Page 46 of Play the Last Track
The brutal reminder that our relationship is fake slams into me.
I take a deep breath and push my chair out. “Do you … I mean, I can give you some space if you want to talk to him?”
“I don’t.” She stabs another piece of pasta with her fork.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep,” she replies, popping thep.
I continue to stare at her, tracing the lines of her face and her features. I can’t tell if she’s angry or sad. That’s the thing about Katie—sometimes she’s an open book and others, it’s like she’s hidden herself behind these hundred-feet-high and ten feet thick walls. No one gets past them unless she lets them.
When her walls are down and we’re laughing and having fun together, I see the girl I started falling for in Italy. The one that I was so sure was falling for me, too. When they’re up, it’s like the lights have gone out and I’m walking around blind.
We finish dinner in silence. Katie stops scrolling on her phone and starts absentmindedly playing with one of the curls that’s fallen over her shoulder as she stabs at the pasta. When she finishes, she looks lost in thought and a million miles away, just twirling the fork in her hand.
“I’ll take this,” I say gently, not wanting to startle her out of her thoughts. I reach over and slide her empty bowl toward me, then I take the fork from her hand.
“Thanks for dinner,” she replies quietly. “You should cook more often. You’re good at it.”
“I can make that and grill a good steak. That’s about it.”
“I’m an okay cook. I suppose I could teach you? Purely to ensure that your football millions aren’t being wasted on food delivery.” She smiles a little as she pushes back from the kitchen bench. Hesitating, she grabs her phone and heads for the hallway.
I stare at her, hair swaying down her back as she walks away from me, and my heart clenches. I don’t want her to go. Whatever mood those phone calls have put her in has pissed me off. She was smiling before, laughing and teasing. Now, she’s gone into her shell. I hate it.
And I hate fucking Grant for doing it.
“Want to watch a movie?” I blurt out. It’s not too late, but it’s definitely not early enough to be starting a movie and hoping to still get to bed on time. I will pay for being tired at training in the morning, and will likely fall asleep in the meetings by the afternoon, but it’s worth it.
“Don’t you have a strict bedtime?”
“Wickedjust dropped on Netflix. Sue me, but I’m an Ariana fan from way back.”
Katie giggles, and it feels like a victory. “Of course you are. First, you have a Taylor Swift record mounted in your hallway, and now you’re admitting to being an Ariana fan.”
“I’m a pop music fan.” I step around the kitchen bench and toward her. When I stand close enough in front of her, I wrap a finger around the curl she was playing with before. “Are you judging me for my music taste?”
“No." She laughs. “No, of course not. I’m just saying, it’s predictable.”
I smile and tug on her hand. “Come on, I’m dying to see it.” I take a few steps back, toward the couch, pulling her gently with me.
“It goes for three hours or something. Are you sure?”
“Yeah, why the hell not? I’m an adult. Bedtime, shmedtime.”
“As long as you don’t blame me if you’re tired and grumpy when you wake up tomorrow, fine. I have a day off, so I can sleep in.”
Another victory.
I pull her over to the couch and sink into the cushions. Katie moves over into the corner of the couch. This is her favorite place to sit, tucked into the corner and being swallowed by the cushions. I swipe the remote and turn on the TV.
“So is it just Taylor and Ariana, or are you a fan of Olivia, too? Katy Perry? Adele?”
“Adele is a lyrical genius.” I nod. The movie starts to play on the screen. I toss the remote onto the seat between us and settle back. “Shh. It’s starting.”
“You’re worse than a teenage girl,” she says, laughing
I smile, my chest tightening at the thought that I think I actually succeeded in bringing up her mood. I throw her a look of feigned annoyance. “Shh.”
