Page 51 of Stealing Forever

Even better. Fresh air sounds like exactly what I need right now.

As the elevator ascends, I debate getting their opinions about pursuing Hailey. I shouldn’t. It’s inappropriate to talk to my team about personal matters, and I sure as shit won’t tell them about what just happened between us, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m blowing this out of proportion.

Maybe it’s just fear talking, misguiding my subconscious into thinking pursuing her is a bad idea when it could actually be something life-changing.

But if it’s not fear, and it’s actually intuition giving me a glimpse into the shitstorm of my future, I feel like I should heed its warning.

Either way, by the time the elevator doors open, I decide to see what their thoughts are on it, but first, I need a beer or two.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Holy shit, Hailey, VIP box seats?” Hartley trails her finger against the open rail overlooking the baseball diamond. We’re practically on the field, right next to the dugout, with the perfect view and a full waitstaff.

“Does Owen not get you box seats when you go to games?” I ask, watching her with wide-eyed wonder. My sister shakes her head, and although there’s a smile on her face, I can see the sadness in her eyes. She’s not fooling me, that’s for sure. “Hartley?—”

I’m cut off by the shrill sound of Sailor screaming. My head snaps in her direction, and thick crocodile tears stream down her face as she stares down at the hot dog—covered in ketchup, mind you—sitting upside down on her brand new dress. There’s no way it isn’t ruined.

“I’ll go grab some napkins.” Hartley rushes out the door separating our box from the rest of the seats in search of something to clean up with.

Rushing to Sailor’s side, I kneel down, picking up the hot dog with one hand and squeezing her knee with the other. “Oh no. What happened, Sail?”

“It fell.” She sniffles, and the sad look in her little doe eyes tugs on my heartstrings.

“That’s okay. Accidents happen! We’ll get you cleaned up and good as new, okay?”

She nods, and Hartley reappears with a stack of napkins, half of which she’s wet with water for me.

“Thank you.” I take them and place the dry stack on the chair next to Sailor, while I scrunch up the wet stack and start making circular dabbing motions against her dress.

“Do you want another hot dog, my friend, or are you going to show this one who’s boss?” Hartley asks as I do my best to clean Sailor up.

There’s about twenty minutes until the game starts, and more friends and family of the Bears start to find their seats, which only adds to the pressure. Why is it so awkward to have an audience when you’re trying frantically to clean or fix something?

“Show it who’s boss!” Sailor’s tears dry up as she starts giggling at Hartley.

“Excellent choice.” Hartley uses the napkin she kept in her hand to wipe off the rest of the ketchup from Sailor’s hands, then hands the hot dog back to her.

When things are settled, I retake my seat between Sailor, who’s now snacking on popcorn, and Hartley.

“I miss you,” I tell her, bumping my shoulder into hers.

“Well, good, because I’m highly considering moving to Bridge Point.” Hartley beams, and my jaw practically hits the floor.

“Wait, really?”

“Really!” she squeals in delight. “Isn’t your condo a two-bedroom? Need a roomie?”

“You never have to ask! What about Owen, though?” My attention is grabbed by the Jumbotron as it announces theplayers for the Rebels, and ironically, Hartley’s boyfriend, Owen Marsh, comes onto the screen.

She pauses, too, and we both watch as he gives his interview, answering a few goofy questions and flashing a charming smile. When his voice stops booming across the stadium, she turns back to me. “Well, he’s pretty certain he’s getting transferred to the Bears mid-season. There’s been a lot of talk lately, and that’s the word on the street. But even if he doesn’t, I almost feel like our relationship has an expiration date. One week, he’s attentive and loving, and the next, it’s like he’s erased my name from his vocabulary. It’s weird, honestly.”

“Do you think he’s cheating?” I ask bluntly, hating that my sister is obviously going through a lot in her relationship. She’s told me about it in passing, but for the most part has never been one to divulge a lot of details about their dynamics.

“No? Maybe? I would hope not, but I also wouldn’t be shocked, you know?”

“That’s horrible, Hart.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, but at least I’m not delusional and thinking this man is my forever. He’s my right now, and yes, I love him, but he’s not my future husband.”

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