Tomboy (The Hartigans #3)(46)

Good. It was about time he returned to form. He may not have wanted to see his parents, but it was a good reminder of how the world really was. It wasn’t just sexy nurses and blocked goals. It was disappointment and a constant slog. And if the reality of that put him in a bad mood, made people hate him on sight? Excellent. Then that would be one less user to deal with.

His phone vibrated as a text message came in.

LL: Great game tonight.

He stared at the message from Fallon for a full thirty seconds, fighting off the urge to enjoy the interaction before he could shoot back the bare minimum.

Zach: Tks

Her answer popped up almost immediately.

LL: The check you put on Vartnan was a thing of beauty.

He sent a thumbs-up emoji in response.

If he was an asshole before, he was a gaslighting dickhead now. Still, it was what needed to be done. So the silence from the other end of the phone was both an indictment and a confirmation. He should have known better, though. Fallon didn’t let things go.

LL: Are you okay?

Zach: Fine.

For someone who couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to go to shit. His parents hadn’t shown up for pocket change. They wanted more, and they would figure out a way to get it.

LL: On the plane yet?

Zach: Yep.

He was doing the right thing here with the short answers and refusing to be drawn in. She was his Lady Luck, but self-preservation wasn’t something to be fucked with. Things with Fallon weren’t easy in the regular sense—she was too much of a pain-in-the-ass scrapper for that—but they were at ease together, their snarly personalities fit.

LL: So about the fundraiser…

Zach: I’ll talk to the guys on the flight.

Yeah. That was not gonna happen.

LL: No. You don’t have to come.

He stared at his screen. This was good. It was fucking great. So why was he in danger of crushing his phone in his tight grip?

Zach: You don’t want me there?

LL: That’s not what I said.

Yeah. It was. And, again, he should be doing the happy dance in his chair. He wasn’t.

Zach: The fuck, Fallon?

LL: You don’t owe me any quid pro quo. I’ll show up to the games. I’ll keep my word.

That stopped him, and all he could hear was the rush of his pulse pounding through his ears. She didn’t want any quid pro quo? That was how the world worked—thanks Mom and Dad for that timely reminder. What she was really saying here was that she didn’t want him. He might get paid to move a puck around the ice, but even he could grasp that truth.

Zach: And my word to you isn’t important?

LL: That’s not what I said.

Zach: That’s exactly what you said.

He would have showed the text stream to Stuckey, who would definitely agree, if he hadn’t all but told the defenseman to fuck off.

LL: Don’t be obtuse. All I’m saying is that I don’t want to use you. If you want to come to the fundraiser tomorrow afternoon of your own free will, great. If you don’t. Fine.

That hit a little too close. Why would she… And that’s when it hit him.

Zach: Is this because of the other night? Because you want to do it on the regular?

LL: What, all the hot sex? You think a few orgasms turns me into someone who has to have a man?

For the first time since he left the locker room, the corner of his mouth kicked up. Holy hell, they really were two peas in an uncomfortably tight pod. Exposed soft underbelly? Cover that shit up with a titanium plate.

Zach: Stop doing that.

LL: What?

Zach: Getting defensive because you feel vulnerable.

LL: Look who’s been reading all the self-help sites.

Ouch. That was a direct hit. Still, it just made him snort-laugh. She wasn’t wrong. His yoga teacher had recommended a few sites for mindfulness, and he’d overheard one of the other guys talking about this personality quiz he’d taken at his girlfriend’s insistence about some kind of love languages thing. So yeah, he was a Googling motherfucker, but that didn’t mean he wanted anyone to know.

LL: That was bitchy. I’m sorry.

How did she make that look so easy? It literally took her thirty-five seconds to go from explosion to apology. Him? He usually stewed and held grudges and plotted revenge that he’d never carry out. But this time, he needed to try something different.

Zach: I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have been an ass when you first texted.

LL: It’s a little awkward now, I guess after the sex.

And there was his Fallon—who really wasn’t his, and that was starting to make his stomach cramp—blunt and to the point.

Zach: It’s not that.

LL: What is it?

Did he really want to go there? On text? Screenshots lived forever, as one of his old teammates found out when some chick put him on blast after they’d broken up. Some dudes really shouldn’t take dick pics.

But this wasn’t someone with a grudge. This was Lady Luck. No. This was Fallon.

Zach: My parents were at the game.

LL: Oh, that’s nice.

Zach: Not at all.

LL: Oh. I don’t want to butt into your business. I know how it feels to have an overbearing family that’s always too involved in your life.

Yeah. That wasn’t his problem—unless by business she meant bank account.