“I’ll tell him.”
“When?”
“Whenever I feel like it,” I say, scanning the backyard another time, but I don’t see anything.
I had to have imagined it, right?
~
I’m not sure if I imagined it or not, but now that I’ve let the anxiety in, I can’t stop considering the possibility that the flash I saw could have been the arsonist. To make myself feel better, I’m sleeping in Henry’s room tonight. I’ve also locked every single possible external door and window in the house, and I even double checked to make sure I set the security system.
I didn’t tell JJ, but I did make him stay on the phone with me for the rest of the game before coming up here. I didn’t tell him what was going on, because he probably would have made me go to our parents’ house or a hotel, and I’m not hiding. I know I’m safe here, and I’m not letting anyone scare me away from my home.I’m Mirabelle fucking Walker. I’ve got this.
I sent Henry the picture of me wearing his jersey, and surprisingly, I haven’t heard from him.
They ended up losing, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. The game went into overtime and the Blizzards won with a field goal, but they fought hard.
See, now would be a totally great opportunity to steal a few more of Henry’s shirts, but I’m slowly growing my collection, starting with the shirt he gave me after Quinn made me spill coffee on mine.
Maybe Henry isn’t going to call me tonight. For all I know, I entirely misread all the hints he was dropping about wanting me to wear it.
I drop my phone on the comforter and flop on top of the bed just as my phone begins to ring. I roll over, my heart leaping when I see Henry’s name on the screen.
“Good game, Price,” I answer, trying to be smooth, but apparently I’m as smooth as a piece of sandpaper. Why would I bring up tonight’s loss when I’m attempting to flirt with him?God, I’m dumb.
Henry at least has the decency to laugh. “It wasn’t a good game, but always the optimist, Walker.”
“Sorry,” I say, laughing at my own expense.
“I’m disappointed you finally wore my jersey when I wasn’t there to see it,” he says, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming as I pump my fist into the air.
“I guess I’ll have to make it up to you.” My heart is doing flips in my chest.
“Wear it to the next game?” Henry asks, and I can hear the hope in his voice. It’s fucking adorable.
“Maybe,” I answer, trying to be coy. “I don’t think I could wear the same outfit, though.”Oh shit, what am I doing?
“Oh? Why’s that?”
I play with the edge of the jersey, rolling the fabric between my fingers. “Because I’monlywearing your jersey.”
Henry makes a choked sound, and damn, if it doesn’t make me feel good. “Fuck, Mira,” he swears.
“Where are you?” I ask, wondering how much further I can push this.
“I’m in my hotel room, wishing you were here,” he answers, before turning it back around on me. “Where are you?”
“I’m in your bed, wishing you were here.”
“Goddamn, I think you’re trying to kill me. How the hell did I get so lucky to have a woman as pretty as you in my bed, wearing my last name?”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Henry,” I tease.
“I mean it,mon cœur. You’re beautiful,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say, looking up at his ceiling.
“So is there a reason you’re in my bed?” Henry asks, and maybe it’s because we’re on the phone and not in person, but I swear his voice gets a little deeper.
