Page 34 of Hat Trick

As the two of them bicker like old ladies and make plans to feast like kings, I tap myphone.

A text is waiting for me fromGwen.

The woman is burrowing under my skin, more than she ever has before. I don’t mind it. I crave the contact with her in a way I’ve never craved anything in mylife.

You should have kissed her the other night, youdumbass.

I shouldhave.

Fear had stoppedme.

Fear that she’d wake up and realize she’s way better off without a kid from Southie. Better off without the sort of baggage I carry around behind the good humor and go-luckyattitude.

Lately, I haven’t been feeling like that Marshall Hunt—the playboy version ofmyself.

I swipe my thumb across the glass phone screen, hungrily seeking out the text from a woman who pushes for the real me, and never shies away when he appears darker, sharper than the playboymirage.

Awesome game! You had me at the edge of my seat.Xoxo

I stare hard at those X’s and O’s, wondering if she’s popped them in just to befriendly.

Thought Coach was gonna blow a gasket, I typeback.

Seconds later, my phone vibrates against my thigh.He just can’t handle yourgreatness.

Pretty sure that wasnotwhat Coach Hall was thinkingtonight.

I lean into the aisle, and sure enough, Coach is seated at the front of the bus, peering back at the lot of us with a pissed-off expression on his face. I wouldn’t put it past him to be planning all the ways he plans to torture us during our nextpractice.

Next time you see him, do me a favor and don’t tell him that. For me.Xoxo

“You blowin’ kisses at someone,Hunt?”

Fuck.

Beaumont shoves me over on the bench, so that my hip comes into contact with the side of the bus. He folds his hands over his stomach, long legs stretched out into theaisle.

“Do you have a death wish?” I grunt, turning my phone over on my thigh. “Nothing good ever comes fromsnooping.”

Beaumont won’t be distracted. “Who were you talkingto?”

“Yourwifer.”

His mouth curls into a smirk. “Don’t pull a Henri Bordeaux, man. Also, if you were talking to Zoe, I hope you understand that I’d have to castrateyou.”

“Is that anoffer?”

He dips his head. “Apromise.”

“Well, in that casethen. . .”

“Asshole.” With a punch to my arm, Andre laughs. “Really, though, you talking toGwen?”

“Is that aproblem?”

My phone vibrates, and I’m desperate to see what shesays.

“Nah.” Beaumont shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not a problem. Just wondering how it’s all going. Anycomplaints?”

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