Page 25 of Nash

“I meant you and Monroe,” he says, and I swear Pax’s smile melts so fast it breaksmyheart.

He shakes his head. “She’s just a friend,” he says. “Plus, she has a date tonight.”

“What?” I ask, eyes widening. “With who?”

“One of the rookies. Madden, I think,” he says, not at all convincing us that he doesn’t remember the dude’s name.

“Liam?” Lawson asks.

I furrow my brow. “She’s going on a date with Liam Madden?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking between us. “It’s not a big deal.”

“He’s a douchebag,” I say, shaking my head. “Did you warn her?”

“Of course I warned her,” he snaps, then raises his hand in apology as he takes a breath. “I did. But, I don’t know, I guess he’s really nice to her during their sessions.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Lawson says, rolling his eyes.

“Again, not a big deal.”

Lawson and I share a look, nothing but empathy for him. He’ll never admit how much he cares about her, but we can see it. I’ve seen it every day for the entire time I’ve known him. I wish I could help him, but he’s the one standing in his own way.

“What about you, Nash?” Pax asks, throwing the attention on me. “You and Reese doing some more pretend dates? Or have you finally made things official?”

Lava fills my veins at the mention of Reese. I haven’t been able to get her taste or scent out of my head since that night in Anaheim two weeks ago.

Two weeks of walking around fantasizing about the sexiest, smartest, most infuriating woman I’ve ever met.

Two weeks of regretting not just grabbing her hand after Clay interrupted us in that suite and taking her down to the lobby to get our own room and finish what we’d started.

But it wasn’t about me.

Still isn’t.

She deserves to be treated like a queen because it’s painfully evident she never has been before.

“Yeah, how long has that been going on now?” Lawson asks before I can answer. “A month?”

“Six weeks,” I correct him, and they both raise their brows at me, ridiculous grins on their faces. “Yeah, I counted. Fuck off.”

They both laugh.

“So, what are you faking tonight?” Lawson asks.

“I’m not telling you two,” I say. “One of you will let it slip to one of your girls in the next ten minutes and ruin the surprise for Reese.”

“She’s not my girl,” Pax says.

“A surprise for Reese,” Lawson says. “You sure this is all pretend?”

No.

I’m not sure of anything anymore.

Reese and I’s relationship has shifted, the once fiery arguments turning into playful, friendly banter—like last week when she tried to convince me boneless wings were superior to traditional. There’s an intense connection I can’t deny.

And it’s not just physical, even thoughthatdepartment is off the charts.

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