Page 82 of Playing for the Hat Trick
“What about Tokyo?”
“I left a note.” He throws up a hand. “There was an origami swan involved!”
I stare at him, deadpan. “What?”
“Yeah. A swan. Very poetic. I even googled how to fold that shit. And then I waited for your call. A fucking text. Smoke signal. Anything. But nada.”
“You left,” I say, my voice quieter. “You just left. And you’re asking why I didn’t call?”
“Yes, I left. And I left a note.”
“Well, I never saw it.”
He looks genuinely offended. “You’re telling me you missed the swan?”
I want to laugh, but something tugs at the memory. An image, long buried—crease lines on a crumpled piece of paper tucked into the nightstand, forgotten in the flurry of checkouts and hurt feelings. Did I toss it? Did I even open it?
Back then, I would’ve bet my gold medal that he’d just vanished. No explanation. No care. But now . . .
Now he’s handing me a worn-out T-shirt like it’s stitched from apology. Or hope. Or whatever emotion makes a guy offer you his favorite thing and joke about getting his heart broken afterward.
I take it.
Slide it over my head without breaking eye contact.
It hits mid-thigh, clinging to my damp skin. The sleeves skim my elbows.
His eyes drag over me. Slowly.
“Maybe there was a swan but I was on my way out and I never saw a note.”
“So what you’re saying you shunned my gift of origami and poetry and then blamed me for it?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Oh but I think that’s exactly what you’re saying. I think you owe me, Scottie.”
“What?”
“You. In my shirt. You look like you belong here.”
I snort. “I’m going home after this.”
He raises a brow. “Sure. Right after I make you tea and force you to pretend cuddling isn’t your love language.”
“I will riot.”
“You’ll sigh and nuzzle into my armpit like a koala on Ambien.”
I gape. “Jason?—”
“You came, Scottie. That makes this legally binding.”
“Multiple times,” I admit grudgingly.
He grins. “Exactly. You’ve officially signed up for full-service post-fuck hospitality.”
I shake my head, but the smile’s already breaking through. Then I’m laughing—really laughing.
