Page 56 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

How did I not make it into bed?

The answers, along with memories, come to me in a rush when I hear a voice say, “Morning, sunshine. Nice hair.”

I glance over to see Amelia, sitting cross-legged with a paper cup on the definitely not king-size bed. Which is close enough to the couch that I could nudge her with my foot.

Her honey hair is down and wild, like she got out of bed, gave her head a good shake, and called it good. She’s fresh-faced without even a hint of makeup and wearing the Batman pajama pants and black tank she picked out at Walmart last night.

Not gonna lie—it’s a good look on her.

I rub the grit from my eyes, not even bothering to straighten out my hair, which likes to do its own thing in the mornings. “What time is it?”

My voice still sounds like it’s been through a paper shredder, which is about how I sound for the first hour I’m up every morning. Usually, no one’s around to hear it, and I feel slightly self-conscious. At least it didn’t crack.

“A little after ten.”

Amelia laughs at my expression, which is probably horrified. I can’t remember the last time I slept this late, even on days we don’t have morning practice. A little coffee sloshes over the paper cup she’s holding.

“Oops.” She lifts the mug and licks the droplets of coffee right off the side. I can’t look away from her mouth.

Taking a deep inhale through my nose, I squeeze my eyes closed. It’s far too early to be thinking the kinds of things I’m thinking aboutthe coach’s daughter.

Those three words are as effective as any cold shower. Or they should be. Repeating this phrase in my head worked most of yesterday.

Up until the moment I almost kissed her in the ocean.

That memory slams into me with the weight of a building collapse. I can hardly believe I let things get to that point. It wasn’t my intention.

One minute we were playing, and I was feeling good about making her smile after a terrible day. I didn’t realize the urge to kiss her was coming until I found my eyes dropping to her lips and my whole body swaying toward her.

If Amelia hadn’t said something, I might have actually done it. I might have kissed her.

And while this memory should serve as a cautionary tale to me in the bright light of morning, it doesn’t. Instead, thinking about the almost kiss, about the way Amelia felt in my arms only makes the blood cycle faster through me. It’s a challenge to keep my gaze from her mouth as she lifts the cup to her lips.

I am in so. Much. Trouble.

“Your face doesn’t look horrible,” Amelia says.

I open my eyes. “Best compliment I’ve had all day.”

She laughs, golden hair dancing around her shoulders. “I just mean, you’re a little swollen, but the black eye isn’t so bad.”

“Yet,” I say. “Tomorrow it will look worse. Trust me.”

My phone buzzes on the little table next to the couch. It’s plugged into the charger I bought last night. I sit up, reaching for it. Needing a distraction.

And … it’s Coach Davis. What perfect, poetic, terrible timing.

I don’t answer, though I’ll need to call him back soon. Can’t have him imagining the worst. Or knowing the reality. Which means maybe calling him back after we figure out this rooming situation. If Amelia can move into the suite she and her ex booked, then I’ll stay here, keeping my separate rooms promise to Coach.

“Are the guys texting you again?” Amelia asks.

They probably are, but I still have their thread muted so I can have some amount of peace. “It’s your dad.”

“Oh.” She takes a measured sip of her coffee. “I’m sure Morgan told him I’m with you. Think he’ll freak out?”

This is the perfect opportunity to tell her that not only was her father on board, but asked me to come.

I’m not sure why I don’t.

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