Page 147 of Butterfly Effect

No!

She rotates slightly to show off the back. “Cute, right? I got the updated one that says Davé-Radek.”

Not cute. It’s not mine.

A possessive fire burns a hole in the feral part of my brain. I press my tongue between my bottom lip and lower teeth. “Nah. It’s no good.”

My fists catch the hockey sweater, yanking and yanking until my fingers bore holes into it.

“Wade!” she chides. “This was brand new.”

I poke through two of the holes and tear through the knit, ripping a slash into it. “Trash the jersey.”

The little brat notches her hands on her hips. “We’re not even fake dating anymore.”

Ouch. That’s gonna leave a mark.

“You’re right. We’redating-dating now.” I hop off the bed and dig around my suitcase, recovering a practice jersey and chucking it to her. It lands on her face. “Put it on.” My hands tuck the front into her jeans. “Unless you’re fucking Indi and Landon, the only name on your body is mine.”

She rolls her eyes, but the smile she’s wearing radiates pride. “Didnotthink you were the jealous type.”

“I’m all sorts of things when it comes to you.” I grasp the small of her back and wrench her closer by the torso, mirroring how she kneels atop the mattress. “Jealous.” Our hands intertwine. “Greedy.” I bring her fingers to each closed eye before kissing them. “Obsessed.”

My heart lurches in my throat when she nuzzles my forehead.

“Gabe?”

“Yeah?” Her expression is soft, yielding.

Somewhere along the way, the pretending switched spots for the real thing. Or maybe it was always the real thing, and the only people who pretended it wasn’t were us.

Now we’re all in, but without the label, and there’s that pesky feeling that craves it. The ownership. To publicly belong to her and only her.

“What are we?”

The crinkle in her brow deepens. “Hmm?”

“What am I to you?”

She slots her nose next to mine, speaking into my mouth. “You’re my needy little bitch.”

“Gabe.” I pout, whining.

“Sounds like my little bitch needs a blowjob.”

I resign to the deflection. She’s not ready to address it.

She said she’s yours, fucker. What more could you want?

I can be patient, I repeat internally.

Mischief twinkles between us. Freckles dance along the planes of her high cheekbones, enigmatic smile fighting to break free.

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

Getting sucked dry cleared my head for the game against the Suns. Donovan breaks the tie and clinches the win by scoring in the penalty shootout. Gabe stays level-headed during his on-ice interview, but once we’re in the hallway, she runs up and leaps into my arms.

“White women can jump,” I tease. The skates give me enough height to tower over her.

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