Page 62 of Nash

“Okay,” he says, but I can hear the disappointment in his voice.

“I am so proud of you,” I hurry to say. “You played amazing tonight. If I didn’t have to do this, I would take you up on the offer.”

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “I don’t want to distract you from your work. We can celebrate another time. There’s always conference finals,” he says, a little more hopeful.

“Right,” I say. “Thanks for understanding.” I clear my throat. “What are you going to do tonight, then?”

“Pax and Lawson want to go out,” he says. “I wasn’t going to go, but since you’re busy, I’ll probably hang with them.”

“That’ll be fun.” A pang of jealousy hits me. I wish I could go out with him, celebrate with him and our friends. Wish I could be there to be his sole focus because fuck knows there will be plenty of other women just waiting?—

No.

Stop.

We’re not going down that road.

He said he didn’t want to pretend anymore, and we aren’t.

Have we laid out strict terms, like we’re exclusive? Nope. But that doesn’t matter, I know Nash. He’d never do anything to hurt me like that.

“I’ll miss you,” he says, soothing that raging jealously inside me.

“Miss you,” I say before we hang up.

I set my phone todo not disturband do my best to focus. I need to create something that will get our engagement back to a less precarious ground.

I just hope like hell I can manage it.

CHAPTER 17

NASH

“That effort you showed out there,”Coach says, pointing behind him to the ice from where he stands near the boards. The rest of the team is strung along the benches in front of him, trying desperately to catch our breath. “Is what is going to take us all the way.” He drops his hand, smiling at us. “I’m so proud of the unit we’ve become. And each time you take the ice like you just did in practice? I know we’re going to the top!” He claps, and the rest of the team does too, myself included.

It was a grueling practice, and while I know everyone has to be as desperate as me to get the hell out of here, we wait while Coach talks to some of us individually.

“Excuse me,” a tall red-haired woman in a pencil skirt and a white blouse says as she moves along the small amount of aisle space between the boards and the benches, eyes on Baylor. “Sorry,” she says after bumping into my skates.

“No worries, Elise,” I say, nodding up to Elise Fullman, Baylor’s agent. Not only Baylor’s, actually. A few of the guys have signed with her. She’s one of the best sports agents on the east coast.

She smiles down at me, working her way down the bench, her high heels that she’s never without making the trek more difficult than it should be. Knowing her, whatever she has to tell Baylor is urgent or she wouldn’t bother with the difficulty.

“Oh!” Her light squeal draws my attention again, and I gape as I watch her trip over someone else’s skates. She wobbles on her heels, trying to right herself before failing. She’s about to topple to the floor before she corrects and lands in the arms of none other the Clay Kiplin.

Uh oh.

His hands are glove-free, but the rest of his gear is on, making her look tiny in his arms. She’s sprawled on his lap, eyes wide as she looks like he might tear her head off at any minute for falling into his lap like she had.

I’m about to get up and rescue her, but Clay easily pops her on her feet.

“That’s why you shouldn’t wear heels in here,” he grumbles at her.

She visibly swallows, adjusting her outfit and lifting her chin. “Sorry, Captain,” she says with a good deal of snark, faux-saluting him before steadily walking to meet up with Baylor.

“Whew,” I say to Pax who sits next to me. “That was icy.”

Pax laughs. “She’s as tough as they come,” he says. “She’d eat Clay alive if he was her client.”

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