Page 59 of Play the Last Track
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Katie curls into my body, her head resting against my shoulder and her hand on my chest. I trace patterns on the back of that hand, tracing up and down her fingers, over her red nails. Months ago, when she moved in, her nails were red then, too. Then one day, she came home with these bright blue nails. Two weeks later, they were orange, then yellow, then green. Now, they’re red again.
I like them red. They look good wrapped around my cock.
After we added to the mess in the kitchen earlier this evening, we showered and dressed in sweatpants and hoodies. Katie in my clothes is a huge turn on. She then curled into the cushions on the couch and turned on some show she’d decided we’ve got to watch while I cleaned up her baking explosion in the kitchen and made us dinner.
We watched an episode, and then when I fell asleep during the second one, she turned the TV and the lights off, took me by the hand, and led me to bed. I watched her strip out of the sweats and switch them for a T-shirt that she stole from my closet before she slipped into bed.
As I climbed in beside her, she curled into me, and here we are.
It’s late, but with no clouds tonight, her face is illuminated by the moonlight streaming into the room. Her hair fans out behind her, covering the pillow. It’s her pillow because she’s slept in my bed every night since Thanksgiving. Her long eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, and her eyes move as she dreams. Watching her sleep is now my favorite pastime, and some nights, I need to remind myself that I have to be up for practice the next morning and that sleep is important. Regardless, I’m in no hurry for her to leave my bed.
A buzzing sounds, and I jolt a little as it echoes through the quiet room. The light from Katie’s phone brightens the ceiling, and I groan when it doesn’t immediately stop. I gently roll her off my shoulder and lean on my elbow, looking at the name on the phone.
Grant.
Fucking Grant is calling her. I squint as the phone illuminates and buzzes again. Eleven p.m. It’s eleven at night, and this guy is blowing up her phone. What the actual fuck?
I lean further up, wanting to grab the phone and answer it, and find out what the fucker wants from her. But, as it rings and I lean over Katie, I look down at her, peacefully sleeping, and change my mind. I could answer the phone, have a blow-up with her ex, and then fight with her about the blow-up with her ex.
Or, I could leave it alone.
I could wait for her to trust me enough to let me in on why the guy won’t stop calling her. She turns in her sleep, giving me her back, and she shuffles back on the bed toward me. I sigh, dropping back to my pillow and wrapping my arm around her waist. I pull her back to my chest and bury my face in her hair, trying to forget about her shitty ex.
As long as she’s here, in my bed and not his, then I’m winning whatever fight I’m in for Katie Murphy’s heart.
Chapter Sixteen
Flynn
Thesnowcouldbeholding her up. It’s what I’ve been telling myself for the last hour and a half while I practically sat in silence and waited for Katie to arrive home from a shift at the bar. The days between Christmas and New Year’s are always such a blur. The extra games that are on across the NFL, the NHL, and the NBA mean that the bar is busy at this time of year. She is putting in extra hours to cover some of the staff.
I offered to come with her, keep her company, but she outright refused. She called me a distraction.
How rude.
I thought I would be able to just watch some television, go over some game tape, and then head to bed. She’d eventually just crawl in whenever she got home. I tried to, but when I woke up and saw the time was just past one in the morning, and she still wasn’t home, I started to worry.
I fiddle with my phone, my fingers tapping into our text chain and then swiping out of it again, over and over. I texted, no response. Should I call? It could be the snow, sure, or maybe they closed later than usual tonight, and she’s still cleaning. It could be a number of things, and I’m sure my mind is just jumping to conclusions.
Fuck it, I’m calling her.
I find her number in seconds and press call. I favorited it a few weeks ago, so even when my phone’s on do not disturb at night or while I’m in meetings, her calls will still come through. Call me a simp all you want, I never want to give up the chance to talk to my girl.
I press the phone to my ear and listen to the dial tones.
Once … twice … three times. It rings out.
Hi, this is Katie. Good chance I won’t call you back, so if it’s important, text me.
I drop the phone from my ear and hang up. Before I can even make my mind up fully, I jump out of bed and reach for my socks and a hoodie. Tugging them on, I head downstairs and slip my feet into some trainers by the door, then I swipe my keys off the hall table.
I drive slowly. The weather is shit. Snow falls softly, but enough that the visibility at the moment is awful. When the stadium comes into view as I turn onto the road that Pat’s is on, my chest cracks a little.
What if she’s been hurt? Someone could’ve gotten to her as she walked to her car. What if some asshole has hurt her?
Anxiety crawls up my throat. My stomach clenches, and I feel as if I’m going to be sick as I pull into the parking lot. Katie’s car is still there, but it doesn’t do much to help relieve the pressure building in my chest. The building is dark. I can see a few lights on inside, but they look to be those coming from the signs behind the bar.
