Page 27 of Nash

His comment aboutbig plansfor me sent my nerves flying.

I brush my teeth and finish putting on my makeup, slipping into a warm pair of leggings and a cream sweater, sliding on my boots to help ward against Maine’s chill.

I can’t help but wonder if the smile he’d worn was for the cameras or if he was really that excited thinking about whatever he has planned for us tonight? And did he make thesebig plansfor us because he knew it would look good on camera?

I hate that I don’t know.

I hate that I care.

I shouldn’t. That’s not what we agreed to.

But ever since Anaheim, something changed. At least for me.

I think before that, if I’m being honest.

I can’t deny how much I like spending time with him, and our once snappy disagreements have turned into laughable situations. Like the other day, he’d tried to tell me traditionalwings were better than boneless because of their juiciness, even though I countered saying boneless were just as flavorful and less messy. We’d argued about it for twenty minutes.

And I’d never had more fun.

Okay, that’s not true. Having his handsome face between my thighs was certainly more fun than arguing with him over pointless details, but still.

Anticipation curls in my core, making my heart flutter as I look at the time.

He’ll be here in less than ten minutes.

I don’t ever remember being this excited or this nervous for a date. And this one isfake. Most likely.

I mean, all our other interactions have been prompted by the need to perform for the camera, but that night in Anaheim…

We weren’t filming.

But…maybe that reallywasjust sex to him.

Even though we didn’t actually have sex, it was pretty damn close. Honestly, with his reputation, that could’ve been a normal, post-away-game ritual for him, and I just happened to be the girl of the night.

Ugh, I hate not knowing and hate that Iwantto define things I shouldn’t.

We made this agreement with clear boundaries of not falling in love, so why the hell does it seem like I’m catching feelings for the man?

I shake off the nerves, shoving all those annoying little questions down. It doesn’t matter what I feel. I need to focus on the facts.

We have fun together.

We make each other laugh.

And our chemistry is off the charts.

Who cares if there is a real or fake label to that?

The world may end tomorrow, so in the grand scheme of things, forcing a definition on something this fun would be a crime. I need to let go and just have fun, like my girls keep telling me to as long as my heart is safe.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes to check.

Is my heart safe?

I look inward, cringing against the very big spot that has a whole lot of Nash freaking Stokehill occupying it.

I do my best to shrink that spot down.

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