Page 13 of End Game
“I don’t know. I thought coming up here would sort of decompress my mind and I could get back into the flow of things. But I’ve just sat here all night and looked at the water and struggled to find any inspiration at all.”
“What is it you do again?”
“I have a lifestyle blog.”
He furrows a brow. “So you’re a reporter?”
“Uh, no. Not at all. I just write about things I love, things I think other women like me might like. Food, fashion, a little home décor stuff which is funny since I’m living out of boxes right now.”
“I moved into my house before the start of last season and I still have boxes to unpack,” he shrugs. “I figure maybe one day I’ll just toss everything. I mean, if I haven’t used it in almost a year, what are the odds I really need it?”
“That gives me heart palpitations. You can’t just throw stuff away. You have to look at it first. It could be important!”
“If I look at it, I’ll want to keep it which means I’ll have to put it away. It’s easier to chuck it.”
Tucking my legs under me, a lightness in my chest that I haven’t been able to find in a few weeks trickles over me. “Just pay someone to do it.”
“And find something online for sale in a few weeks? Come on,” he cracks. “I can see the headline now: ‘Branch Best’s underwear up for auction. Starting price one dollar.’ It would be a disaster.”
Laughing, I reach forward and pick up his lemonade. He reaches for it, our fingers brushing along the cool, damp glass as he takes it from me.
“Where’s Poppy?” he asks, getting comfortable again. “I haven’t seen her since this morning.”
“Asleep. Although she downplays herself, she’s kind of a big deal at her job. She works tons of hours and until the middle of the night a lot of times. I think she just realized she could sleep and no one would bother her.”
“Except Finn,” Branch winks.
“She’d love that.”
“The two of them ever have a thing?”
“You really have to ask me that?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine. “I don’t know how often they see each other, I just know they have. There’s not enough time in the day for that kind of information overload.”
Branch laughs, his eyes dancing. “He kind of goes through the women, doesn’t he?”
“Don’t you all? I’ve seen enough stories about you to know you’re no saint.”
“You know how the media gets,” he grins. “They make a lot of shit up. Exaggerate stuff all to hell, although I’ll admit I’m no saint. It’s so much more fun being a sinner.”
My cheeks heat and I pray to God he doesn’t have x-ray vision and can see through my closed computer and read all the various sinner-y things I sex-box’d out earlier.
“It’s a part of the job,” he says easily. “You dated Callum. You know how it works.”
At the sound of his name, it’s like I’m doused with a bucket of ice water. Callum’s cocky face next to Carly’s on a jet ski that surfaced this morning on every entertainment website I dared to check flashes before my eyes.
“Sorry,” Branch says, his tone lowered. “I shouldn’t have brought him up.”
“No, it’s fine,” I lie. “I just have to stop feeling like my head is on fire when his name is mentioned.”
“The break-up went well, I take it.”
I glare at him, causing him to crack a smile. “You know what? Let’s keep talking about him so I’ll end up hating him so much I won’t do this again. For the fourth time.”
“So, this is a habit of yours?”
“Two football players and a hockey guy. I’m done. Habit broken.”
“Well, I’ve officially dated a model and an actress and I’m done too.”
