Page 40 of The Trouble with Players

I didn’t respond.

“Let’s start over. I think we need a clean slate.”

I pulled back so I could see his eyes. “Is this part of the bet?”

“There’s no bet,” he assured me.

I shrugged, not sure if I completely believed that.

“I’m Crew and I play baseball.”

“I hate baseball players.”

He chuckled. “O-kay…so…I’m Crew and I sleep next to the prettiest girl in the banquet hall.”

I rolled my eyes, unsusceptible to his lines.

“Your turn,” he said.

“This is stupid.”

“You’re the one who threw a drink in my face, but here I am. So, humor me.”

Was I really gonna play along with his ridiculous game?

I exhaled. “I’m Peyton and I…” Strangely, I didn’t know what else to say. Who was I? I was certainly angry. And heartbroken. And a baseball player hater. But this year had been a blur of emotions—especially sadness. I didn’t even know what made me happy anymore.

“I have beautiful green eyes,” Crew finished for me.

“I’m more than pretty green eyes.”

He laughed.

“I love the beach,” I said, pleased with myself for coming up with something.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “It’s good to meet you, Peyton who loves the beach. I think we’re gonna be great friends.”

I rolled my eyes again. “You’re so stupid.”

“Oh, you don’t want to be my friend?”

“Girls and guys can never just be friends,” I said.

“Definitely not if they’re sleeping in the same bed.”

“Then stop sleeping in my bed.”

“You first.”

“Why must you challenge me?” I asked.

“Is that what I do?”

“Oh, no. You mainly piss me off.”

He laughed, and his whole face lit up.

The song ended and a fast song began. Crew released his hold on me, so I dropped my arms from his shoulders and stepped back. He ticked his head toward the door. “Walk with me.”

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