Page 98 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
Connor and Allie’s new house glows with warm light when we pull into the driveway. Cars line the curb.
Daltyn parks but doesn’t move to get out.
I glance over.
His hands are still on the wheel.
“You okay?” I ask, even though I’m tired of asking that question.
He exhales through his nose. “Yeah.”
Fine. Yeah. Good.The holy trinity of emotionally unavailable men.
“Great,” I mutter, opening my door before he can come around to help.
“Peyton.”
I ignore him and step carefully onto the driveway. My ankle twinges, but I refuse to react.
Behind me, his door slams.
“Stop doing that,” he says, voice low as he rounds the SUV.
“Doing what?”
“Acting like you have to prove you don’t need help.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Funny.”
His eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Peyton.”
I turn toward the house. “Come on. We’re late.”
For once, he doesn’t argue. Which somehow makes me even angrier.
Laughter spills faintly through the front windows before we even reach the door. Part of me wants to turn around and leave. The other part hopes this night will give me a reprieve from the weirdness between Daltyn and me.
The second Connor opens the door, chaos hits us with its full force.
Music. Laughter. Voices. The smell of pizza, wings, beer, and something sweet drifts from the kitchen.
Connor grins when he sees us. “There they are.”
“Don’t start,” Daltyn mutters.
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
Connor presses a hand to his chest. “Wow. Accused of thought crimes in my own home.”
Allie appears behind him, beaming. “Ignore him. Come in.”
She hugs me first, warm and tight, and for some ridiculous reason, that almost breaks me.
