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There’s a flicker of warmth in my chest, but whether it’s from her silly nickname or her praise, I can’t be sure. “Well, let’s hope Boston agrees with you.”
“They will,” she assures me.
She brushes one thick tendril of her chestnut waves over her shoulder, and my eyes follow the silken movement in a way that just feels too aware for my best friend’s little sister. My attention feels like the kind I would give a beautiful woman I saw across a bar, and I realize it’s because I would if I didn’t know her. If we didn’t have the history we do. What the fuck?
I don’t even realize I’m still staring until she talks again.
“So…Mei got remarried, huh?” she asks casually, not looking at me. “How do you feel about that? Are you okay?”
I feel a wave of genuine confusion. “Okay?”
“Yeah, you know…It must be weird.”
“Not really,” I tell her honestly. “I’m happy for her. They’re great together.”
I get the feeling that Lila must have at least seen the headlines from the last couple of weeks. Regardless of what she believes me to be capable of, it’s clear that the possibility is still floating around in her mind that I might be hung up on my ex-wife, that I might have tried to sabotage her wedding…whatever else the news outlets have spat out lately. She gives me a strange look, almost like maybe she doesn’t believe me when I say I’m fine with Mei being off the market again, but it feels odd to try to reassure her. I mean, what would be the point? It doesn’t matter if Lila might think I’m still torn up over Mei.
“This is weird, right?”
My train of thought falters as I give her my attention, watching as she leans back in her chair and crosses her arms loosely over her stomach.
“What’s weird?”
“Talking after so long. It didn’t used to be weird.”
“Oh.”
I consider this, taking in all the things that have changed with her; her soft mouth, her softer curves, the spray of freckles over her nose that have gone from endearingly cute to sinfully enticing—all the things I shouldn’t be noticing about her but can’t help but notice, anyway.
“It’s just been a while.”
“You’re different,” she says with a crease on her forehead.
“Am I?”
“You used to smile a lot more,” she points out. “You seem more serious now.”
My mouth curls down. “A lot has changed, I guess.”
“That’s fair,” she reasons. “I can’t say I haven’t changed a little bit myself.”
She says it offhandedly, probably just trying to commiserate, but my eyes tilt down to the stretch of her T-shirt over her chest compulsively—it’s an easy mistake, I think, given that her crossed arms make everything above them more prominent—too quickly for me to even realize what I’m doing, but not quick enough that I don’t notice her noticing I’ve done it.
What the fuck is wrong with you? This is Lila.
I’ve never been more grateful for growing my hair out. There’s no way my ears aren’t red.
“You’ve definitely changed,” I mutter distractedly, only making the moment weirder.
Fucking hell.
I rattle the ice in my now-empty cup. “I’d better be getting back to Jack’s,” I blurt out. “He mentioned going over some game footage before we start training camp.”
“Of course he did,” she says with a breezy laugh.
When the fuck did I become so conscious of dimples?
She stands, taking her cup with her, and I do the same, hovering awkwardly and making a point to keep my eyes on her face, where it’s safe.
