Page 27 of Play the Last Track

“Gross,” she murmurs, but her face immediately heats up and her cheeks turn a furious shade of red.

“Oh my god, you were already going to, weren’t you?” I laugh, taking a seat as the teams switch over on the field below us.

“I love home games.” Ivy sighs and sits next to me. Her eyes find Scott on the sidelines, and I follow her gaze. Flynn sits next to him on the bench, his head bowed as Scott speaks to him. “Scott’s always got so much adrenaline after a game. It’s some of the best sex I’ve ever had.”

I snort, lifting the beer I’d left on the empty seat next to me to my lips. “Good for you, Ives.”

“So,” she says, turning my body and eyeing me carefully. “You and Flynn.”

“What about us?”

“That kiss looked cozy,” she says. “You looked pretty comfortable.”

“So? It was a kiss.”

“You just … I don’t know … moved together. Made it look easy.”

“Is kissing not easy for you?”

“It is. It always has been with Scott. But, before him, it was always a little awkward the first time with someone new.”

“What’s your point, Booker?” My fingers press into my palms.

“Just saying that you looked comfortable. Like you’d done it before.”

I stay very still, my eyes blurring a little, and the grass of the field below going out of focus. “It was just a kiss.”

“Do you like him?”

“No,” I whisper. Not even I believe me, so I don’t expect Ivy to. I look over at her. She’s staring at me, her hands on her lap as she fiddles with her engagement ring.

“You know,” she starts. “It’s okay if you do. You have been broken up with Grant for months, and it’s okay if you want to move on.”

“I know.”

“And, well, I noticed that you and Flynn seemed to … get along. In Italy, I mean.”

“We did?”

“Yeah, I mean, I haven’t seen you laugh that much in ages. You were different this summer.” She reaches over and pats my hand. “Happier.”

“Nothing happened,” I say, answering the question I know she is begging to ask. I hate myself for lying through my teeth to her.

“You sure?”

“Yep.” I take another sip of my beer. The liquid tastes sour, and it burns my throat. God, I’m a shit friend. I don’t know why I don’t want to tell her.

Well, I do.

The whole scenario left me embarrassed. Falling for his charm and his nice guy act only to have it thrown back in my face the next day? It’s embarrassing.

“Okay, well, for the record”—Ivy sits back on her seat, lifting her drink to her mouth and smiling. She glances back at me—“I think the two of you make a very cute couple.”

“What can I say? I’m very cute. I would bring anyone’s cute status up.” I smile, forcing it to reach my eyes. “It’s fake, though, Ives. We’re just using one another to get through the next few months.”

“Uh-huh.” Ivy nods, taking another sip of her drink. “Whatever you say, Murphy.”

Chapter Eight