Wright with Benefits (Wright Series #8) - K.A. Linde Page 0,18

much she traveled if I wasn’t so damn proud of her.

A knock on the door pulled us away from the pictures, and before I could even jump up, the handle twisted, and my best friend, Sutton Wright, entered. We’d known each other since we were babies and grown up together from diapers to cheerleading uniforms to Texas Tech to now with her walking into my house without an invitation.

“Hey, girlie,” Sutton said.

Her smile was bright, and her hair was a lighter blonde than it had been in a decade. All the Wrights had dark hair and eyes. It was almost jarring to see her blonde, but she loved it.

“Sut!” I said with a smile. “Did you come over to take me shopping?”

Sutton laughed and shook her head. “Soccer game, remember?”

I groaned. “Right. I almost forgot. Where are Madison and Jason?”

Sutton had a five-year-old, Jason, with her first husband, Maverick. He’d passed away four years ago now. I’d been there when it happened. It was half of the reason that I was in medical school. I’d sworn that I’d never stand by and not be able to do anything ever again.

Sut had remarried last year, and within nine months, she’d had her second baby, Madison. She was the most gorgeous kid I’d ever seen. She could be one of those baby models. I was the godmother and always itched to hold the little ball of sunshine.

“They’re with David.” She put her hands to her chest. “I had to pump all afternoon to make sure we had milk. I didn’t have enough stocked up. Ugh! My boobs!”

Jennifer and I laughed.

“Your boobs look amazing,” I told her.

“They do, don’t they?” Sutton said, sticking her chest out. “I’ve always had such tiny boobs. I’ll be sad when these go away.”

Jennifer shook her head. “You could get a boob job.”

Sutton pointed at her. “Good idea.”

“Let me see if my soccer bag made it through the flood,” I told them and then headed back to my room.

I checked my phone along the way to see if Jordan had texted. But of course, he hadn’t. I didn’t even know why I cared. It had been one night. Just like last time. I’d been stupid to expect something then, and I wasn’t going to be that stupid again.

My bag wasn’t in my room, which was a relief, but that meant I didn’t know where it was. I stepped into the garage, popped open the trunk of my car, and dug around until I found the bag. When I opened it, the smell from my last game a month ago wafted up to me. I cringed away.

“Shit,” I muttered.

Good news: it hadn’t been ruined by the flood.

Bad news: I’d been so worried about finals last semester that laundry slipped my mind.

I trudged back inside and threw my uniform and socks into the dryer with a wet washcloth and dryer sheet. It wasn’t a perfect solution. It only took a few minutes, and I promised the uniform I’d take care of it after the game. Then I changed into the outfit—red shorts and jersey with the number six on it and our team name, The Tacos.

“Ready to go,” I said to my friends as I stepped back into the living room. “Let me see if Isaac needs a ride.”

“Is he back from New York?” Sutton asked.

She put her hands under her chin and looked at me dreamily. Jennifer mirrored her look.

I bit my lip and nodded. “I still can’t believe it all happened!”

My brother, Isaac, had dated Peyton Medina all through high school, but she’d left to go to the New York City Ballet. They’d reconnected while she was in town for The Nutcracker. We were all still unbelievably happy for them. Almost seemed too good to be true. But after his first wife, Abby, had died in childbirth, I’d say that my brother deserved all the happiness in the world.

Bro, you want a ride to the Tacos match?

A second later, my phone dinged.

Appreciate it. Mom is coming over in twenty to watch Aly.

I’ll come inside to kiss my favorite niece.

She’s your only niece.

All the more reason.

“He’s in,” I told them.

“Sweet. Now that he’s off the market, maybe Jennifer can stop making goo-goo eyes at him,” Sutton said as we headed for her upgraded Audi SUV.

“I do not make goo-goo eyes at him!” Jennifer protested, slinking to the backseat.

“You kind of do,” Sutton teased.

“Ew,” I muttered.

“He just really knows how to play soccer. That’s all I’m saying,” Jennifer said. “He