Page 150 of Fake As Puck
“Sorry. I can call back—”
“Don’t you dare hang up,” he breathes.
I pause.
He continues, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Really?” I ask, relieved.
“All day. Every day. It’s becoming a problem.”
“How bad of a problem?”
“The kind where I can’t focus on anything because I keep wondering what you’re doing and whether you’re thinking about me too.”
“I’m always thinking about you,” I admit.
“Good. That makes me feel less pathetic.”
“You’re not pathetic.”
“I’m working out nearing midnight because I miss my girlfriend. That’s pretty pathetic.”
I laugh, settling back against my pillows. “How was your day?”
“Long. Training was brutal. Coach is already in playoff mode even though the season doesn’t start for another month.”
“How’s your body holding up?”
“Sore. Always sore. But good sore.”
“I wish I could help with that.”
There’s a pause, and I can almost hear him processing what I just said.
“Yeah?” he says, his voice rougher now.
“Yeah.”
“What would you do?”
His voice sends tingle through my body, and I have to shift my legs to adjust the pulse. “If I were there?” I whisper.
“If you were here.”
“I’d...” I pause, suddenly aware of the line we’re about to cross. “I’d take care of you.”
He whispers, “How?”
His voice is quieter now, and I can picture him in his bedroom, probably still in his workout clothes, hair messy from training.
I murmur, “However you needed me to.”
“Liv,” he breathes, and I can hear the echo of footsteps.
“Yeah?” I ask, feeling my body turn on at the thought of him.
“What are you wearing?”
