Page 28

Liza

U gh. Why does he have to be so ridiculously charming?!

My brain continues to return to the moment we shared by the bonfire.

Hartley has done his best to prove that he can be what I need, but something still holds me back.

Every time I come close to acting on my feelings towards him, my mind short circuits and freezes.

Just another trauma response Layne injected into my system the night he betrayed me. If he could do it, anyone could.

I need a night to gather my thoughts, alone.

I brush my wet hair until it’s slicked and dripping onto my back before wrapping a towel around my body.

Grabbing the matches, I light my favorite peppermint hot chocolate candle.

Condensation covers my icy, dorm window on one of the rare cold nights in Florida.

I plop onto the high set bed, pick out my pink jammies with little gingerbread men on it, and slip on my fuzzy white socks.

I twist my damp hair in a pile on top of my head and begin searching my drawers for the supplies I need to create killer nails.

A date with my store bought acrylic nail kit is a must for thinking about long-term life decisions.

Emberly is out for the night. She mentioned something about a project with a hard deadline, so I have the place to myself.

Taking a seat on my rolling desk chair, I begin on the right hand first, applying the nail glue to my pinky finger.

Just as I push the first nail down with a firm force, my phone buzzes on the edge of my bed, nearly falling to the tile floor.

I roll my chair over and flip my phone screen to see who’s calling.

My throat constricts when Hartley’s name flashes across the screen. He’s not just calling, he’s FaceTiming.

No way can I answer when I look like this.

I click the red decline button and shoot off a text.

Me: Sorry, I can’t answer right now. What’s up?

Hartley: Wanted to hear your voice. We just got back to the hotel, but Ryan took a walk to call Violet.

Me: How did the game go?

Hartley: We won easy, but I’m beat.

Me: Took some hard hits?

Hartley: You could say that.

Hartley: *picture of dark bruises along his hip bone*

Me: HART!

Hartley: Yes?

Me: That looks terrible. How are you walking?

Hartley: Haha. It’s a part of the game, sometimes you take hard hits, sometimes you don’t.

Hartley: I miss your face, too, why can’t I see you?

Me: Told you I’m busy.

Hartley: May I ask what’s got you so busy?

Me: I’m putting on nails.

Hartley: Okay. I’ll join you.

Me: No can do. I already showered and washed off my makeup.

Hartley: Who cares?

Me: I do.

Hartley: Please. It’ll help my bruises heal.

Me: Why are you so difficult?

Hartley’s name flashes across the screen with another FaceTime call. I inhale a deep breath and click the green accept button. I was not prepared for what’s across my screen. A shirtless Hartley, sprawled across white sheets with one arm behind his head and the other holding the phone up.

“Goldie.” His hooded eyes boar daggers through my defenses. The intimacy of the moment grabs hold of my skin as heat flares across my face. “You’re so pretty.”

“Stop.” My eyes tear away from his as I’m reminded what I look like in hot pink pajamas, messy wet hair, and a bare face free of makeup. “I’m not pretty after a shower.”

He raises himself off the pillow, grimacing when he shifts to put pressure on his bruised hip. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

“It’s a simple fact.”

“You,” he runs a hand down his sleepy face, “looking like that,” he breathes in and releases, “are what my dreams are made of, and they’re anything but innocent.”

My hand grips the desk chair, as I fight the natural attraction I have to this man. I swallow twice before continuing. “Did you call to feed me compliments all night?”

Letting out a small chuckle, he shakes his head in disagreement. “No. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” My hand clamps over my mouth, but it’s already too late to take back the traitorous admission I made. “I meant. . . it’s lonely here without you constantly annoying me.”

He groans and positions himself back on the pillow. “Call it what you want.”

I need to change the subject. “What do y’all usually do after away games? I’m surprised the team isn’t out at one of the bars after the big win.”

“They are.”

My nose scrunches up in confusion. Hartley is the life of the party, not the homebody who returns to his room for an early night in. “Why aren’t you?”

“The only thing I could think about was taking a hot shower and talking to you.”

Layne would never skip a party, even when I begged him a time or ten. “Since when do you skip a night of celebratory drinking?”

He yawns and stretches his arm above him, putting his giant muscles on full display just for my viewing. “Since you.”