Page 64 of The Play Maker

I take the stairs two at a time until I reach my room. Pushing the door open, I kick my hockey bag out of the way. I drop onto the bed, my leg slung up over the comforter, and pull out my phone.

Cherry:

Confession. I hate malls.

I’m already smiling. Can’t help it. Every time I see her name flash across my screen, my heart thuds in my chest and I get this weird feeling swirling in my stomach. I hate it. And love it. And don’t understand what the hell it is.

I hit the voice-to-text button.

Me:

What’s so dangerous about a mall?

Cherry:

The fitting rooms. The lighting. The trauma.

Me:

You say that like it’s a war zone.

Cherry:

Honestly, I’d take a battlefield over trying on clothes.

I let out a chuckle, rubbing a hand over my jaw, before replying.

Me:

Show me.

Cherry:

Excuse me?

A smirk curls my lips.

Me:

C’mon, Cherry. I feel left out here. Just one picture. It doesn’t have to be of your face, just… something.

I stare at my phone, watching those bubbles appear and disappear, and then… nothing. I blow out a breath, lifting my head, squeezing my eyes closed, wondering if I went too far. But then my phone buzzes and I snap them open, glancing down at the picture.

“Oh fuck.”

I lift a hand, wiping it across my mouth. Because on my phone is my first ever picture of Cherry.

It’s not of her face, or… anything really. Just a sliver of her legs in the mirror, wearing a flowy white dress.

But my brain still short-circuits.

Because now I have legs to imagine.

Legs.

Bare. Warm. Wrapped around?—

Focus, man.