Page 57 of With the Assist

I pull my phone from my bag, thumb hovering over messages I haven’t opened.

Nathan messaged first thing this morning to coordinate schedules for our next training session. A session I’m utterly unprepared for.

My fingers fly over the keyboard with a half-baked excuse about how I’m heading home for an early Thanksgiving, and we’ll have to push it to mid-week.

This is what I need. Distance. A hard reset. Whatever happened Friday night did not fit neatly into my life, and I don’t have room for things that don’t fit.

The plane begins to taxi as my phone vibrates. I can’t help but look, but it’s not Nathan who messaged me. It’s the girls.

Avery: Are you alive, or did that kiss actually kill you?

I snort softly before I can stop myself, earning a glare from the man next to me. I type back before I can overthink it.

Me: Flying home for a couple of days.

Three dots appear immediately, and I already know what’s coming. There is no way either of them lets me off the hook with this.

Harper: Cue emotional breakdown.

Avery: You couldn’t flee the country, so you decided to cross two time zones.

Me: I hate you both.

Avery: No, you don’t.

Harper: You kissed him.

I close my eyes, one hand rubbing at my temple as the plane heads away from the gate. This morning, I woke up with one hell of a stress headache, and their goading isn’t helping.

Me: It was for show.

Avery: Someone needs to give you two an Oscar.

She’s right. Anyone with eyes would’ve believed that kiss. Hell, I was a participant, and even I almost believed it.

Me: Not so sure I can keep this up.

Avery: So, the kiss was good.

Good does not even begin to cover it.

The problem is not that I kissed Nathan. The problem is that I liked it. The problem is that my body responded like it had been waiting for permission. It’s like my instincts recognized something my brain is still refusing to acknowledge.

Me: It was fine.

Harper: Liar.

My palms start sweating. If I’m this transparent over text, how the hell am I going to face Nathan again?

Me: I don’t have time for this kind of thing. It could mess everything up.

Harper: Or it could make it all better.

Me: I’ll see you when I get back.

Avery: We love you, our little bolter.

Bolter. I hated the nickname, but I can’t say I haven’t earned it. Not just with relationships, but with anything that has created a complication in my life. A college course that conflicted with soccer? Dropped. A friend who didn’t understand why I’d miss their get together for soccer practice? Friendship ended. Anyone who tried to connect over losing a parent? Hell no.