Page 96 of Checking It Twice
Tomorrow. I’ll ask her properly tomorrow.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Waiting Game
Clare
I’m sitting in Lucy’s office, pretending to review Q1 fan engagement proposals while she color-codes her calendar, but really I’m just trying not to think about Mitchell’s drunk phone call from last night.
“So the Valentine’s Day campaign needs to launch by February first,” Lucy says, highlighting something in aggressive pink. “Think we can get the players on board for the ‘Love Your Game’ photo shoot?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. Most of them are suckers for anything that makes them look romantic.”
“Speaking of romantic...” Lucy sets down her highlighter and gives me that look. The one that says she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Bennett mentioned you and Mitchell had quite the week in Minnesota.”
My stomach does something complicated. “Bennett mentioned that, did he?”
“He mentioned a lot of things, including how Mitchell looked like someone had kicked his dog at poker night.” She leans back in her chair, studying me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. “Want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I lie straight through my teeth.
Lucy gives me a knowing look. “I’m calling bull on that one.”
I stare at the proposal in front of me; the words blur together. Because somethingdidhappen. Everything happened. And now I’m stuck in this weird limbo where I don’t know if I imagined the connection or if he’s just too scared to do anything about it.
“Okay, something might have happened.”
I look up at her, and something in her expression makes my carefully constructed walls crack just a little. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at me—not like a boss trying to manage office drama, but like a friend who actually gives a damn.
“I think I’m in trouble,” I admit.
“Good trouble or bad trouble?”
“The worst kind. The kind where you catch feelings for someone who’s probably not ready for them.”
Lucy’s smile goes soft around the edges. “Ah. So we’re talking about real feelings, not just fake girlfriend convenience.”
The casual way she says it makes me realize that, of course, she knows. Lucy probably knew before I did that this whole thing was never going to stay fake.
“How much did Bennett tell you?”
“Enough to know you two spent Christmas with his family and came back looking like you’d been hit by emotional freight trains.” She leans forward, elbows on her desk. “What happened?”
So I tell her. Not everything—some things are too private, too raw—but enough. The way his family absorbed me like I’d always belonged there. How natural it felt to sleep wrappedaround him in that tiny bed. The way he took care of me when I had a migraine, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
And how he didn’t come upstairs that last night, even though I’d made it clear I wanted him to.
“So you put yourself out there and he chickened out,” Lucy summarizes when I’m done.
“Basically, yeah.”
“And then he drunk-dialed you, rambling about crab dip and babies.”
“Don’t forget the pantsless toddler.”
She laughs, but there’s understanding in it. “Yeah, Shep hates pants for some reason.” She shrugs. “But men are idiots, Clare. Especially good men who are scared of screwing things up.”
I exhale slowly. “Maybe. But it’s been almost a week. If he wanted to ask me out properly, he would have by now.”
