Page 306 of Playing With Fire

“Brought you something.”

She turns. Her eyes drop to the mug in my hand. “Coffee?”

“Figured you could use it.”

She hesitates. Then reaches for it. “Thanks.”

I sit beside her—the swing shifts beneath my weight.

For a minute, neither of us says anything.

She takes a sip.

I watch the steam curl into the cold morning air.

“Hazelnut?” she asks.

“Obviously.”

The corner of her mouth lifts.

Small victory.

I take a breath. “Laney, about last night⁠—”

“Bishop.”

“Please. Just let me say this.”

She looks at me.

I set my coffee on the little table beside the swing.

“I was wrong.”

Two words. No excuse attached. I owe her at least that much.

Her fingers tighten around the mug.

“I shouldn't have told Declan nothing was going on. I shouldn't have made you feel like what we have is something I'm embarrassed about.”

She looks down. “That's how it felt.”

“I know.”

“No, I don't think you do.” She glances at me. “Because you get to be Bishop. Declan's best friend. The guy everyone loves having around. And I get to be the girl who's supposed to pretend none of this means anything.”

I let that sit because she's right. “I've been asking you to carry the part of this that's hardest for you,” I admit. “And then acting like I'm the one with everything to lose.”

She blinks.

I rub my hands together against the cold.

“Mrs. B and I talked.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, God.”

I smile a little. “Relax. She didn't threaten me with a frying pan.”