THE PHOTOS HAVE ESCALATED and I’ve completely lost control of the situation. I’ve become addicted to the pictures Rory sends, and his responses to the photos I send in return.
I thought about that photo all day, Hartley. God, you’re so fucking hot.
I came in the shower thinking about this one, he said about a photo of me wearing a plum-colored bra, my cleavage on full display, before he sent back a photo of himself shirtless, grinning as his erection strained the fabric of his boxers.
Lying on the hotel bed beside Pippa, I scroll past the photo of him just out of the shower, water droplets on his skin, towel low on his waist and the outline of his thick arousal clearly visible, and the photo I sent back of me lying in bed, stretched out on the sheets wearing a delicate cream lace set.
My phone buzzes as another picture arrives. He’s naked, holding a towel in front of him, all the muscles down his hips and thighs on full display. Water droplets cling to his chiseled chest, and I twinge between my legs. My response is a picture of me lying on my front. No face, just cleavage and my ass in a midnight-blue thong the color of his eyes.
Excitement jitters through me as I pause on that picture and press my lips together to hold back the grin. I’m floating with warm, liquid feelings.
This is fun, I realize. It’s exciting and playful, and I’ve never experienced this in regard to sex.
Pippa flips to postgame press from the Storm game.
Be a good boy and drop the towel, I text before scrolling back to the picture of him fresh out of the shower.
And now I’m baiting him for more. Unbelievable.
“You’ve been seeing Hazel Hartley, a physiotherapist with the Storm,” a reporter says to Rory.
His hair is damp from his shower, the tops of his cheeks are still flushed from the game, and his mouth tips up in an effortless smile.
“Jamie Streicher will be her brother-in-law soon. Could there be another wedding in the family’s future?”
Pippa clasps my hand, and I’m frozen as the corner of his lip slides a half inch higher. “Yeah. There could.”
My heart is in my throat. He’s telling the press what he needs to so he can look like a solid captain. It’s not real. And if it were real, well, no one would actually say that about a girl he’s been seeing for a couple months.
Rory would, an annoying voice says in my head. He’s intense and impulsive and goes after what he wants. He thinks with his heart on his sleeve.
It’s not real, but I’m smiling as I send him another picture.
“Did you bring a charger?” Pippa holds her phone up. “I forgot mine and my battery’s almost dead.”
“In my bag.”
She slides off the bed, and I scroll up through our text chat. We talk every day, sometimes sending each other photos—his from the road and mine from work or hanging out with Pippa or in my apartment.
The guys’ flight gets in late Monday night, so I won’t see him until Tuesday, and liquid heat pools inside me at the idea of finally seeing him in person after two weeks of torturing each other.
“Hazel.”
Pippa stands over my bag with an accusing look, smiling ear to ear. She reaches in and pulls out a fistful of lingerie.
My mouth flattens, and I give her a guilty wince. “Hazel.”
I start laughing. “Get out of there.”
Her mouth falls open but her eyes are still lit up, bright and sparkly with amusement. “Why do you have an entire bag of lingerie for a weekend with me?”
“No reason.” I scratch my neck, looking away.
She starts looking through the garments. “This is nice stuff, too.” Her brow goes up.
I jump up and snatch everything from her, tucking it back in my bag as she flops back down on the bed, still smiling. “Rory bought it, didn’t he?”
My face is burning hot. I shrug at her. “Yes. Okay?” “Hmm.” She narrows her eyes, smiling.
“What.”
“Hmmmm.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. I’m still blushing. “Pippa.” “Interesting. Very, very interesting.”
I fold my arms over my chest. I think I’m smiling, too. “Say what you want to say.”
“You said it was fake.”
My heart squeezes up into my throat as I blink about thirty times. “It
is.”
“So why is he buying you expensive lingerie that no one can see?”
The silence stretches for too long for there to be a reasonable
explanation.
“Hazel!” she bursts out. “Are you two messing around?”
“I don’t know,” I burst back. “Sort of. Not really. He sleeps over. We fooled around once but he wouldn’t let me touch him and we”—I wince
—“send pictures back and forth?” It doesn’t sound great out loud.
She looks like I told her unicorns were real. “What kind of pictures?” “Sexy ones,” I admit, sounding strangled.
Her head tips back, laughing. “I knew it. You like him.”
