Tomboy

Which, according to the news—not that she was stalking or cared, just because the local sports talk radio station was playing on her drive to Paint and Sip—would be in the wee hours of the morning on Sunday.

Fallon: I’ll tell you at the next fundraiser. Remember you promised to bring a few of your teammates to this one when you get back. Sunday at noon. Do. Not. Miss. It.

Zach: I won’t. Have to go catch the team bus.

Fallon: Go forth and kick ass!

Before she could stare at the screen and reread the whole stream, she shoved her phone into the backpack between her feet, wondering why Larry had turned the air conditioning off.

Tess leaned over. “Are you blushing?”

“No.” Okay, her face was hot, and she was super pasty Irish and—shit, she was totally blushing.

“You liar. You are blushing,” Gina said, holding up her plastic wineglass as if she was offering a toast at one of the weddings she planned. “Who were you texting? Was it Zach?”

Fallon nodded because saying his name out loud felt different since she’d hollered it while his face was between her thighs. “Just part of our agreement. Plus, I needed to make sure he didn’t forget about the fundraiser when he gets back into town.”

“I think you like him.” Tess’s eyes were big and round with excitement.

“Nope,” she said, the single word coming out loud enough that half the class turned and looked at them.

Gina waited for the gawkers to return to their still lives before saying, “I think you want to bang him.”

Tess’s eyes narrowed, and then she gasped. “I think she already did.”

“Spill!” they both whisper-screamed at the same time, earning a dirty look from Larry.

Oh God. This was not how she wanted this to go, not that she wanted to have this conversation at all, but once the besties were on the trail, there was no knocking them off. The fastest way to end the inquisition was to give them all the answers—within reason. And quietly. Very quietly. Having this conversation end up on The Biscuit or somewhere else that had been all in her business lately was on the never-ever level of hellscapes she wanted to visit.

“So,” she said, drawing the single-syllable word into four. “It happened.”

“And?” Gina asked.

“It was good.” Great. Amazing. She was still sore. “But it was just t

he one night.”

Tess seemed to deflate on her chair. “Why?”

For a million really good reasons that she couldn’t think up at the moment. “Because I’m me and he’s him. Plus he has some weird superstition that I’m bringing him luck on the ice.”

Gina snorted. “Oh, you mean the same weird superstition that every hockey fan in Harbor City has?”

“Did you know more than half of Americans say they’re at least a little superstitious?” Tess asked, her face getting that thoughtful, far-off look she got when discussing random factoids. “Really, though, I think it’s just a way of feeling like we’re in control.”

Really? Because all it had done was open her up for a million comments from strangers on social media about her hair, what she wore, and a ton of other things. Basically, for being female in public.

“Yeah, well I’m not anyone’s Lady Luck.” She picked up her brush and started slathering green paint in the approximate shape of a lettuce leaf. “I’m just playing along to help raise money for the clinic.”

“So you’re using each other?”

Something that felt a lot like guilt made her middle sag. “It’s not like that.”

“So you’re friends doing each other a favor?” Tess asked.

Yeah, her thoughts weren’t exactly friendly about Zach Blackburn. It used to be she wanted to bang him upside the head. Now she just imagined banging him. “Not exactly.”

Tess cocked her head to one side and looked at Fallon as if she was the weird thing Larry had thought up for them to paint. “It’s gotta be one of those two.”