Page 85 of What If I Hate You
“No,” I say slowly, watching him. “It’s just wildly domestic.”
He meets my eyes again, the cocky goalie facade slipping just enough for me to see the man beneath. “I was hoping maybe you’d stay tonight. And tomorrow. Help me pick out something stupid. Whatever you think this place needs. I don’t exactlyknow what I’m doing when it comes to décor or feng shoo or whatever.”
I chuckle lightly. “You mean feng shui?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “That. What do I need? A plant? Some throw pillows? Whatever normal people do to make a place feel less like a pit stop.”
“Throw pillows?” I repeat, biting back another smile as I tease him. “Are you nesting, Cunningham?”
He groans and covers his face with one large hand. “I’m trying not to make this weird, Rivers.”
“It’s not weird,” I say gently, sliding my hand up his chest until it rests over his heart. “It’s actually really sweet.”
His hand drops, and he looks at me. Really looks at me.
“I like having you here,” he says to my surprise. “My bed’s warmer. The food tastes better, and life doesn’t annoy me as much. I don’t know what that means yet, but I know I like the way I feel when you’re around. And I don’t want it to stop.”
My chest squeezes, painfully soft.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay?”
“I’ll stay,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips. “But if I’m helping pick out décor, I want veto power. No weird taxidermy or neon signs with your name on them.”
He grins wide, like I just gave him the winning lottery ticket. “Deal.”
“And I’m picking the throw pillows.”
“Fine,” he says, tugging me closer and kissing the top of my head. “But I’m naming them after hockey plays.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a goof.”
“And yet, here you are,” he murmurs against my hair, like it still surprises him.
Here I am.
And for the first time in a long time…I don’t want to be anywhere else.
“I have something else I have to do tomorrow too,” he adds with another soft kiss to the top of my head. “And I’d really like it if you’d come with me.”
“What is it?”
“Just something I do pretty regularly.” His eyes are filled with a sense of peace I’m not sure I’ve ever seen before. “But I’d rather show you than tell you.”
I nod, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “Alright. Whatever it is, I’m in.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
BARRETT
I’ve faced slapshots from guys twice my size. I’ve stared down roaring crowds and deflected pucks with half a second to react. But nothing—and I mean nothing—prepares me for walking into a damn home décor store with Blakely Rivers.
Because she’s beaming. Radiant. Bouncing on the balls of her feet in her white sneakers like this is the most exciting thing she’s done all week. And maybe it is. Hell, maybe it is for me too, and that’s the part that rattles me.
“I’m just warning you now,” she says, scanning the entrance like she’s hunting for targets, “if you try to buy one of those live-laugh-love signs, I’m walking out.”
I grin. “Guess I’ll return the one I already bought.”
