Page 106 of The Girlfriend Zone

Something about that warms my chest, like the sun breaking through on a cold morning. “Do you normally watch post-game press conferences?”

I didn’t go to law school—though I took the LSAT—but I know the rule:Never ask a question on cross-examination unless you already know the answer.I’m ninety-five percent sure Leighton doesn’t normally tune in to those things. Which means…she had a reason tonight, and I can’t resist fishing for it.

“No, I don’t,” she admits.

My grin widens, and I keep teasing her. “So you justhappenedto tune in this evening?”

“Well, I guess you could say that,” she says, her tone light and playful. “It was just playing in the background while I kept the dogs entertained.”

“Oh, of course, right. That makes perfect sense,” I say, going along with her. “You probably didn’t even care about the game since you don’t seem to know anything about hockey…”

“Nope, not at all,” she says breezily. “Not even when that guy wouldn’t stop chirping at Rowan in the third period.”

I smirk. “Uh-huh. Guess you caught more of the game than you’d thought.” She watched the whole game and the presser, and I am eating up her interest.

“I guess I did,” she says dryly.

“And you know what? I really don’t regret saying yes to talking to the press now.”

She laughs, and the sound fills the quiet of my hotel room, doing something strange to my chest—making my heart flip in a way I like too much. This feeling—it’s addictive. I spend so much of my day working hard. Hell, I’ve spent so much of the last few years working hard, focusing, moving forward and moving on. But when I talk to Leighton, I feel…peaceful and just happy in the moment. I feel like I’m finally enjoying the present for what it is.

“How was the rest of your day?” I ask, leaning into the conversation. “I hope I didn’t stress you out with the dogs or anything earlier. And Bippity’s…escape artist situation.”

“No, you didn’t,” she assures me.

“Did she give you any more trouble?”

“She was perfect,” Leighton says.

“Am I still in the doghouse for not telling you about her habits?”

“Hmm. If it means more of your hot chef skills, maybe.”

“I take it you liked the pasta?”

“I had it for dinner two nights in a row. Loved it,” she says.

That makes me unreasonably happy—being able to do something as simple as cooking for her. “Good. I’d be happy to make it up to you again. What did you do the rest of the day?” I’m craving all the details of her. I’ve spent so long resisting Leighton McBride that I can barely help myself now. I want to inhale all her stories.

“I had a photo shoot, then I had some things to deal with at the studio…”

I sit up a little straighter, the tightness in her voice catching my attention. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” she says quickly. “I’ll sort it out.”

“What is it?” I ask, pressing gently. I want to be the one she turns to when something’s on her mind. I want to be the one who helps her when she needs it.

“Nothing to worry about right now,” she says, and it’s clear she doesn’t want to get into it. I table my concern for the time being, but I’ll find a way to bring it up again later.

“Besides,” she adds, her tone lighter, “I got good news later in the day! I’m going to be photographing you again soon. For a team calendar. Apparently, you won the fan vote.”

“Yeah, Everly mentioned that. I got an email about it. So, I guess we’re going to spend more time together.” I try to play it cool, but I know I’m failing. Hell, I’ve always failed at playing it cool with Leighton.

“You really don’t mind?” she asks, her voice quieternow. “That we’re going to spend more time together at work?”

“I don’t mind at all,” I assure her, my chest warm, my heart bouncing around fearlessly in it. I swallow, weighing how much to say, how far to give in, then finally say, “If we’re splitting hairs? I fucking love it.”

I can feel her smile, even though I can’t see it. It’s in the pause, the soft sigh, the rustle of what I assume is the duvet. It’s in the ache in my chest—the wish that I were there with her.

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