Page 69 of Game Face

“Hey!” she shouts, dropping the feet she had propped on his dash.

I walk over to the passenger side, the stench of nail polish strong despite the rolled-down window. I wave at the air.

“Whoo!” I say.

“Yeah, yeah. Like your gear bags don’t smell ten times worse,” she says.

“Yeah, but that’s sweat. That’s natural. You’re wafting around chemicals.”

Her lips purse.

“You think you guys smell natural?” She punches out a laugh, and I have to give it to her.

I tilt my head.

“Fair.”

“Did Whiskey find you? We’re getting Tate’s.”

They’ve been including me on a lot of date nights lately. “Paying it forward,” Whiskey says. I’m pretty sure that’s Tasha’s doing, though. While I haven’t opened up to her the way I have to Whiskey, Peyton’s probably filled her best friend in on how our relationship is going. Part of me would love to dissect everything Tasha knows, but I’m not ready to believe just yet that Peyton and I have secrets. I’d like to believe everything is as I know it to be, and that when Peyton’s ready, she’ll say so.

Like she did today, inviting me to come out to the arena.

“Peyton asked me to come over,” I say, my cheeks tightening the way they did when we first started flirting years ago. It’s like getting those first glimmers of attention all over again.

Tasha’s expression softens and she sits up higher in her seat.

“Yeah? That’s good. I think she could do with a dose of affection. She’s been—” She stops herself, though I know Tasha well enough to know she let slip exactly the amount she wanted to. She won’t break her friend code, but she wants me to know Peyton misses me.

“I miss her, too,” I say.

Her mouth quirks up.

“Yeah, I know. You threw two interceptions last weekend.”

“Ouch!” I shake my hand out like she bit me.

She lifts a shoulder.

“Call it like I see it. You’re better when you’ve had your Peyton fix.”

“Fix? Is that what you call it?” I smirk, partly teasing her for getting involved with Whiskey when she swore it would never happen. She holds my gaze for a beat, and for a tiny moment, her eyes are very serious. She never answers me. We both know nothing about either of our hearts is casual, and she’s in deeper than she’d like.

“Hey, maybe this is a little intrusive of me to ask, but . . . since when do I give a shit about things like that. You ever think about proposing to our girl?” Her head falls to the side, and she bites the tip of her tongue, a knowing smirk tugging up one side of her mouth.

“Uh, yeah. I have. Why?” My eyes squint a little, trying to sort out her expression and see if I can read her thoughts. Tasha is like one of those Rubik’s Cubes after the stickers have all been rearranged, though, so I’m not going to get anything out of her she doesn’t intend on telling me.

“Just curious. I like to dream about weddings I might be in one day. The dresses, the hair—riding in on a horse and carriage.” She bats her lashes.

“Isn’t that the kind of thing the bride and groom do?”

She drops her chin a tick.

“Wyatt, let me be clear. When you all get married, I better get my own damn horse and carriage.”

I punch out a hard laugh and back up a few steps, giving up on learning anything new. I lift a hand in goodbye.

“I’ll make sure that’s in the binder,” I tell her, then turn around.

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