He smoothed his hands down my back, resting on my hips. “Spend the day with your friends, and then fly out tomorrow morning. Come to my game.”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded, his eyes somber. “Come see me. Home games are the best. Spend the week. I can show you my city.”

My heart lurched upward, and I went with the motion. Sitting up, my legs falling to either side of him, I rested my hands on his chest. “We’re so far past the friends-who-bone-who-can’t-bone-anyone-else, aren’t we?”

“I think we have been since we started.” He watched me, steadily. “I think we were before we started.”

My heart lurched again. “You’re okay with that?”

He could have any girl, any number of girls. Why would he want someone with baggage the size of the Atlantic? Who couldn’t communicate except through random outbursts of fuckery questions. Who longed to return to her hermit status, but knew being social was healing and something she wanted in the long run.

“I have problems.”

He pressed his lips together, sighing. “So do I.”

“Not like mine.”

“Want to do this? A battle of who has the worst problems? I could put together a good argument that centers around high-pressure versus low-pressure situations?”

My eyes grew wide. Damn. That was a good counter.

“If you’re okay with it, then I am,” I said. “Or I will be.”

“You sure?”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you repeating everything I say?”

“Are you repeating everything I say?”

He paused, then seemed to surrender. “You’re right. You have the bigger problems.” His top lip curved up. “Satisfied?”

“The mostest.”

Satisfaction spread through me, warming me, tickling me, and not because I’d won our stupid argument.

I was happy.

In that moment, in his arms, with the slightest glow of light behind us, as he asked me to visit him, as we decided we were more than, I was happy.

And that should’ve scared me to death, but it didn’t. That’s how far gone I was. I’d even take a Valentine’s cardboard cutout of him and gush over it every day.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He held up his hand, his pinkie extended, and I met it with mine. We pinkie swore on it.

Then he grabbed me, rolled me under him, and almost missed his flight.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Grant took me to the airport the next morning. Sophia was still sleeping. Hell, everyone was still sleeping. Reese had gotten me a ticket for the first flight out.

It was four-thirty in the morning, but score—he’d upgraded me to first class. I was looking forward to settling in the land of extra leg space and free booze, except this morning it’d be constant coffee.

I hoped.

They did that, right?

I’m digressing.

Airport. Me. Grant. And my nerves. There were so many.