I think Sloan smiles again, and I feel bigger than I have any right to be.
He makes a yapping gesture with his hands before stretching each arm out with an unnecessary swing. “I’m going to bed. I might be retired, but I’m not going to get sloppy. I’m going to the gym tomorrow morning if anyone wants to join me. Big leg day.”
“I don’t think that’s on the itinerary,” Sloan says quietly, mouth tipping into a smile behind her wineglass.
Talon narrows his eyes, studying her, before he cracks another grin. “I’m watching you this week.”
He reaches out to ruffle her hair when he walks past the Jacuzzi, tracking water all over the balcony and back into the suite. It’s not the first time he’s done it, and it probably won’t be the last, but I clench my jaw at the sight—the idea that he still gets to touch her like it’s nothing, without thinking and without consequence.
Jay reaches out, tapping her forehead, grinning at her. “Keep the jokes coming, Sloany. His ego needs deflating.”
A muscle in my cheek twitches.
“And what purpose do I serve then? I’m almost certain our parents only birthed me as a countermeasure for Talon.” Tia straightens her shoulders against the headrest, twirling the stem of her wineglass.
“You”—Jay pauses, elbows resting against the edge of the Jacuzzi before he takes her wineglass, bringing his mouth to the exact same spot as hers was and taking a sip—“are here to look good. And you’re doing a great job.”
I press a fist to my mouth, cringing.
He’s angled away from me, but judging by the way Tia starts giggling, slapping a hand to cover her mouth, and Sloan widens her eyes, he might try his hand at winking.
He’s terrible at winking.
But he doesn’t seem to care. Jay doesn’t care about much other than making sure his game day outfits are more interesting than anyone else’s and playing better than everyone else on the ice. Maybe that’s the kind of grace I used to carry myself with, too.
He catches himself right as he steps through the sliding door, fingers tapping against the frame. “Think I’ll work out tomorrow morning, too. You in?”
“What, the push-ups and dips off a hundred-year-old wine barrel this morning weren’t enough for you?” I deflect, grinning. Doing things with my best friends just like we used to probably ranks third on the list of things I want more than anything on the planet.
It goes: Sloan, hockey, mundane things like being stupid in the gym with your stupid best friends.
Jay rolls his eyes, and I don’t have the heart to tell him that sometimes working out is fine, but sometimes it leads to so much pressure in my head I think my eyes might explode.
He looks at me for a minute like he might want to ask, but he gives a jerk of his chin. “Let me know in the morning.”
I nod, emptying the rest of my wine even though I shouldn’t. I’ve had too much, and I was in the sun all day. My temple aches, and my neck feels tense.
Sloan waits, craning her neck to make sure he’s gone before turning to Tia. “Why is he flirting with you?”
“I have no idea.” Tia raises her palms, shaking her head. “I’m going to bed. Love you.”
I watch the whole thing. It’s like an exact repeat of the other night: Sloan smiling tightly, making a faint noise of agreement in the back of her throat instead of throwing out words she used to say all the time, Tia’s face collapsing before she shoots me a look to make sure I know it’s all my fault. She even whispers about the dictionary again when she passes me.
She leaves us out here, alone in a Jacuzzi, like it isn’t a horrible idea.
I rub at my chest—it aches there, too, it always does.
“Why don’t you—” I start, but Sloan beats me to it.
Her words come out all rushed, in one big breath like she’s been sitting on them all night. “Have you been with anyone else?”
I don’t tell her that counts as a strike. I don’t tell her no, that the thought of someone else makes me physically ill, that I doubt I’d even be able to get hard for another woman, and that I’ll be ruined with her for the rest of my life.
My lips curl back. “Jesus Christ, Sloan. I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that.”
I debate asking her if she thinks that little of me. I wouldn’t blame her. But her shoulders sag, she slumps just a bit lower into the water with an exhale of a breath I think she was holding so tightly it hurt, relief all over her face, lips parting and eyes slowly closing while her cheeks go pillowy.
And then she blinks at me, and even though I know she’s lying through her fucking teeth, I still hate the words that come out of her mouth more than I think I’ve hated anything in my entire life.
