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“Okay.”

I should probably thank him, get his hoodie, and send him on his way. But all I manage to do is stand there looking at him, thinking about how Wyatt's fingers felt against my neck.

Why does he have to be so fucking handsome?

He glances down at my dress, then back at my face.

“You look really good, by the way.”

Oh.

“Thanks.”

“Seriously.” He gives me a small smile. “Adam is a lucky guy.”

Warmth spreads through my chest at his words. “I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear you think so.”

“Have a good time tonight, okay?”

“You don't sound very convincing.”

“Yeah, well.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I'm trying.”

My stomach does that stupid little flip again.

He's gone before I can think too much about that statement, what it meant, and what I want it to mean.

I stand in my own doorway for a second longer than necessary, listening to his footsteps fade down the hall, before I make myself turn back toward the mirror.

It's then that I realize that I never got his hoodie for him.

I finish getting ready. I put in the second earring.

I look, objectively, like a woman who's put together and ready for a promising evening with a nice, appropriate man my dad picked who has never once made my pulse do something inappropriate.

I lean in to check my lipstick. My phone buzzes. The car's outside.

I go, and the whole way down in the elevator I have to actively remind myself who I'm supposed to be excited to see tonight, and it isn't the person my face was arranging itself for two minutes ago.

10

WYATT

Stick Problems

By seven, I'm sitting on the couch, taping a new stick.

It's a perfectly normal thing to do on a Saturday night. I've got a game coming up, and the stick needs taping. That's all.

Nothing to do with the fact that Quinn's somewhere across town right now, having dinner with some guy in that fucking green dress.

I finish wrapping the blade and take a look at it.

What the fuck?

The tape's bunched up near the heel, and I've somehow left a gap near the toe. I've been doing this since I was a kid. I could tape a stick in my sleep, but apparently, thinking about Quinn on a date is enough to make me forget how.

I rip the tape off and start again.