Page 5 of Catching Feels

SportsManSam: I’m down for whatever as long as you’re comfortable with that. Your bio says New York. You close to NYC?

I should be freaking out right now, but honestly, I just want to know if it lives up to the hype. And yeah, it’s kind of shitty that I lied to my mom and told her that I had a boyfriend senior year in high school just so she’d stop asking me if there was anyone “special.” Hell, I even agreed to go on the pill so she thought I’d had sex.

GoodtimesOnly: Yep.

SportsManSam: You sure about this, GTO? Yep, is one of those words we men sometimes lump in with that other word that freaks a guy out—“fine.”

I roll my eyes at the fact that that’s even a thing. If it’s not fine, say so.

GoodtimesOnly: I’m not like other girls. *laughing face emoji* Yep means yep. Fine means fine unless it’s coupled with an eye roll or a foot stop. I’m drama free, SMS. The profile name says it all: Good Times Only. I’m living my best drama-free life.

SportsManSam: *A gif of a man striking gold comes through*

SportsManSam: Let’s agree now then, that if it’s not fun, it’s a one-off.

GoodtimesOnly: Let’s not pretend it’s something more. It is a one-off.

SportsManSam: Guessing you like variety?

Ew, no. Okay, maybe? I don’t fucking know.

GoodtimesOnly: They say it’s the spice of life.

Aaaand … nothing.

GoodtimesOnly: Did I lose you?

SportsManSam: Hell no. I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to sneak a portable pole into a hotel. You’re the real deal, a fucking unicorn, you get a free lesson.

Grinning, I start to respond, but he beats me to it.

SportsManSam: I want you to sleep on this. Send me a message tomorrow after you’ve slept on it to let me know either way. Sleep well, GTO.

GoodtimesOnly: Sleep well.

Knowing damn well I’m not going to be able to sleep, I decide to slide out of bed to grab my little bullet to curb the ache between my legs caused by staring at SMS’s pics and the wicked thought of what lies ahead.

Sliding off the bed, I am startled when I hear, “Are you okay, Jillian?”

Fuck! I scream in my head, thankful I manage to keep it contained and eventually am able to answer. “Sorry, Mom, must have been dreaming.”

“Do you want me to call down and have some warm milk brought to the room?” She begins to sit up.

“No, no, no. Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

The door to our room in the suite opens, and Hudson peeks in. “You ladies good?” Before I can answer, he huffs and looks up. “Jill, one of the girls escaped. Fix that, yeah?”

I look down, and sure enough … fuck!

I fix my damn shirt on my way to the bathroom. Eyes spring up to meet his, and he arches a brow. Busted.

I throw daggers from my eyes, hoping they penetrate deep enough that he doesn’t say a word to Mom about the piercing.

“You sure you don’t want some warm milk?” Mom calls after me.

“I’m good. Promise. Go back to sleep, Mom.” Please!

Standing in front of yet another hotel mirror, I have to dig deep to remember where I am. California. Today’s the last game in the series against the Angels, and then we hop on a plane to Syracuse and head to Hudson’s house for Mom’s Mother’s Day surprise, and then …

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