“I used to date the security guy.” She beamed up at him with pearly whites that made her jacket look positively dingy. Her bright blue eyes danced with her clandestine thrill.
In the two hours since he’d picked her up at her apartment, Bridgette had tried to convince
him to spend the night with her three times. Yet all Grant could think about was Faith. Faith and what she was doing with her Christmas Eve day without the ice-sculpting contest on her agenda. Faith and all the texts she hadn’t returned. Faith and his calls she hadn’t taken.
He knew how to read the message she was sending loud and clear. He just wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of it. And now that he was back in the middle of this hot mess he called a life, everything he’d found cute or quirky about Faith to begin with were the very things he loved about her now. Missed about her now.
And he didn’t know what the hell to do about it.
Thankfully, the ceremony ended within ten minutes. Grant grabbed a private limo ride to the reception with Bridgette and spent the ten-minute drive repeating what he’d already told her earlier in the evening. But this time, he wasn’t as nice about it. Bridgett pushed from the taxi livid and strode past Donovan and Savage who were waiting for him at the curb.
When Grant stood from the car to tip the driver, Rafe said, “What the hell did you do to ruin that sure thing?”
“Go find your coeds.” Grant pushed his billfold back into his pants pocket and wandered their direction. He was already exhausted and it was only eight o’clock. “I’ll keep the hall monitor in check.”
Rafe pounded Grant’s fist. “I owe you.”
“Grow up,” Tate yelled at Rafe’s back, which he ignored.
Grant and Tate joined the reception, neither interested in being there. They spent half an hour talking about Grant’s shoulder, the team and the games Grant missed while he was in Holly. Which only reminded him of that ache in the pit of his stomach and made him glance at his phone again.
Still nothing. And God help him, all he could think about was her walking away, with her “Safe travels, Grant Saber” ringing in his head.
Tonight the words felt more like a permanent good-bye than a see you later.
“Who is she?” Tate’s question pulled Grant’s gaze from his drink. Tate had his shoulder against a pillar, his eyes on Grant.
“Who is who?”
“The chick? The one who’s not texting you back. The one who’s making you wish you were somewhere else?”
“What makes you think it’s a chick? Maybe I’m just sick and tired of this monkey-suit-smile-for-the-camera shit. Maybe I’m thinking about negotiating my next contract differently next time around.”
“Because otherwise you’d have done Bridgette in the bathroom at the pre-party already and be looking for another empty closet somewhere in here. Or, if you’d already tired of Bridgette after one ride, you’d be prowling with Savage.” Tate smiled, but it wasn’t happy, and it wasn’t smug. It was sad. “And, because I’ve been there. Not all that long ago. I recognize the signs.”
Ah shit. Grant had forgotten about Tate’s divorce. “Hey, man, I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. It sucks. And I’m here to tell you, if you love her, it doesn’t get any better.”
Grant downed half of his drink, wincing at the burn. “Just what I needed to hear tonight.”
Did he love her? Grant had never been in love. He knew he was crazy about her. Certainly didn’t want to think about the coming weeks and months without talking to her, seeing her, touching her.
But, love?
“God, I’m tired.” He rubbed his eyes. “I just want to go home.”
No. Not home. He wanted to go to Faith.
He wanted to go home to Faith.
Home and Faith.
Yes.
They fit.
But, still... Was that love? And did it matter?