Page 66 of Slapshot Baby

I didn't mean it. Or I did, but not like that.

Not when Kai's sitting in the grass with his knee warm against mine pretending to be something I want him to be while I pretend I don't want it back.

"Ava."

"Forget it. I was talking about the dog."

He's quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is low enough that only I can hear.

"I didn't forget you. My brain was damaged. Those aren't the same thing."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

I throw the ball harder than necessary. Biscuit sprints after it, delighted. The children cheer.

I don't answer because the honest answer is complicated and the dishonest answer isn't worth saying.

The afternoon spools out slow and golden. I eat the steak Charles hands me from the grill, well-seasoned and perfectly brown, served with a grunt and a nod.

I sit on the porch with my bare feet on the warm wood, Biscuit's head in my lap.

Kai stays close. His hand finds my waist when we're standing, my shoulder when we're sitting. He whispers dry, flat commentary in my ear about his relatives, perfectly timed observations that make me bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"Uncle Gerald tells that fishing story every year. There was no fish." His mouth brushes my ear when he says it and a shiver rolls down my spine.

"Stop. I'm trying to look interested."

But I’m leaning into him. My hand begins to reach for his.

I catch myself smiling at the way he tilts his head when he's listening. The way his thumb traces circles on my hip when he's not thinking about it. The way he stands slightly in front of me in crowded spaces like his body has decided to protect mine without consulting his brain.

This is what it would feel like if it were real.

This is what it would feel like to be his.

The thought spreads through me like the heat of hot tea swallowed too fast. It fills my chest, my throat, the backs of my eyes.

I blink hard and focus on Biscuit, who is letting a toddler use her as a pillow.

I’m like that for several hours, soaking in the warmth of Kai’s family. Enjoying every bit of this weekend getaway.

I'm sitting on the porch steps scratching Biscuit's ears when I notice the woman.

Tall. Dark hair slicing sharp at her shoulders. A sundress that exists for the sole purpose of making every other woman nearby feel like she got dressed in the dark.

She's leaning against the porch railing talking to Kai.

No. Not talking. Talking is what adults do about weather and parking.

What this woman is doing involves touching her collarbone while she laughs, angling her body toward Kai. One hand rests on his forearm while she laughs at something he's said.

My whole body goes hot.

You don't get to feel this. You are fake dating this man. You designed the rules to prevent exactly this. You are watching your not-boyfriend talk to a beautiful woman and you want to walk over there and peel her fingers off his arm one by one.

That is unhinged.