Page 67 of Cross Check Hearts

She laughs wryly. “Yeah, we get that a lot.”

“Did you guys get a sitter tonight?” Margo asks her, and Sawyer nods.

“Yeah, Jake’s at home. I thought about inviting him, but I figured we might get too rowdy for a little kid to be around.”

“I hope I get to meet him next time then,” I tell Sawyer, who smiles at me.

“Oh, you will,” Violet puts in. “Jake won’t stop asking me about you. He’s convinced he’s the Aces’ number one fan, so a new teammate is a big deal for him.”

“That’s cute. I already like him.”

The conversation breaks as our waitress makes the rounds taking everyone’s drink orders, and the drinks barely make it to the table before a song I don’t recognize starts playing and everyone in the bar gets fired up. Those who are coupled up head to the small dance floor toward the back of the bar to dance, leaving me and Grant at the table alone.

“I’m glad I don’t have all of this crap to distract me from my game,” Grant grumbles before he takes a swig from his glass bottle of beer. “That’s all love is, a distraction.”

I sip my beer too, watching the couples dance—or what they probably think passes for dancing. Then I turn back to Grant. “I don’t know about that. It doesn’t seem to be hurting any of their games.”

Grant just grunts, which I’ve heard is his default mode of communication, so I spin back to watching the dance floor. I definitely don’t share Grant’s outlook, but watching Reese, Theo, Sawyer, and Noah hanging out with their women, and seeing how head-over-heels they are for each other, really makes me miss Hannah.

God, I wish she was here.

It’s not like we’d be able to dance together if she was, and I’m not delusional enough to think for a second that she’d ever agree to hang out with us like this in the first place—her dad definitely wouldn’t approve, and it would just be a ticking time bomb for giving away what’s going on between us—but you can’t blame a guy for dreaming.

Still, thinking about it makes me reach in my pocket for my phone. Maybe she can’t physically be here, but that doesn’t mean I can’t include her. I snap a quick picture of the three couples on the dance floor and tap to attach it to a message to her.

ME: This is how my night is going. What about yours?

I tap to send the message and wait for the status indicator to switch over to “read” almost instantly, like it does pretty much every time I text Hannah now, but it doesn’t. Disappointed, I set my phone on the table and tap the screen periodically to keep it from turning off so I don’t miss her response. I’ve just finished my beer when my phone finally buzzes.

HANNAH: Sorry, I’m just now leaving a yoga class. Didn’t see your text until I got outside. But I feel like I should be apologizing just as much for you being subjected to… whatever the hell is happening in that picture.

A smirk splits my face, and my chest tightens when I realize her humor is making me wish she was here even more than I already was. The song is winding down and some of the people who were dancing are starting to stream back to their seats, but I can’t peel my eyes off the screen.

ME: You mean you aren’t wishing you were here suffering with me?

HANNAH: I’m kinky, but I’m not a masochist.

My grip tightens on my phone, and I tilt the screen away from the rest of the table as some of the team sinks back to their seats. I don’t really care if they know I’m texting with someone, but I don’t want them knowing who. And I damn sure don’t want them to see the text that just came through, or the one I’m already thinking about sending back.

ME: You sure about that? The way you like your hair pulled says otherwise.

The three dots indicating she’s typing appear and vanish on the screen several times. I picture her with her phone in her hand, furiously typing and deleting her response. And I can practically hear her at war with herself in her mind so I decide to ramp it up a little more.

ME: What did you wear to class tonight?

The dots appear and vanish again, and I feel my heart pounding in my throat while I wait for an answer.

HANNAH: Can anyone see your phone screen?

Fuck, is she about to do what I think she is?

ME: I don’t think so, but give me a second.

I push back from the table a bit, trying to be inconspicuous about putting more distance between myself and everyone else just in case. I don’t know where this conversation is going, but based on the tone, I have a few guesses. And I’m not bothered by any of that, but I definitely don’t want an audience.

It takes a few seconds of unbearable tension and staring at my screen before my phone buzzes in my hand. A picture appears. It’s a selfie of Hannah standing in front of one of the tall mirrors at the studio. Her head is cut off in the picture, and I’m sure that was on purpose, but she still looks amazing in the hot pink workout top and body-hugging black yoga pants she’s wearing.

I recognize it instantly—because I haven’t been able to stop staring at her in any of her outfits, but especially this one.

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