“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.”
Her eyes widen. “Why?”
Shame and worry clog my throat as I swallow. “Because of Mom. The stuff she was saying.”
Pippa hums, nodding.
I think about what Rory said, how I should talk to Pippa about it, and I pull my knees closer to me, tracing the edges of my phone case. “It’s supposed to be my calling.” My brow knits. “Helping people feel good about themselves and their bodies.”
She sighs. “These things have been the truth to her for her entire life.” Pippa plays with the duvet, running her fingertips over the seams. “Change takes time, and we don’t know what’s going on in her head.” She squeezes my knee. “Keep being a safe place for her to land. When she’s ready, she’ll let you know.”
I nod, looking away and blinking fast as my eyes sting. “When did you get so wise?” She laughs, and I grin at her. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she whispers.
We settle back against the headboard and put Bridesmaids on. Halfway through the movie, my phone lights up.
It’s from Rory. My eyes go wide. A video. This thing we’re doing has escalated to videos. The video thumbnail shows him seated in his hotel room, shirtless. Anticipation thrills through me, and my curiosity is at an all-time high.
“What’s that?” Pippa asks in my ear, and I jump, jerking my phone away to hide it. The smile she gives me says she knows exactly what it is.
“Nothing.” My voice is strangled and my eyes dart around. I look so guilty.
She wiggles her eyebrows. “He’s sending you videos now, huh?”
“No.” I shake my head, staring at the video thumbnail. “I don’t know. Yes.”
“Are you going to watch it?”
God, I want to.
I gesture at her. “It’s weird.”
“I’ll go for a walk.”
“Pippa, no.” I’m laughing now, too. “I can’t.” My gaze lingers on the thumbnail again. Every instinct in my body is pleading with me to watch this video. “If I watch it,” I admit, “I might like it too much.”
Her eyes are still lit up with entertainment as she nods in an understanding way, mocking me. “And you might send one back?”
I choke. “No.”
Yes. That’s exactly what I might do.
Shit. This thing has boiled over. This isn’t even close to being fake. Panic skyrockets inside me and I toss Pippa my phone.
“Take it.”
She gives me a strange look. “I’m not going to watch it.”
“No.” My expression turns pleading. “Take my phone. At least until we get home tomorrow. I’m thinking about him too much. I’m—” A frustrated noise comes out of me. This is embarrassing. “I’m like, reading over our text chats every day. I look at all the photos he sent and think about them the rest of the day. I need to clear my head and get this thing under control again. Please. Take my phone.”
My pulse still races, and I think about Rory and myself running through Stanley Park, laughing. It would be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and then he would get sick of me, and all I’d be left with is a closet full of lingerie and stale memories of the good times.
“Please, Pippa.”
She puts my phone on airplane mode before tucking it away, and we spend the rest of the evening watching the movie and eating hotel room snacks from the minibar.
I lie in bed until the early hours of the morning, thinking about what’s on that video.
CHAPTER 43
RORY
The next evening, I’m in the airport, staring at my phone with a frown, knee bouncing.
“Miller.” Ward glances between my face and my phone.
“Hey, Coach.” I straighten up.
“Everything okay last night?”
My gut tightens but I give him a quick nod. “You bet.”
He means the stuff with McKinnon at the bar, and not that I sent Hazel a video of me jerking off and moaning her name, but twelve hours later, she still hasn’t responded.
Fuck.
Ward keeps staring at me, and it feels like he’s digging through my head. “My door’s always open,” he finally says before moving to his seat.
I turn back to my phone, staring at our chat. Stupid. So fucking stupid. I went way too far. Hazel’s horrified, disgusted expression floods my mind, and I groan, turning out the window to stare at nothing.
We were going to spend Christmas together. Things were going so well, but I fucked it all up because I was feeling possessive and horny.
“There’s my little ray of sunshine.” Owens drops into the seat beside me, holding one of those big fantasy novels he’s always reading. He flinches at my expression. “Someone’s grouchy. You going straight to Hazel’s tonight after we land so she can make you feel better?”
I had planned to, but the message in her silence is loud and clear: fuck off, Miller.
Tomorrow, I’ll apologize and we’ll go back to playing pretend, but for now, I’ll give her space.
“No.” I put my phone on airplane mode and toss it into my bag, chest straining. “I’m not.”
CHAPTER 44
HAZEL
When I get home from my weekend away with Pippa, my sole focus is getting inside my apartment and watching the video Rory sent with my fingers on my clit. My footsteps thump on the stairs as I hurry to the third floor, keys in hand, but when I reach the landing, a package sits on the floor, leaning against my door.
My stomach flutters and I bite down on my smile. Another? He must be as addicted to those photos as I am.
Inside my apartment, I tear the package open, excitement drumming in my veins, but when I push the plastic wrapping aside, my expression turns disgusted.
I hold it up and a laugh bursts out of me. Until now, Rory’s taste has skewed delicate, sweet, sheer, and lacy. Everything has been high quality and carefully constructed from soft material that feels incredible to wear.
This piece of shit looks like it’s going to fall apart any second.
It’s all black straps, stringy and confusing. My nose wrinkles. I’m not sure which hole is for the neck and which are for the legs.