Page 142 of The Girlfriend Zone

“I need to get to work,” I say instead, and my voice wavers in a way I hate. “I’m meeting Melissa too. She has some ideas about our collab.” I scoop up my things and head toward the door, but he stops me, his hand firm and steady on my arm.

“Breathe. Let me call you a Lyft,” he says.

I realize I’m practically gasping, my chest tight, breaths shallow and uneven. But he’s right—a few extra minutes in the car might help. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course.” After he books the ride, he presses a softkiss to my forehead, pulling me into his arms. “Have I mentioned I love having you here?”

Warmth spreads through me, chasing away some of the tension. “Maybe.”

“Well, I do. I want you here,” he says firmly, his arms still around me. When he finally steps back, his expression turns serious. He’s not wearing his glasses today, probably because he’s heading straight to the rink. “And I meant what I said. We could do something about this.”

Yes, we could. But I can’t think about what that would mean—not now. I need to get to work.

Once I’m at the Sea Dogs arena, my mission is singular—set up for the team calendar shoot. This one should be easy enough: players on the bench with some senior pups next to them. I’ll head to the ice first, check the lighting, and get ready.

Get ready to act like I’m not falling for Number Twenty-One.

Ugh. I hate this feeling.

I try to slough it off as I pass Ruben at the doors. “Hope you enjoyed the chocolate,” he says, waving me in.

My brow furrows. “What?”

“The ones your dad got,” he says. “They were amazing.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I can figure it out later. Except…I’m not sure I can wait. Something pulls me toward my father’s office. Maybe my own worries? My need to know what’s going on? Yes, that’s it.

When I reach his office, my stomach dips, but I knock. Dad looks up, beckoning me closer.

“Come in,” he says, lowering the music. Ella Fitzgerald this time.

“What’s going on? Ruben mentioned something about—” My gaze lands on a box of chocolates on his desk. From Elodie’s. The same place I gave him chocolate from a couple months ago. Relief floods me. He probably picked some up this morning on the way to work. That’s all. I was twisted up about nothing.

“Nice chocolate,” I say lightly.

He says nothing for a beat. “I walked past the shop last night and saw these—they’re made with green tea so I thought of you and grabbed them,” he finally admits. “It’s not too far from your place. But when I went to drop them off, I discovered you aren’t staying there anymore.”

Guilt roars through me, hot and shameful. He went to my apartment—the one I supposedly share with Indigo and Ezra. My heart hammers painfully.

“I…” I begin, but this is foreign terrain. I swallow, trying to get a grip on…anything.

“Indigo said you haven’t been there in a while. Everything okay?”

It’s asked with such fatherly concern that my heart nearly breaks.

I’m a liar.

A shameful, awful liar. And my dad doesn’t deserve that—not from me. Not after my mom. Only, I do it again.

“I’ve…actually been staying at Miles’s place. It’s just been so much easier to stay there,” I ramble. “He has a lot of space. Two floors and all. He has a guest room, you know, and it even has an en suite…”

Then I’m going on about how it’s quiet there, how I don’t have to deal with the fighting, how I can focus on editing photos, how he and I are friends, and it’s easy, soeasy, and technically that’s all true. I have been staying there. We are friends. He does have a lot of space. The quiet helps me immensely.

But it’s still a lie.

Dad relaxes—somewhat. “Good. I’m glad,” he says, but his tone is a touch distant.

It cuts deeper than I’d have expected, that small shift in his voice. He’s giving me grace I don’t deserve, and I hate myself for taking it.

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