Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends 2)

Um—okay. Not what I was expecting him to say.

“But I think it’s important because you’re coming off a bad experience, and you didn’t really want to start dating me. Yet here we are.” He has my full attention now. “This is going to sound strange, because we just met. And maybe you’ll think it’s moving too fast…”

Oh shit.

Oh god.

Is he going to tell me he loves me? Already, after two weeks?

God what if he’s going to propose?!

Whoa, Hollis. Whoa girl, where did that thought come from? The man simply said things were moving too fast.

Wait.

No.

He said maybe he thought I thought things were moving too fast.

My brain needs to stop talking so I can listen to what he’s saying.

“…but I feel like maybe…we’re soulmates.”

The record player in my mind screeches to a halt, backs the conversation up, replaying the sentence in my mind on a loop. Soulmates soulmates soulmates.

He thinks we’re what?

WHAT!

“You think we’re soulmates.” It’s a statement, not a question; I am still floored by the announcement, letting an awkward silence linger in the air.

I don’t know what to say, and it shows.

Beside me, I feel Trace’s body stiffen. “I shouldn’t have said anything—forget it.”

The words “Uh, that’s not going to happen” fly out of my mouth.

“You think it’s stupid.”

“No, I don’t think it’s stupid—I’m just surprised you don’t. You’re so manly and masculine.” I say the words to soothe his bruised ego, my mind still reeling at a thousand miles per second. “I didn’t think you’d be this sensitive.”

I release his hand so I can roll over. Find his shoulder in the dark and kiss his bare skin, hand running over his chest. “I love that about you.”

Shit.

I said l-o-v-e.

What if he thinks I’m in love with him?

I mean I’m not. Can’t be!

Pfft, it’s been two weeks!

“Do you?”

“I do. I think you’re…” Just tell him how you feel. “Wonderful.”

If only my father felt the same way.

18

Trace

“…It’s a shame Hollis couldn’t make it today.”

My mother attaches the statement to the tail end of another sentence, as if sliding it in under the radar will mean it goes unnoticed, as if she just announced the sky is blue, or flowers are pretty.

Innocuous and unassuming—yet glaringly horrifying.

“I’m sorry—what?”

We’re at dinner after my game, the entire Wallace clan having driven to the Windy City for this one, including my brother and sister. We’re seated at a large, round table in one of Chicago’s most elegant restaurants.

They even have us seated in our own private room to avoid interruptions.

Mom loves it.

Makes her feel special.

“What, dear?” She won’t look at me, just raises her brows and cuts a tomato on her salad plate.

“You said ‘It’s a shame Hollis couldn’t make it today.’ Were you implying something?”

Genevieve’s shoulders rise and fall in an innocent shrug. “I just said it was a shame she couldn’t come.”

Why would she have come? “Did…you invite her?”

“I might have?”

Translation: she did.

“Dang it, Ma! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What difference does it make? She couldn’t make it.” Mom continues busying herself with her appetizer salad, successfully avoiding my wild eyes and gaping stare.

“Who’s Hollis?”

“Your brother’s girlfriend,” Dad causally tells my sister like it’s no big deal.

Shit. How did I forget I’m perpetuating a lie to my parents and now my sister? “She’s not…I mean…Hollis is…”

Everyone watches me while I fumble over my words.

Tripp puts down his utensils and crosses his arms, leans back into his chair and settles in for the show he knows is coming—let’s face it, he knows the Hollis thing is bullshit, and he’s here for my inevitable downfall in front of our parents.

Fucker.

“You have a girlfriend?” My sister’s surprise is palpable. “Why haven’t I met her? Why isn’t she here?” She reaches behind her, into her purse and pulls out her phone. “What’s her name? I want to look her up on social media.”

“True, leave it be. Hollis isn’t…” I can’t even say it without a guilty lump forming in my throat.

“Hollis isn’t what, dear?” Now my mom is watching me, hope on her brows. “Hollis isn’t on the ‘Gram?”

Jesus.

I hate myself right now. I sigh. “The truth is…Hollis is more like…she’s…” Let’s see, how do I tell them the truth? “She’s more of a friend.”

“Friends with benefits?” True asks.

“No—just friends.”

“Friends to lovers?” Mom clarifies. Leaning over, she touches my sister’s arm conspiratorially. “That’s my favorite genre of romance novels, just so you know.” She beams around the table and I want to throw up.

“No, Mom.” But technically yes, now that we’ve slept together, we would be considered friends to lovers. I think. “More like not friends to sort of friends.”

“But…” The hope on Mom’s face turns to bewilderment. “Then why did she come all the way to our house? Why did you tell us you were dating? Why did she go through all that trouble? I’m so confused.”