Page 98 of Behind the Net

On a whim, I text the recording to him. My heart jumps around in my chest, and I suck in a breath. Was that weird, that I sent it to him? He’s probably busy in a practice or training. I stare at the phone for a moment before tossing it aside and jumping up to take Daisy on her lunchtime walk.

When we get home from the walk, I see a text from him.

Thatta girl,the message reads, and something warm bursts in my chest.You should play this one when we go to the Filthy Flamingo next.

Maybe, I text back, smiling.

You will, he says, and I chuckle.

Bossy.

He responds with a winking emoji, and I bite my lip before catching myself. What did Ijusttell myself a few weeks ago after he made me come against the door?

Absolutely no falling for Jamie Streicher. He’s damn near perfect, and I can’t bear to watch him turn into an asshole like Zach. If we’re just friends, he can’t hurt me.

I have a training session starting,he says.I’ll talk to you later, songbird.

Every time he calls me that, I get a rush of happiness through my chest. I picture him smiling at me, that rare, broad, sparkling smile that makes me want to stare at his face forever.

It’s not fair that he’s so hot. It’s not fair that I have to see him every day.

A tune pops into my head and I giggle.

“It’s not fair that you’re so hot,” I sing, playing a few chords, and I laugh again.

I write a song about how hot Jamie is. I’m laughing the entire time, scribbling down lyrics and trying different combinations, and within an hour, I have the outline of the song.

By late afternoon, I have a handful of rough songs. One is about wanting someone but knowing they’re wrong for you. One is about struggling with people’s expectations and choosing what makes you happy in the end. One is about really, really good sex with someone new. I like that one—it’s seductive and playful, and I wrote it thinking about sitting between Jamie’s legs while he made me come.

I’m fueling that flame in my chest, addling kindling to make myself burn brighter. This is the pretend album I always daydreamed about writing when we were on a flight to a new city on the tour or when Zach was in the studio recording.

One song is about how Jamie takes care of everyone but himself, and who takes care of him? It’s serious and protective. There’s a lyric in there that just fell out of my mouth, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

I’d do it forever if it wouldn’t break my heart.

My throat feels tight as I swallow, reading that line. I should scratch it out, but I can’t. The best songs are honest.

Daisy’s staring at me, wagging her tail, so I take her out again for a long walk. The whole time, my mind is on Jamie, and on the songs I wrote.

The forest is dark, so we stick to the lit streets. The trees along the sidewalk are decorated for Christmas with pretty twinkling lights, and worry hits my stomach. Istillhaven’t gotten Jamie a present.

Anything he wants, he can buy. He has a beautiful apartment. He doesn’t need clothes or hockey equipment. He seems to enjoy cooking, but what am I going to get, a whisk? I cringe. That’s so lame, and it feels wrong for our relationship. I work for him, but we’re friends, too.

If I asked him, he’d tell me not to get anything, but that’s because he doesn’t realize that he’s worth it.

We pass the guitar store, and my eyebrows snap together. My dream guitar is gone, replaced with a black Fender electric.

Something sinks in my chest. I couldn’t afford it, so I don’t know why I’m so disappointed.

Jamie’s bright eyes and his determined expression appear in my head. Once I figure things out—however that will look—I’m going to save for a new guitar. Something special, just for me. Jamie will be happy to hear that. He’d be proud of me if he knew I spent the whole afternoon writing.

A realization hits me.

I wrote that album for Jamie. I thought about him the entire time, and when the impostor syndrome crept in, I remembered his words of encouragement and his warm looks of affection, and it spurred me on. I’ve never written even one song for someone, let alone a collection of them, and no one has ever encouraged me the way Jamie has.

It’s like he thinks I can do anything.

The truth is obvious, and no matter how hard I deny it or try to compare him to Zach, it’s not going away.

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