“I don’t know.” My heartbeat feels erratic and I force myself to shrug. “You do. Admit it.”
“Fine.” I shrug again, eyes darting around the room. “I like him.”
Fuck. I said it. My throat knots. I really need to get a hold of this thing.
It has an expiration date.
“I like him,” I repeat, worrying my bottom lip.
Her expression softens. “Why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?”
There are a million things I can’t say out loud. Because he can have anyone, so why would he choose me? Because I’m just waiting for the thrill of this to be over for him.
Because I’m ordinary, and guys like Rory Miller are extraordinary.
“I invited him home for Christmas.” I’m still putting the finishing touches on his presents, but I can’t even use him coming home as an excuse
since I bought them before I asked him. “I don’t do this kind of thing.”
Pippa’s eyes are soft and watchful, and I love her so much because there isn’t a lick of judgment in her expression, but at the same time, I feel like she can see deep inside my head. “What if you did, though?”
My stomach tightens. “Don’t you want more?”
I think about what Rory said in postgame press tonight and how it didn’t sound fake. When I put the past behind me, being with Rory is effortless.
No. It’s more than that. It’s incredible.
I don’t answer Pippa’s question, but she can see it all over my face.
“He fit right in with us at dinner,” I say instead. My mouth twists as I think about him and Dad talking, and how at ease Rory looked. “His family isn’t like ours.”
She gives me a small smile like she can see something I can’t.
“I got upset afterward,” I admit. “I started crying on the street right in front of him.”
Her eyes widen. “Why?”
Shame and worry clog my throat as I swallow. “Because of Mom. The stuff she was saying.”
Pippa hums, nodding.
I think about what Rory said, how I should talk to Pippa about it, and I pull my knees closer to me, tracing the edges of my phone case. “It’s supposed to be my calling.” My brow knits. “Helping people feel good about themselves and their bodies.”
She sighs. “These things have been the truth to her for her entire life.” Pippa plays with the duvet, running her fingertips over the seams. “Change takes time, and we don’t know what’s going on in her head.” She squeezes my knee. “Keep being a safe place for her to land. When she’s ready, she’ll let you know.”
I nod, looking away and blinking fast as my eyes sting. “When did you get so wise?” She laughs, and I grin at her. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she whispers.
We settle back against the headboard and put Bridesmaids on. Halfway through the movie, my phone lights up.
It’s from Rory. My eyes go wide. A video. This thing we’re doing has escalated to videos. The video thumbnail shows him seated in his hotel
room, shirtless. Anticipation thrills through me, and my curiosity is at an all-time high.
“What’s that?” Pippa asks in my ear, and I jump, jerking my phone away to hide it. The smile she gives me says she knows exactly what it is.
“Nothing.” My voice is strangled and my eyes dart around. I look so
guilty.
She wiggles her eyebrows. “He’s sending you videos now, huh?”
“No.” I shake my head, staring at the video thumbnail. “I don’t know.
Yes.”
“Are you going to watch it?” God, I want to.
I gesture at her. “It’s weird.” “I’ll go for a walk.”
“Pippa, no.” I’m laughing now, too. “I can’t.” My gaze lingers on the thumbnail again. Every instinct in my body is pleading with me to watch this video. “If I watch it,” I admit, “I might like it too much.”
Her eyes are still lit up with entertainment as she nods in an understanding way, mocking me. “And you might send one back?”
I choke. “No.”
Yes. That’s exactly what I might do.
Shit. This thing has boiled over. This isn’t even close to being fake.
Panic skyrockets inside me and I toss Pippa my phone. “Take it.”
She gives me a strange look. “I’m not going to watch it.”
“No.” My expression turns pleading. “Take my phone. At least until we get home tomorrow. I’m thinking about him too much. I’m—” A frustrated noise comes out of me. This is embarrassing. “I’m like, reading over our text chats every day. I look at all the photos he sent and think about them the rest of the day. I need to clear my head and get this thing under control again. Please. Take my phone.”
My pulse still races, and I think about Rory and myself running through Stanley Park, laughing. It would be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and then he would get sick of me, and all I’d be left with is a closet full of lingerie and stale memories of the good times.
“Please, Pippa.”
She puts my phone on airplane mode before tucking it away, and we spend the rest of the evening watching the movie and eating hotel room
snacks from the minibar.
I lie in bed until the early hours of the morning, thinking about what’s on that video.
