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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SAWYER

Jack

All right, so I want to plan a house party to celebrate Kendra making Team USA. It’s been a long time coming for her, and I can’t let the moment pass silently.

Archer

Curious question, but is there anything you do silently?

Jack

All are invited, except Archer.

Archer

When you say “all,” does this include your sister?

Jack

So, I checked with Jon, and he tells me they can call up the farm team goalie. Apparently, the death of ours won’t be missed.

Archer

Taking the high ground. When is this party you speak of?

Jack

I’m thinking this Saturday since we head on a seven-day away series straight after.

And, yes, Archer, her entire football squad will be there for you to fawn over.

Archer

I’ve turned over a new leaf. Playboy days are behind me.

Me

The only thing he’s turning over is your sister.

Jack

Yeah, Jon says we don’t need our captain either.

On a chuckle, I briefly glance up at the entrance to Smooth Running, a good kind of anxiety swirling in my stomach. My right knee bounces beneath my truck’s steering wheel as I wait for Collins.

Archer

*picture of him shirtless and working out*

Jack

I was about to ask if you guys wanted to meet at Rise Up, but I guess you’re busy posting to your OnlyFans page, Archer. What about you, Sawyer?

This afternoon isn’t a secret. Still, I haven’t told anyone I’m taking Collins out. Likely because until I got here and saw her, I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t stand me up.

Me

I’m down for the party on Saturday. I can get a sitter for Ezra. I can’t meet up right now though.

Archer

He’s balls deep in Collins.

Manifesting that shit.

Jack

Wait, are you actually?

Me

No. But I am about to take her out.

Archer

HOLD THE MOTHERFUCKING PHONE.

Jack

Details, Sawyer. Immediately.

Me

You both need to calm the fuck down. I’m taking her to the Botanic Garden. It’s stunning this time of year, and I figured it would be a good place to talk.

Archer

Best place to fuck is the Japanese Hill-and-Pond Garden. There’s a large Acer tree by the lake and barely any footfall, even in the daytime.

Jack

You’re unbelievable.

Archer

Thanks.

Me

I don’t think that was a compliment. I’m not fucking anyone against any tree, especially one where you’ve been.

I’m also regretting this entire conversation.

Archer

If it helps, I fucked her on the ground. It was kind of romantic. The fallen leaves got in the way and into places they probably shouldn’t …

Jack

“Playboy days are behind me.” Sounds likely.

Archer

So, back to this party. Is your sister coming or what?

*Jack has left the conversation.*

Archer

Did I go too far?

Me

Obviously. I get we joke around, but you should let him know that you understand Darcy is off-limits. Now that she’s single and moving to a strange country, he’s probably feeling protective.

In my peripheral vision, a glass door swings open, and I catch Collins as she steps out of the building.

This girl is effortless, dressed in black from head to toe. Her tight jeans cling to her toned thighs as she heads across the parking lot toward my truck. She’s wearing a fitted sweater and boots, finished with a fluffy scarf and a cropped leather jacket.

I wonder why she chose to dye her hair pink and not black. I know she’s a natural blonde; it’s obvious from the color of her eyebrows, although I couldn’t tell from the rest of her body since she’s bare below the waist—an image that’s burned into my memory.

When she taps on the glass for me to unlock the truck and let her in, I hit the switch and shake off my daze, too busy reminiscing and fantasizing over the way she looks.

“You can put your tongue away. Old men who stare give me the creeps,” she jests, lifting herself onto my passenger seat and dropping her mini backpack onto the floorboard.

I turn my body toward her, resting my forearm over the steering wheel. “Is this how it’s always gonna be—gibing about my age every chance you get?”

Her eyes drop to the open text chat, my phone still in my hand. “If you’re lucky enough.”

I quickly lock my phone—after noticing Archer hasn’t replied anyway—and pocket it.

Collins clips her seat belt and stares out the windshield. For a beat, I see unease in her eyes, and I follow her trail of vision.

Through the shop’s glass windows, I see a dark-haired guy, likely in his mid-twenties, rounding the counter and taking a seat at the front desk. He’s dressed like a manager.

“Is that your boss?” I ask cautiously.

She rolls her lips together. “Yep. Cameron—aka Head Dickface.”

I blow out a single laugh. I shouldn’t be surprised at the nickname. This girl probably has one for me too. “You like him then?”

She shoots me a look of disdain. “I slept with him before he got a promotion, and now it’s awkward as fuck.”

The second Collins says it, her face drops like she knows she shared too much.

Every muscle in my body contracts—jealousy, hurt, discomfort, white-hot anger surging through me. Did she compare him to me? Has she been with him since that night we were together? Fuck, is she dating other people right now?

My best efforts to disguise the abundance of emotions roaring through me fails, and I close my eyes slowly, my forearm slipping down the steering wheel until its firmly gripped in my palm.

“Sawyer, look at me,” Collins says quietly, her voice way softer than normal.

“I’m good,” I lie. “This probably isn’t even a real date. You should be able to talk to your friends about other guys.”

And now I’m voluntarily friend-zoning myself.

A warm palm lands on my right thigh, and I slowly open my eyes at the feeling of her touch—one I find myself craving way too often.

“Look at me,” she repeats, reminding me of the time I asked her to do the same in her apartment.

I do as she asks and see nothing but kindness.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Cameron. There never was. He’s a dickhead to me and I probably accept more than I should because I love working with bikes. I have zero interest in ever going back there with him.”

This time, I’m slammed with a tidal wave of relief, followed by intensifying anger. “What do you mean, he’s a dick to you?” I half growl, my dormant alpha male further stirring to life.

She grins, and I can’t work out if it’s because she likes my protective nature or if she enjoys seeing me wound up, period. “You don’t need to defend me or anything.”

“On the contrary.” I bristle. “I defend people I care about, whether I’m dating them or not.”

Eyes wider than before, Collins goes to reply, but then stops.

I shift the truck into gear, thinking better than to say any more. Still, I’m not retracting my comment because I mean it. I do care about her. I care if someone’s mean to her or treats her like shit. No one gets to do that. She might be hard on the outside, but I’m slowly seeing all the softness that lies beneath the impermeable exterior she portrays.

“Where are you taking me?” she finally asks as I pull out of the lot and onto the road.

“Ever been to the Botanic Garden?”

She shakes her head. “No. Is that where we’re headed?”

I take a left. “Yeah. We should catch the light as it fades behind the trees. It’s really pretty this time of year. Then I got us tickets to the opening night of the light show they hold each year.”

She smiles, one that’s sweet and all warmth. “I only have this thin jacket and scarf.”

Taking another left, I side-eye her carefully, unadulterated satisfaction purring through my veins. “Guess you’ll have to use one of my Blades jackets I keep in the trunk.”

I expect her to kick back against the idea, but she doesn’t as she turns to look out the passenger window, daylight already starting to fade.

Something shifts between us—I can sense it as it settles inside my truck. Acceptance, comfort, maybe even a silent admission that she likes me on a deeper level. The idea of Collins wearing my jacket is simple and hardly a big commitment, yet it feels seismic, and I feel borderline adolescent as the visual of her wrapped in something that carries my scent plays out in front of me. I already know which jacket I’m going to pull out—the one I frequently wear to early morning skate. A couple of hours of her wearing that should keep it smelling like her for weeks as I drive to the rink at the ass crack of dawn.

In spite of the warmth that fills my chest on the drive to the garden, I can’t shake the underlying knowledge that, in all likelihood, this is temporary. Collins, in my truck, riding and spending time with me—it’s all subject to a time limit.

Her priority is living her life and doing all the things that make her happy, and I can’t say I blame her for that. I guess we only live once.

I only wish that priority included me.