Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I’m…not sure how to respond to that. I’m not even sure how to feel about it. I’ve never had my parents think I’m in a secret relationship with someone, and the thing is, they’re kinda right. Hayes isn’t my boyfriend, but we’re a secret, and we’re fucking, and he holds ice to my eye when I get hurt, and cooks dinner with me, and tells me about the times he hangs out with the Jilted Exes—while pretending he doesn’t like it and doesn’t think they’re friends. Then I remind him he does like it, and they are his friends, and he pouts adorably, and I kiss him, and…
My stomach flutters.
Holy shit.
I have a crush on Hayes.
How did I not see this before? It’s bad…really fucking bad. He’s made it one hundred percent clear he doesn’t want a relationship, and I did the same. I’m not supposed to want a relationship with him.
Do I want a relationship with him? And how many times can I think the word relationship in like five seconds? Now is not the time to be feeling this. It’ll mess everything up. Changing the rules with Hayes will make me risk losing him. And even if that doesn’t happen, the way things are now works. Am I supposed to have my first boyfriend this close to the end of the season? What if dating changes this good-luck juju between us?
“Rylan? Are you okay?” Mom asks. “You look a little pale, and you’re staring off into space.”
My mom’s words don’t compute. At least, I can’t make myself answer yet. I’ve been calling Hayes baby every time my dick’s inside him. I don’t plan it. The endearment simply falls out, and now we just go with it. I have a billion nicknames for Hayes, and apparently, my sex nickname for him is baby, which is something else I’ve never done with anyone. Did my subconscious know I was crushing on him before the rest of me? I’d still be blissfully in the dark if it wasn’t for my parents.
“I think he’s coming to a realization,” Dad tells Mom.
That snaps me out of it, and I lean forward, resting my forehead against the table. “Oh my God. I have a crush on Hayes.”
“Did you not realize it until this moment? The last two weeks, I could tell by the way you talk about him.” Mom rubs my shoulder.
“I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Dad tells me.
“Oh, believe me, I am. This is a mess.” They don’t know the whole story. Of course, I’m not going to share with my parents that Hayes was a one-night stand who is only sleeping with me for sexual experience, or that I’m only supposed to be sleeping with him because he’s good luck. And that’s without even taking into consideration that he’s part of the Jilted Exes, so he has a lot of hang-ups. Hayes is right—and people will make a big deal online about him dating a hockey player from the game where he proposed to his cheating boyfriend. Even if they didn’t talk about that part, Hayes having a public relationship would dredge up the Jilted Exes stuff, which has started to calm down. It would be impossible to date me without it being public, without it becoming a think piece or a hot topic or a subject for people who like to sit around and talk about other people’s lives.
“Why is it a mess?” Mom asks, and I sit up again, making her hand fall away. I can’t even think right now.
“Too many reasons to count.”
“Just tell him how you feel,” Mom adds, and my eyeballs nearly fall out of my head.
“I can’t do that! That’s the worst advice ever. Especially not right now.” It will make Hayes run, and I’m not ready to lose him yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hayes
Fun fact: while I’m apparently good luck for Rylan, I don’t spare any for myself. My good-luck gene must have only activated when I met him because it’s not something I’ve ever had much of.
Case in point, my fellow Jilted Exes want to get together to watch Rylan’s game at Donovan’s tonight—only for them, it’s not Rylan’s game; it’s the Rebels’ game. While we haven’t made it to Anthony’s bar yet, we’ve been getting together about once a week. I’ve stopped pretending I’m not going to go, though I do still grumble to Rylan about it. The truth is, I like Donovan and Anthony. And I like feeling part of something because I never really have before.
My phone buzzes with a text as I sit in front of Donovan’s house.
Rylan: Wish me good pucking luck, cutie.
I grin. It’s such a stupid nickname, but evidently, I’m starting to enjoy stupid.
Me: Good luck.
I’m not saying good pucking luck. I hit Send and then feel my chest get tight, worry creeping in, so I send another text.