Page 40 of The Girlfriend Zone

Watching Asher dance with Maeve, I grab another drink from the bartender, switching to water. I look back at the crowd, at my friends dancing or laughing with their partners, and I think about what it means to be captain, the work ahead, the season I want to have. And what it’ll be like to play with my brother. I tap out a text to him.Anything exciting going on?

He’ll appreciate the irony whenever he reads it, which might be tomorrow since he’s the world’s worst texter. But he might be busy with the kids, so I’ll wait to hear from him before I call.

As the night winds down, my friends start drifting away one by one, couples and groups slipping out. And still, I find myself…not leaving.

I stick around, offering to help with the favors, making sure guests have their chocolate boxes, as well as their bags and purses. I’m just doing it to help a friend. This is a big night for Asher. As I hand out boxes, Leighton snaps a few pics.

Soon, most of the guests are gone. When the happy couple takes off for the night, Leighton’s at the door, capturing the moment. Then, she waves goodbye and turns around.

Hardly anyone else is here—her, me, the catering staff, a few others.

She glances around at the mostly empty space, littered with champagne glasses, cake plates, and the remains ofmini mango tacos. An Ella Fitzgerald tune plays softly overhead. I don’t know the song, but I recognize the vibe—it’s something about longing. Leighton lowers her camera, smiles, and gives a small wave.

Seems foolish not to talk to her. Tonight is proof I’ll see her around. Might as well get used to it. Really, it was one day we shared a year ago, so what’s the big deal? I shouldn’t carry it with me all the time. Resolved to put the past in the past and forge a new—friendship, perhaps—with the coach’s daughter, I head her way.

“Are you playing the role of shutterbug tonight?” I ask.

Her smile disappears. Her eyes glimmer with dirty memories. And, fuck, it’s like a jolt of electricity shooting down my spine as I remember calling her that when we were together.Shutterbug.

The shift in her expression tells me she remembers it too. How I said it. When I said it. Images of her threading her hands around my neck as she sank onto my dick have the audacity to flash in technicolor before my eyes. Heat charges through my body.

“Maeve didn’t ask me to, but I wanted to get some pics for her.” She brandishes her camera almost apologetically. “I also kind of can’t resist taking pictures. Actually, that’s not true. I’m downright addicted.”

She’s moved away from the implications of that nickname, so I do the same. “Sounds like you chose the right profession.”

“Definitely,” she says. “It’s a job and a hobby.”

“Are you always the one taking pictures of friends?”

“Always,” she says emphatically. “When we’re out and about. When we’re at home. When we’re anywhere. I do the same with my sister too. Making sure I have pictures of us doing even everyday things, whether thrifting, orwandering around Japantown eating crepes. Because crepes are really good and sometimes you just need to capture the good stuff.”

I laugh. “Two for one—pictures and crepes.”

“Exactly.”

“So photography is also a passion,” I add.

“It is. Sounds like your job too.” She shoots me a playful look. Or maybe it’s playfully chiding since she says, “Though who knows—you never really talked much about it.”

Her tone is teasing, letting me know she’s not annoyed I never mentioned it that day. I’m so damn glad I didn’t. In that case, ignorance was definitely bliss.

“Still don’t regret that. Also, it’s definitely a passion.”

She takes a beat, then tilts her head. “So, you might be captain?”

My brow knits. “How did you know?” The question bursts out, but then, of course, the answer arrives obviously. “Your dad told you?”

I hadn’t thought about that before—that she might know things about the team before others do. But it makes sense.

She laughs lightly, shaking her head. “No. He doesn’t really give me tips like that. Nor do I seek them out.”

It’s a little bit like a rebuke, but that’s fair, I suppose. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like…”

But I’m not sure what I didn’t mean to make it sound like—that she’s got the coach’s ear? Of course she’s got the coach’s ear. That’s different though than hunting for info, which still leaves me wondering. “How did you know then?”

She rocks back and forth on her black boots, a slight smile gracing those lush lips again. It’s that look I saw theday I met her—confidence. “Want me to let you in on a little secret?”

That word—secret—sounds too sexy on her lips, and I am helpless to resist it. Or, really, her. “Yeah, I do.”

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