s only a hint of a pause before she speaks again, her voice clear and cheerful. “Yep! Want me to steal anything?”
I smile, relieved as feeling returns to my fingers and legs. I’m so lucky to have this beautiful, thoughtful person in my life. “Nothing specific. Should I come with you?”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ve got it covered. Well, me and Bertha.” Bertha is what she calls her trusty Jeep Wrangler.
“But like, should I come?” I chew on my thumbnail, not even sure what I want her answer to be.
“Do you want to?”
“I don’t know.” I hesitate, considering her question.
“It might give you some closure.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Well, if you want to come, I was going to head over in about, uh, forty-five minutes? I could swing by wherever you are right now.”
“Could you pick me up on the corner of 32nd and Harrison?”
“Whoa, ritzy neighborhood. That’s where you’ve been staying?”
All Georgia knows is that I’m staying with another friend, and she’s been an angel for not asking for more details. We both know that Jason would corner her if he suspected she knew anything.
“Yeah. Nice, right?” I chuckle. “I’ll be ready. Can’t have you moving all my crap by yourself.”
“Okay, I won’t stand in the way of your journey of healing,” Georgia says, only half ironically. “But if you want to back out, even at the last second, I’ve got you. You hear me?”