Game Changer by Kelly Jamieson Page 0,9
to go to bed.”
She flips around to face me. “Thanks. I think I need more tequila, though.”
What the hell. I pour myself another glass and top hers up. “You might regret this in the morning.”
“I’ve never been hungover from tequila.”
“So you say.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Let’s say I’m skeptical.”
“Tell me about your family.”
“Ugh. Why?”
“I’m curious. Why are they ‘complicated?’ ”
“It’s a long story.” I swirl my tequila and take a sip.
“Fine. You can tell me on the plane tomorrow.”
“Jesus.” I shake my head, fighting a smile.
She grabs her phone.
“What are you doing?” I’m ready to snatch it out of her hand if she’s trying to book a flight.
“I’m Facebook-stalking Claire.”
“You know who she is?”
“No, but I bet Steve is friends with her.”
I watch her swipe and tap at her phone, a little notch between her eyebrows.
“Ha! This is her!” She holds up the phone, then stares at it again, nibbling her bottom lip. “Well, her profile is locked up so I can’t tell much about her. Shit.”
“Probably for the best.”
“I’ll google her.”
“Do you really want to do that?”
“Yes.” She frowns at her screen again. “No.” She lowers her phone. “She knew he was getting married. She probably sent me those screen shots. What kind of woman does that?”
I sigh.
Molly drops her phone. “Ugh. Maybe I should go to bed.”
“Sure.”
“Thank you, Jax.” She meets my eyes. “I’m really grateful for letting me escape the crazy.”
“Any time, Flynn.”
She almost smiles. Then she stands.
I show her to the guest room. She takes it in. “Nice decorating.”
I know the room is sparsely furnished. The guys who stay over here after a night of drinking don’t care about matching pillow shams. “Hey, you said you were grateful. Did you expect the Waldorf Astoria?”
“No. The Peninsula. That’s where I’m supposed to be tonight.”
“Fuck. Sorry.”
“Don’t. I was joking. I don’t care what this room looks like, just that nobody will find me here.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I know.” Her lips curve into a sad smile. “Thanks again. Good night.”
“Night.”
I close the door behind me when I leave.
I should hit the sack too, I guess. I go shut off all the lights and load our tequila glasses and pizza plates into the dishwasher. I better run it tonight so they’re not sitting in there for weeks. Then I trudge into my own room, which is bigger but not much more decorated than the guest room. My suitcase is on the floor, half-filled with clothes for my trip. I’ll throw a few more things in there in the morning and I’m set.
I sit on the side of the bed and think about what just happened.
Holy shit.
I’m harboring a fugitive.
Ha ha. And I called Molly a drama queen.
The good thing is, I’m leaving tomorrow. When I come back in ten days, things will have settled down. A lot of my teammates who were at the wedding will have left town for the summer, although some stay here in Chicago. I won’t have to face any awkward questions or comments about Molly.
She can go to her parents in the morning. I have time to take her there. She can stay with them while she and Steve figure things out. Maybe they’ll even get back together.
Ugh. Weirdly, I hope that doesn’t happen. She deserves better than that. Not a cheating liar who cheats.
I change out of my jeans and tee, leaving my boxers on. I usually sleep naked, but with someone else in the condo, I should probably be semi-decent just in case.
I turn on the TV in my bedroom and prop myself up on the pillows to channel surf. Nothing holds my interest and I leave it on the golf channel playing a rerun of some tournament, dropping the remote to the bed.
I hope Molly’s okay.
I surface from sleep, gradually becoming aware of noises from the living room. Or maybe kitchen.
I stare up at the ceiling in the dark. Molly is moving around out there.
Should I go see if she’s okay? If she needs anything?
I don’t move.
I’m sure she’s fine.
Aw, fuck.
I throw back the covers and roll out of bed. Running a hand through my hair, I stumble across the room and down the hall.
She’s standing in the dark, staring out the window at the city.
She’s still wearing my T-shirt and it hits mid-thigh. Her legs are bare.
“You okay?”
She jumps and whirls around, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh my God! You scared me.”
“Sorry.” I slowly walk closer. “I heard you out here. Just wanted to make sure you’re good.”
Now