Harper lifts her glass. “Historic.”
Sophie grins. “Lucas said he grinned.”
I frown. “He did smile.”
Scarlett points at me. “See? There’s the actual issue.”
“Thereis no issue.”
Sophie gasps theatrically. “She’s in denial already.”
“I am not in denial.”
Harper speaks for the first time in several minutes. “You don’t hate him.” The room goes still. Of course, the quiet one throws knives.
“I never said I hated him.”
Scarlett tilts her head. “Interesting choice of defense.”
I narrow my eyes. “You girls are exhausting.”
“And yet,” Piper says sweetly, “you’re still here.”
Fair point. I take another drink. “He’s disruptive,” I say. “Immature. Constantly performing. In tonight’s game, he was downright reckless.”
“Also loyal,” Piper says.
“Protective,” Harper adds.
“Annoying,” Sophie says.
“Hot,” Scarlett contributes. We all stare at her. “What?” she asks. “I’m married, not blind.”
I crack up so hard I nearly spill my drink. God. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself like this with women without running a parallel calculation about who was watching.
Just... ease.
Scarlett is still going, and I can’t help but snicker. I don’t stop when I should, don’t tone it down to a polite level, and don’t even consider whether it’s too much. My head tips back. Hair falls loose from where I had it pinned. I don't fix it.
I don't fix it.
That registers somewhere below the laughter. The old version of me would have had ahand up before the first strand cleared my ear. The version who decided controlled and safe were the same thing. She would have tucked it back and smiled the correct amount. I leave it loose.
Harper says something dry about Knox never once in six years of marriage cleaning the Zamboni incident off his bag, and I let myself crack up again, and it is loud and it is real and I do not moderate it, and somewhere in my chest a door I had forgotten I'd closed opens about an inch.
I don't examine it.
I just stay.
Scarlett glances toward the glass wall. “Oh, no.” We follow her gaze. Down below, several players enter the public level of the club. Even from this distance, I spot Max immediately. Tall. Broad. Moving with lazy confidence no decent man should possess. As if summoned by my discomfort, he glances up. Straight toward the private glass. Straight toward me. Impossible. Yet I swear his mouth curves.
“Nope,” I mutter, sliding lower in the booth.
The voices erupt. “He saw you!”
“He absolutely saw you.”
“Look at her hiding.”
