Page 93 of Boyfriend
“Really?” I laugh. “So fancy.”
“I know, right?” His grin is self-conscious. “Coach wants me there because of that crazy goal at the end.”
“It was crazy,” I say, dazzled by his blue eyes. “You take your time. But I’m going to hustle over to my new place, okay? Dalton wants to drop off my boxes before he leaves town for the weekend.”
My stepfather has put three cartons of my mother’s books in the trunk of his car, because my new apartment finally has enough room that I can shelve them. And because Lila wants them gone.
“I was going to carry those for you.” His forehead wrinkles with concern. “Won’t they be heavy?”
“Dalton will help me,” I say, hugging Weston quickly. “Go and be important and come over when you’re done.”
“Okay.” He gives me a single kiss, but there’s a lot of expectation built into it. Weston is always fired up after a win.
We’re going to have a great time tonight. I’m looking forward to it. “Did you know I’m having a new mattress delivered tonight, too?”
“Baby, I’m counting on it.” He gives me one more scorching kiss before I peel myself out of his arms and make myself go.
* * *
Thirty minutes later I’m walking slowly around my new apartment. It even has that new place smell—fresh paint and optimism.
Night has fallen already outside my window. My footsteps echo against the wood floors of the empty living room as I wait for Dalton to show. I’m lucky that he’s willing to stop here at six on a Friday before he starts his weekend.
You might find on-street parking, I text him. But if you don’t, I’ll come down and get the boxes so you don’t have to find a lot.
And then I’ll probably just stand there on the sidewalk with three heavy boxes and wait for Weston to rescue me. But that’s not the end of the world.
Don’t worry, Dalton replies. My new assistant will carry them up.
That’s a lot to ask of an assistant, but I’m not going to complain.
Twenty minutes later, someone buzzes the door downstairs. I press the button to admit him. It might even be Weston. I’m not sure how long press conferences take.
Two minutes later, I hear someone slowly climbing the steps. So I block the door open to make this easier. “Over here! Thank you!” I cry as two of my boxes come into view.
But my heart drops as I get a better look at Dalton’s new assistant.
“Fucking heavy,” Price curses.
“Just put them down,” I say quickly. “Doesn’t matter where. I’ll take care of it.”
He squats down and I say a quick prayer that he won’t strain his back—only because I know he’d blame me if he did.
“Fuck,” he says again. Slowly he straightens up. “Not my job to haul your shit around, princess.”
“Right,” I agree nervously. “Thanks, though.”
He takes a step closer to me. “You can do better than that.”
“Better than…?” I take a step back. “Never mind. Go home, Price. Don’t worry about me.”
“I need a real thank-you,” he says, his smile mean. “Show me some gratitude.”
“You want a tip?” I snap. “Heard you aren’t getting those anymore after you were fired from the Biscuit.”
He makes an angry sound, and I instantly regret saying anything. How dumb am I? Now he’s stalking toward me with fury in his eyes. “You stuck-up little bitch. Always gotta rub my nose in it.”
“In what?” I babble, edging to the side. The door is still open. I just need to get past him.
