Page 36 of The Lucky One

Right on cue, color floods her cheeks. “You looked pretty great yourself. I’ll be right back.”

True to her word, she’s back in less than five minutes wearing the outfit I picked out for the scavenger hunt.

I’m not sure what that means, except that it was either convenient or she’s sending me a subliminal message, which is probably wishful thinking. Lines are blurring, and I’m not sure what to make of it.

Bridget folds herself into a small space on the furthest end of the couch, wrapping a blanket around her that was draped over the arm. I’m honestly surprised that she’s sitting here, but not disappointed. Bailey lifts his head to check out this fresh development before issuing a grunt and resuming his position.

Before either of us can grab a remote, the TV flickers on and starts playing the movie. Which is definitely not something that’s happened before.

“Well, that’s new,” she mutters.

“The house seems to be pretty invested in our relationship status, Spitfire. What do you say? Is ‘it’s complicated’ still an option to post on social media?”

She shakes her head before rising to her feet. Worried I pushed too far, I lean forward—ready to apologize—until she crosses the room to grab a blanket off the back of the plush reading chair by the window. Without saying a word, she unfolds it and tosses it across me, adjusting it so my toes are covered, and then settles back into her seat.

Like the house is whispering its approval, the lights in the space dim, providing a cozy glow without pitching us into total darkness.

Interesting.

thirteen

BRIDGET

After we finishedthe first movie, the TV moved onto Leap Year. This house thinks it’s clever, but I’m picking up what it’s throwing down. Both movies have a theme of falling in love in short periods of time.

Like under two weeks.

I’m not amused.

Any flutterings of feelings I have toward Weston are directly related to the fact that we’re pretending that we’re a couple when we’re outside this house.

Or maybe it’s that we’re notnotpretending.I can’t tell anymore. He’s not wrong that it’s complicated.

Our lives are so vastly different that it wouldn’t work even if I were to haveactualfeelings.

Which I don’t.

Sure, he’s attractive. And he can dance. He’s funny when he’s not trying to drive me insane. He’s different—somewhat—than he was when we first met, but once he’s all healed up and back to football, he’ll be the same shameless flirt he was before.

Even as the words dance across my mind, I don’t believe them. He’s not the guy I thought he was and Iknowthat.

I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut. I’m letting the mess of my life bleed into everything else, and that’s not fair to him. He’s not the one who cancelled a wedding, or turned out to be someone completely different from who I thought they were.

That’s one thing I can give Weston: he’s unabashedly who you see. There’s no hidden agenda or attempt to pretend to be someone else. Even in this ‘fake’ relationship, he’s the same person he was back in October.

The room is filled to the brim with sudden silence and I startle. Weston finally found the remote and has it gripped in his hand, his eyes focused on me from the other end of the couch.

“What would you grab?” he asks.

The question hangs between us for a moment while I scramble for context. I’ve seen this movie so many times I stopped paying attention to deep dive into my thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

His gaze is intense, almost pleading. I desperately want to ignore the upward tick of my heart rate at the sight of this tall, gruff looking man hugging a blanket. This is a vulnerable side to Weston I’ve never seen before, and I’m not sure what to do with it.

He nods toward the television where he’s paused the movie. “In a fire. What would you grab?”

I sigh and tug my blanket closer to my chin. Weston is thelastperson I want to be vulnerable with, despite the fact that he seems to see straight past all my masks anyway. “You’d probably grab all the football awards, right? A signed pigskin by your favorite player. Or the game ball.”

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