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“Interesting. Very, very interesting.”
I fold my arms over my chest. I think I’m smiling, too. “Say what you want to say.”
“You said it was fake.”
My heart squeezes up into my throat as I blink about thirty times. “It is.”
“So why is he buying you expensive lingerie that no one can see?”
The silence stretches for too long for there to be a reasonable explanation.
“Hazel!” she bursts out. “Are you two messing around?”
“I don’t know,” I burst back. “Sort of. Not really. He sleeps over. We fooled around once but he wouldn’t let me touch him and we”—I wince—“send pictures back and forth?”
It doesn’t sound great out loud.
She looks like I told her unicorns were real. “What kind of pictures?”
“Sexy ones,” I admit, sounding strangled.
Her head tips back, laughing. “I knew it. You like him.”
“I don’t know.” My heartbeat feels erratic and I force myself to shrug.
“You do. Admit it.”
“Fine.” I shrug again, eyes darting around the room. “I like him.”
Fuck. I said it. My throat knots. I really need to get a hold of this thing. It has an expiration date.
“I like him,” I repeat, worrying my bottom lip.
Her expression softens. “Why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?”
There are a million things I can’t say out loud. Because he can have anyone, so why would he choose me? Because I’m just waiting for the thrill of this to be over for him.
Because I’m ordinary, and guys like Rory Miller are extraordinary.
“I invited him home for Christmas.” I’m still putting the finishing touches on his presents, but I can’t even use him coming home as an excuse since I bought them before I asked him. “I don’t do this kind of thing.”
Pippa’s eyes are soft and watchful, and I love her so much because there isn’t a lick of judgment in her expression, but at the same time, I feel like she can see deep inside my head. “What if you did, though?”
My stomach tightens.
“Don’t you want more?”
I think about what Rory said in postgame press tonight and how it didn’t sound fake. When I put the past behind me, being with Rory is effortless.
No. It’s more than that. It’s incredible.
I don’t answer Pippa’s question, but she can see it all over my face.
“He fit right in with us at dinner,” I say instead. My mouth twists as I think about him and Dad talking, and how at ease Rory looked. “His family isn’t like ours.”
She gives me a small smile like she can see something I can’t.
“I got upset afterward,” I admit. “I started crying on the street right in front of him.”
