Page 70 of Play Book

“Canyon.” She looks surprised to see me, but I lean in to kiss her anyway. Probably more for Joel’s sake than my own.

Something about him annoys the hell out of me.

“Hey. Can I come in?” I ask.

“Are those for me?” she asks, reaching for the bouquet of wildflowers.

“No.” I shake my head solemnly. “I was going to give them to the lady next door.”

She rolls her eyes before snatching them out of my hand. “No way. They’re mine now!”

She looks deliciously disheveled in paint-stained green overalls, a long-sleeve gray T-shirt, and bare feet. Her hair is in a messy bun and there’s a smudge of paint on her nose, but she still looks gorgeous to me.

“Come on in,” she says as she pads toward the kitchen, flowers in hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to thank you for the painting and ask you why you had Stevie deliver it.”

She doesn’t turn as she fills a vase with water. “You know why, Canyon. Don’t play games.”

“I’m not.” I reach for her, but she resists.

“Look.” She turns to face me. “I get why you did it. I understand what’s happening in your life and how it would look to your eleven-year-old niece that you’re holding hands with some woman who isn’t your girlfriend. What were you supposed to say? She’s my fuck buddy? I know she put you on the spot. But I think we can gently back pedal without making a big deal out of it. We can just spend less and less time together, and you can even say I moved on or?—”

“Fuck that. No. Stop.” I shake my head. “I fucked up. I know I did. But if you’ll give me a chance, I’d like the opportunity to make it right.”

TWENTY-ONE

Saylor

That statement comes out of nowhere and now I’m confused.

He wants to make it right?

What does that mean?

“Canyon, what are you?—”

He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me against his chest, an earnest look in his eyes. “I know it’s crazy. I know I’m kind of a wild card for you, because I’m anti-relationship and now I have an eleven-year-old in my life who’s going to make everything a thousand times more complicated. I travel for hockey and party too much. I’m not particularly fun to hang out with and I’m probably in a bad mood more than I’m not. But there’s something between us and... fuck, but I want to know what it is.”

I stare because I truly hadn’t been expecting this kind of honesty. I’d been expecting excuses. And lame ones, at that.

This comes from somewhere deep inside of him, a place I’m sure he doesn’t tap into very often.

“I said what I said because somewhere deep down, I think I meant it,” he continues when I can’t think of how to respond. “I know that sounds dumb, but I’m trying to be honest here. Because I really like you, Saylor.”

What on earth am I supposed to say?

I appreciate his candor, and the fact that he’s trying to be insightful, but where does any of that leave me?

I’m not cool with being anyone’s afterthought girlfriend, which is a little what this sounds like. He’s not playing games, but he’s also not sure what he wants, which leaves me more vulnerable than I’m comfortable with.

“I’m not going to be anyone’s afterthought,” I say, gently pulling away. “Because I really like you too. I knew from the first time we slept together that you could be addictive, but I was willing to take the risk because…”

“Because why?” He presses.

This is hard to say, but if he can be open, so can I.

“Because really good sex, with someone handsome and interesting, is incredibly hard to find,” I admit.

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