Page 81 of Play Me
I look at her over my shoulder and find her fighting a grin, too.
“Thanks for telling me.” I shift the transmission into drive. “That’s good to know.”
“Gray!” she squeals, breaking into a fit of laughter as I stomp on the gas.
The sound of her laughter follows us all the way home. And despite thoroughly enjoying that Astrid can laugh at the situation, it also causes a knot to form in the bottom of my gut.
My assistant is not only a smoke show, but she’s also really fucking funny.Fuck me.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Astrid
“I’ll learn to play euchre, but I want to be on your team,” I say to Hartley.
“Fine by me,” Gray says, sitting back in the kitchen chair. Still shirtless. “I don’t want to be your partner anyway. You can’t even walk and talk without falling into a pile of rabbit shit.”
I gasp, but it quickly turns into a giggle. “How rude.”
Hartley winks at me.
“I’ll study up,” I say, standing up and taking my bowl to the sink on the other side of the room. “I’ll be the best damn euchre player Tennessee has ever seen.”
The brothers share stories from their childhood and how their pap would cheat at cards. I listen as I knock the crumbs from my party mix into the trash and then rinse the bowl before putting it in the dishwasher.
Hartley’s kitchen is as cute as a button. The decor is stuck in the nineties with ducks in sun hats with dusty blue bows around their necks on the wall border. The cabinets have a distinct orange hue. Blue-and-white checkered curtains hang on either side of the window overlooking the sink, and containers labeledsugar, flour, and coffee are displayed beneath the microwave. It’s oddly charming.
I ensure the lid is fastened to the plastic ice cream container that housed the party mix before returning to the table.
“We probably should be going,” Gray says as I reach my chair. “Are you about ready?”
“Yeah. Sure. Can I get my shirt out of the dryer?”
“If you want to take them with you, then you better,” Gray says.
I roll my eyes at him and head to the laundry room.
We inadvertently spent the whole afternoon and evening with Hartley. Hart took us on another ride in the side-by-side to look at different fields. We stopped to check on the goats, which was my favorite part of the day aside from witnessing this version of Gray—a relaxed, happy Gray.
More than once today, I’ve thought about the picture that I saw at his apartment. This must be the man that woman loved. I can easily see Gray making her laugh like she was in the image, tossing a ball back and forth on the beach, and earning the look of adoration that was so heavy in her eyes.
My stomach squeezes as I shove it out of my mind again.
“You have to be kidding me,” I say, pulling my damp shirt out of the dryer. “How can it not be dry? It was in there for two cycles.”
I shouldn’t have washed it and my bra in the sink, but I didn’t have a choice. Now I don’t really have a choice—I’ll have to wear Gray’s shirt home. Thankfully, my bra is dry enough to wear, so I put it on beneath the shirt.
The feeling of Gray’s fabric against my skin sends a small thrill through my body. I lift the neckline for the hundredth time and breathe in the scent of his cologne mixed with laundry soap. It feels forbidden to have something of his touch me like this,and it also gives big red flags that I like it.God, I like it. And I wish I didn’t.
Every time our eyes have met, I’ve wondered what he thinks about me wearing his shirt.Does he like the idea of it? Does he hate it? Does he not have any feelings about it whatsoever?
I sag against the dryer when my phone buzzes.
Gianna: Still doing okay, babe?
Me: Yup.
