Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,82

with the uncomfortable silence in the air. His unmade bed called my name—pillows fluffed and blankets ruffled. I couldn’t help but picture him tossing and turning in it, trying to get comfortable. “You haven’t really talked about it much.”

“I can’t wait,” Walsh replied, but there wasn’t any enthusiasm in his voice to back up his words.

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Do what?”

“Lie.” I fell down on the top of his bed, falling back until the back of my head touched the mattress. It was how he was on my bed, lying back to stare at the ceiling. “You can tell me anything, you know. If you’re not excited about the game, you can be honest with me.”

I heard Walsh draw in a breath like he was about to say something, but the words didn’t come. Even without looking at him, I knew he’d be wearing his mask. The one he shrugged on when he wanted to conceal emotion. More than anything, I wanted him to take it off.

Two breaths passed before he tried again. “Why are you here, Sophie?”

Ah, of course. Dodging the subject. For now, I’d let him.

“I wanted to see you.” There. The words were out there, spoken to the ceiling, spoken to the universe. “I know we said we’d see each other tomorrow, but I…I wanted to see you now.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

It was such a loaded question, and I could’ve unleashed everything onto him. Staring up at his ceiling, I could’ve told him everything. I wanted to. Jeez, I wanted to tell him everything—everything with my parents, with the article.

But I was a total chicken. “You have a nice bed, Walsh,” I told him instead, stretching out my limbs. His bed was comfortable. His sheets were soft on my exposed skin, and I ran my fingertips over the wrinkles. “Feels super expensive. I bet it’s nice to sleep on.”

“Sophia.”

I finally sat up, unable to avoid it any longer. “My mom’s pregnant.”

The words sounded harsh in the air. Ugly. Awful. Walsh’s silence felt so loud. Louder than the buzzing in my head.

And then Walsh took a step closer to me, running a hand along the back of his neck. “I—I don’t even know what to say, Sophia. I thought your parents were getting a divorce.”

I shrugged again. The bed jostled as he sat down beside me, my attention drawing from the boring ceiling to his features. His hair was sticking up ever so slightly, golden locks silky and soft-looking. I wanted to push my fingers through it. “They were. Not anymore.”

“Because now they’re having a baby?” Walsh frowned when I nodded, reaching down and tracing his finger one of my hands that rested on his sheets. “How do you feel about that?”

“It sucks. It doesn’t matter.” I pulled a move from the Walsh playbook, and I wanted to pat myself on the back. Dodging conversations, avoiding it as much as possible, was his thing, and I was totally changing that subject. “How are your parents? You said you did housework today.”

“We were supposed to, but…plans changed.” With his free hand, Walsh tucked a stray piece of hair from my bun behind my ear, his eyes and body exceedingly gentle and warm. I could snuggle up and sleep in that warmth. I could live in that warmth, could stay here forever. “They ended up going somewhere. That’s why Janet’s here.”

I knew I needed to ask him what changed, where they went, but I couldn’t think beyond his touch grazing my skin. Brain, he’s just touching my cheek, and barely at that… You need to focus.

His thumb brushed further along my cheekbone, feather-light and warm. The touch had me holding my breath, afraid to move and startle it away. It unlocked something inside of me, some place in my heart, and the words started to flow untended.

“I don’t want to be like my parents, Walsh.” The words came out strangled, like they had to be dredged up from deep inside me. It cracked me apart to say it, to admit that fear. Tears made my throat burn and tighten. “Always fighting, always playing games. Trapped in a ceaseless loop of pain and drama.”

An endless soap opera with shouting and yelling and crying and kissing. That wasn’t love. That was insanity.

I didn’t want to be like them, but maybe I already was. I mean, I was playing a game. I was fake-dating Walsh Hunter in efforts to build up my article. I was focusing on my own selfish dreams even though