Saylor

“What are you looking at?” he demands, his gaze narrowing in suspicion.

I bat my lashes back a

t him. “Nothing.”

“Liar.” His grin widens. “You’re wrong, by the way.”

“About what?”

“It’s not Betty’s.”

“Then, what is it?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re killin’ me, Smalls,” I tell him.

“You’ve been killin’ me for years and have yet to put me out of my misery, so consider this payback.”

“Excuse me?” I clutch at my chest as though I’m offended. “What did I ever do to you?”

“You put up those pictures on the Birds and Bees app. The white bikini, Say? Were you trying to kill all those poor bastards on there?”

With a shrug, I answer, “Skye set it up for me.”

“Of course, she did,” he mutters under his breath. “Remind me to smack her when I see her, yeah?”

“Nope. No deal. Not after perusing your profile, mister. It’s not like you have room to talk,” I quip.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The rock climbing pictures? While shirtless?” I fan my face. “Day-um, Owen.”

He throws his head back and laughs even harder. “But you only saw those a few months ago. I’ve been lusting for years.”

“Ahem, if we’re going to play that game, then I’m gonna win. Do you actually think I missed watching any of your stupid football games?” I cross my arms and get cozy in the passenger seat, daring him to argue.

His smile softens as his gaze darts over to mine. “You really watched them?”

“Every single one.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a glutton for punishment,” I reply, snarkily.

With the gentlest of touches, he sets his hand on my thigh, then squeezes. “That honestly means a lot to me, Say. I know that sounds dumb, but it really does. I always played my best when you were in the stands. And after I left…I didn’t know who to play for anymore.”

“Liar,” I tease in an attempt to lighten the mood, though it’s laced with an undertone of bitterness that I pray he doesn’t hear.

The heat from his hand brands me as he rubs his thumb back and forth along my thigh. “I’m serious, Say.”

“I know you, remember?” I rasp, the earlier playfulness that started this conversation vanishing into thin air. “You played for yourself, and like I said, that’s okay. But don’t try to fool yourself into believing that you played for me. If that were true, you wouldn’t have left or broken my heart in the first place.”

“Did you know I wanted to quit?”

I jerk back, convinced I’ve heard him wrong. “What?”

“Yeah. I wanted to quit before I left for college because the idea of leaving you was unbearable.”