Page 22 of The Pact
“You have me too.”
She smiles without looking at me. “That I do. And a very demanding job that’s going to kick my ass if I don’t head home within the hour and get some sleep.”
Maybe this very thing is what’s most dangerous about us. It’s not necessarily the attraction, although that’s part of it. It’s the certainty and intimacy. It’s knowing that if everything else in my life shattered or shifted, Presley would still be here for me. And I, for her.
She releases my hand and stands. “I’m thirsty. Do you want anything?”
“Hey.” I stand to follow her. “You’re my guest. I’ll get you something.”
“Please.” She huffs. “This is my second home. I can get it.”
I follow her to the kitchen anyway and lean my hip against the countertop, watching her grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
“You ready for media day?” I ask.
She shifts her head back and forth. “Yeah, I guess so. I just need to be there to make sure you guys don’t hurt yourselves before the season even starts.” She smirks.
“Right.” I smile. “Hey. Maybe you can come with me to Remy’s next game if I can get there.”
Her face lights up. “Heck yeah. If my schedule allows, I’d love to see Savannah and the kids.”
I smile. “Rhyan might make you join her in her pursuit to be a warrior.”
“I’m totally in. She’s gonna be a little badass.” She laughs.
And just like that, the seriousness of the evening fades.
She stands across from me, leaning against the kitchen island.
“Hey,” I lift my chin. “Thanks for coming over tonight.”
“Saint, you never have to thank me for that.”
I shove my hands in the pockets of my sweats so I don’t do something stupid, like reach for her and pull her into my arms.
She tracks my movement though, then flicks her gaze back to mine.
Neither of us says anything or moves.
Presley breaks first, an almost-shy smile stretching across her face. “Let’s go finish the episode. Then I gotta get back to the city.”
I huff a laugh. “So bossy.”
“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”
She’s right. I wouldn’t want her any other way.
I head back to the living room and hear her following behind me.
And when she drops back onto my couch like she belongs here, I have the strangest, sharpest feeling.
If I’m not careful, Presley Grant could become the only home I’d never survive losing.
CHAPTER FOUR
Presley
Media day is always chaos. Branded chaos with logos, microphones, and smiling athletes and management, trained to give just enough without ever giving anything real.
