Page 48 of Play the Last Track
I make my way to the hallway, wanting to rush upstairs to splash some water on my face and change before I jump in the car, but I stop, my socks sliding against the wood flooring as I grab hold of the door frame. I turn on my heel and head back to the couch, where Katie still sits, yawning and blinking to wake herself up properly.
“Thank you for watching with me. Even if we fell asleep halfway through.” I bend down and kiss her on the cheek. Her blush deepens.
“Oh,” she replies, her voice a little breathless. “That’s okay. It was nice. Watching a movie.”
“Agreed. We should do it again.” She opens her mouth, probably to disagree, but I just wink and jog out of the room. Yes, I jog. I don’t want to give her any time to push back on me and put those walls up.
The drive to the stadium is easy since I don’t live far. I make it to the locker room to change into my practice gear and run out onto the field just as the last of the boys are walking out. My phone dings in my pocket, so I fish it out.
Hollie:You will be attending the Annual Boston Thanksgiving Charity Ball next weekend. Black tie. Get Katie a dress. You will be photographed. No ifs, buts, or whys. You’re going. I will drop the tickets off this week.
Chapter Thirteen
Ishouldneverhaveagreed to this.
Never.
Not in a million years.
Here I thought it was going to be a few dates, maybe even a double with Ivy and Scott, and some appearances at the games. A kiss here and there for the paps. I thought I would get some space from my parents, my past, my future choices, and only have to play pretend at home games. If I knew when I agreed that a ball—a proper, long gown and black tie ball—was going to be involved, I never would’ve said yes.
“Oh my god.” I tug at the fabric around my stomach again, cursing at the way it hugs my figure. The dress I chose was on a whim. Ivy and I went to the mall last weekend, after Flynn dropped the whole ‘we have to go to a charity ball’ on me. He was incredibly generous and handed me his credit card as I walked out the door. I took it, only because I knew nothing I could afford would likely measure up to the kind of gowns the women who go to these things would be wearing.
We went to every store. I must have tried on over fifty dresses. I hated them all.
This one, I hated less.
Today, I hate it.
“Urgh.” I groan again, trying to pull the dress up. It’s a baby blue, strapless satin gown. It hugs my chest and makes my boobs look incredible, but it also hugs my waist and my hips. I have lived in my work clothes for the last few months, and now I am expected to step out in a dress that hugs every single curve I’ve been trying to hide?
I know I did this to myself, but still.
I stare at myself in the mirror, touching my hair and wriggling my toes. The shoes are five inches—at least—peep-toe strappy heels. I put on fake tan for the first time in years two days ago, and my skin is subtly glowing. There’s a slit in the skirt, showing off my long legs. I am loving my hair, though. The hairdresser styled my natural wavy hair into some Hollywood curls. They fall freely down my back, the blonde bright against the blue of the dress and the tan on my skin.
Maybe if I hadn’t spent four years with a man who never complimented my appearance, I wouldn’t be having such a hard time right now. I adjust my boobs once more and turn back to my bed. I borrowed a small gold clutch from Ivy that isn’t even big enough to fit my phone.
I place my lipstick, a powder brush, and a small, travel-size perfume into it. Holding that in one hand and my phone in the other, I stare at it for a moment.
I’ll just ask Flynn to hold my phone. Men have pockets in suits; it’ll make him useful.
I take one last glance at my appearance in the mirror, send up one last wish that when I get downstairs, he’ll tell me it’s been canceled and we can spend the evening at home … maybe on the couch, watching a movie again.
I pause on the top step, the memories of waking up just over a week ago in his arms, on the couch, flooding me. Our legs were so tangled, my face was warm from being pressed against his chest, and my hand, well, it was doing just fine copping a feel of the infamous Flynn Reed’s dick. Thank god I woke up first and managed to slip it out of his shorts before he noticed.
The thing is, I don’t know if I have ever slept better. Maybe the night in Italy, where, again, I slept in his arms.
Once is a fluke. Twice is a pattern. I think?
I shake my head. I can’t think about that now. I promised myself that day that I would be better at drawing the line with him. I imagine us on a beach, standing across from one another. Then, I imagine taking a giant stick and drawing a long, deep line in the sand.
Friends. We’re friends.
The line is drawn.
I just need to be stronger at sticking to it.
Flynn is playful and cheeky. He’s a flirt. I just can’t let myself get confused over what’s real and what’s not. He’s my friend, so we laugh and have a good time, but we aren’t together, and we shouldn’t be.
