Page 65 of Slapshot Baby

"That's my natural color when your mother is nicer to me than I deserve."

His quiet laugh vibrates against my shoulder. My skin pebbles from my neck to my wrists.

Inside, the house opens into a great room with cathedral ceilings and a stone fireplace. People cluster on couches and around a long dining table, voices layered over each other. Kids run between the furniture. The smell of coffee and bacon lingers.

Kai steers me through the room, his palm flat against my spine. Each introduction follows the same script.

"This is Ava. My girlfriend."

He says it like it’s an obvious fact, leaving no room for questions. Like it's been true for months and he's simply updating people who haven't been paying attention.

My girlfriend.

The words sink into my skin and settle there, warm and heavy.

It's fake. You drew the lines and wrote the rules. This is a performance that will soon be over.

But every time he says it, the word girlfriend settles deeper into my bones. Into the place where I've been keeping the door locked since the night I left his penthouse and told myself it was just sex.

An older man with Charles's heavy brow shakes my hand and calls me a saint for putting up with the Donovan stubbornness.

A woman with Laura's eyes and a louder laugh tells me Kai has never brought anyone to a family event. She squeezes my arm like I've been initiated into something I didn't apply for.

Biscuit is an immediate hit. She throws herself at every new pair of legs. Charles bends down to pet her and she rolls belly-up for him immediately.

"Traitor," I mutter. "He's supposed to earn that."

Charles's mouth twitches, the closest thing to a smile I've seen from him.

I chase Biscuit across the lawn when she steals a badminton birdie, tackle her gently in the grass, and pry it from her mouth while she wags her whole body at me, tongue out.

"Drop it, you little criminal."

She licks my entire face instead of dropping it. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.

A boy joins the pursuit. The two of them tear across the yard while I sit in the grass catching my breath, watching my ridiculous dog make a friend.

Kai drops beside me in the grass. He watches Biscuit and the boy with an expression that's softer than I've seen on him.

"She's good with kids," he says.

"Biscuit has no social anxiety. She's also not pretending to date anyone."

I look away before my face gives anything up.

Mira appears from somewhere with tennis balls. The kids organize a fetch relay that Biscuit dominates with shameless athleticism. She brings every ball back to me, dropping it at my feet and staring up with brown eyes full of uncomplicated adoration.

Why can't all relationships be this simple? You throw the ball, they bring it back. Nobody talks about their feelings.

"You love that dog more than most humans," Kai says.

"Most humans haven't earned what Biscuit has earned."

"What has she earned?"

"Unconditional trust." I throw the ball again. "She's never ghosted me or forgotten my name."

The words come out sharp. Kai goes still beside me.