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Now I’m more confused than I was when I sat down. This person is obviously important to him. Old flame? Long distance girlfriend? Old girlfriend trying to rekindle their relationship? It’s the second time I’ve heard bits of a conversation with her. It has to be a girl—he used a caring tone he wouldn’t use with his mom. So yep, he has a girl back home.
Asshole.
Ginger busts through the door like a mountain lion is chasing her. She’s breathing hard and bends over to catch her breath. Her red hair curling up around her temples from sweating.
“What’s up Ging?” I ask.
She snaps, her voice straining. “I saw Joe getting out of a car with another girl. They looked all cozy and he hugged her.”
“What kind of a hug?”
Tears fill her eyes as she slumps and takes the cushion next to me. Ginger has never had a jealous bone in her body until she started dating Joe. “The kind that lasts too long when your girlfriend is watching.”
“I’m sure it was not what it looked like,” I say, trying to reassure her. “Was it Josie? Because they’re partners in class.”
Ginger grabs a tissue, blowing her nose, and shakes her fiery red head tendrils. “Tell me something to get my mind off Joe.”
I’m not sure if I want to disclose the kiss between Hagan and me. At least, until I know if I’m going to act on my feelings to take it farther, I prefer to keep it to myself.
Instead, I say, “Hagan and I didn’t kill each other today.” I pause thinking about how I could feel his hard body through his shirt. He had on khaki’s and a thin-weight flannel button-down. It was smooth and probably expensive. “He was actually helpful today. He’s smarter than I gave him credit for.”
She pats my leg straightening her back. This is Ginger fighting back her tears. “When are you going to let someone in? It’s been over two months since you and Chaz broke up. And you were never really into him anyway.”
“I’m just focusing on rehabbing and getting back on the mat,” I say, lying to myself and Ginger. I’m scared to death.
I’m not like most girls in college and because I don’t drink and spread my legs. But then I gave Chaz a chance because I was lonely, only to be cheated on and chastised. Ginger’s right—I wasn’t in love with him, and I didn’tneedChaz, but I did like hanging out with him and other couples.
But Hagan and I have a surreal connection. When he backed me up against the fridge, I saw the I’ll-take-control Hagan. His tone was commanding, and his breath was hot and spicy against my skin, those damned peppermints.
Then today I saw the I’ll-take-it-slow-and-leave-you-begging-for-more Hagan. Both arousing me to the point of wanting more right now.
Today he grabbed my hand and pulled me into him playfully. Then I asked a question that I never got an answer to. This time, he was vulnerable and soft. Knowing Hagan has all these different dimensions makes me want to get to know him better.
Hagan Chatham could destroy me if I let him. Plus, and I can’t quit telling myself this enough—he’s the reason I’m injured and can’t do full-out practices with the team.
Joe bangs on the door, “Come on, Red. Let me in.” Two more knocks. “Please, it’s not what you think.”
Yeah, it’s always what we’re thinking. Stop. Joe is a nice guy.
It’s a good thing the door is five feet from the couch; I only have to hobble a few steps to open it at Ginger’s refusal. He looks like hell. His eyes are swollen red, and his hair is a mess. He’s running his fingers make pathways through his thick maze. Gesturing for him to come in, he slides past me to the couch. The tenderness he shows, tells me he wasn’t cheating, flirting maybe.
Not wanting to be in the way, I go to the gymnastics training center and chalk up. I miss the strong smell. I wouldn’t be surprised if ten percent of my body is made up of chalk, I’ve been inhaling it for so long. All gymnasts have little hand movements and dips of our body as we turn that signifies the skill we are pretending to perform. I perform one-handed cartwheels landing with only one foot. At least my high ankle sprain is healed.
I scroll to the music on my phone, select my favorite playlist which are all the songs from the showHart of Dixie. Then I grab the resistance bands and start working out. It’s serene and I get lost in the music while exercising my upper body.
By the time I return home, Joe and Ginger have made up and are cooking dinner. After showering, I join them for some Chicken Tikka Masala. It’s out of a jar but Joe did bake the chicken before tossing in the creamy tomato sauce. I used more energy today, so I make a salad to go with dinner and set our small four-person table—for three.
“Set four places,” Ginger states as if we always have guests for dinner.
My eyes widen in curiosity. She and Joe act as if they don’t hear me when I ask who they invited. Much to my chagrin, Ginger invited Hagan, celebrating that we didn’t kill each other earlier today. He’s Joe’s new best friend and she wants him to be able to hang out here. The next thing I know I’m sitting next to Hagan at my kitchen table.
Hagan eats four pieces of Naan bread. It’s not fair that men can eat whatever they want, and women have to watch carbs. Butterflies be damned—I’m eating. I worked it off so when he grabs the last piece, I slap his hand. “Mine. All mine.”
Hagan’s lips curl up, flashing that boyish grin, releasing the warm bread, before he responds, “Yours, all yours.”
God he’s handsome.
ChapterFourteen
