Page 52 of Butterfly Effect

“Oh, myGod,” she adds, tossing her head back. “I can’t believe I fell asleep here.”

“What was that?” I ask, hand cupping an ear in her direction. “I didn’t hear a ‘thank you.’”

She curls her lip and then mutters, “Thanks.”

“Wow! Now that’s what I call character development.”

Her eyes roll as her arms cross, drawing her attention to her watch.

“Shit.” She facepalms. “I’m supposed to meet with my producer in forty minutes. I can’t show up to work in-in…” Those honey-colored eyes dart about in panic. “…in the same clothes as yesterday!”

“Or you could and proudly do the walk of shame?—”

“No way.”

“Alternatively, I have some things?—”

Disgust replaces her panic. “Ew, I don’t wanna wear something some other girl left here!”

“Keep your voice down.” My tone rises to an exaggerated volume. “Babe, don’t you remember? You left some stuff herelast time.” It returns to an angry murmur. “They’re new, okay? Have a look.”

The light in the walk-in switches on when I enter and present a small section of clothing.

“Why would you buy?—”

“I told Skylar you sleep over here. You don’t know her. She’ll go into my closet and poke around. I couldn’t risk it.”

Her arms uncross to flip through the hangers. “How did you know my size?”

My shoulders rise and fall. “Lucky guess.”

“But the style?” Her hand moves between the fabric of a white sweater sleeve, testing its texture.

“Freckles, you’ve been covering the league for four years. Jeans, sweater, wool coat. It’s basically your uniform.”

“You notice what I wear?” The expression quickly morphs into surprise.

“Don’t get carried away. I happen to be very observant.”

Her lifted eyebrow suspects otherwise. And it’d be right, but she doesn’t need to know that.

She reluctantly returns to studying the clothing, rapidly turning the tags still attached to them with a lilting whistle. “Holy shit. These sweaters are three grand apiece. I don’t know if I…”

This is the most frustrating woman I’ve ever met. Who refuses free clothes?

I groan through clenched teeth, my fingers spreading and tensing in mid-air as if about to shake the stubborn out of her. “What do you care? It’s my money, and I have heaps of it. Just choose something!”

“Fine.” She wags a finger at me. “But I won’t like it!”

“Of course, you won’t. You don’t like anything other than driving me up the wall!”

“Me?You’rethe annoying one. I was trying to sneak out of here, butnooooo. You had to invite an audience!”

Now I feel bad. My tone softens.

“That wasn’t on purpose, okay?” My hands tap their respective thighs in an alternating rhythm. “I forgot we had plans. I’ll give you a heads-up next time.”

“Nexttime?” Gabe’s brows jump.

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