“Well duh, we just got here. Nobody has any mail yet,” Nate says, totally going along with our plan. Ty, however, makes a face, and the second I see his eyebrow tick up, I look away; I know I won’t be able to bluff him if he looks right at me.
I have to nudge Rowe in the ribs once to get her giggles under control, and when the doors open, we step from the elevator and move toward the boys’ room.
At least, what used to be the boys’ room.
“I’m kind of tired. You know, I think I’m going to go to bed early. Long flight. Hope you don’t mind,” I smirk, and Ty knows instantly.
“Son of a bitch,” he says, his head shaking as he looks to his lap and bites his lip, then lets out a reluctant laugh and folds his hands together, his thumbs tapping one another because he knows. He knows!
“Oh, that’s fine,” Nate says, trying to be polite, still not caught up with the rest of us.
“Good, well…you’re going to need your keys,” I say, tossing them to him. He catches them at his chest, and then realization settles in slowly. Rowe and I push in through our new door, all of our things inside, as if we’d always been here.
“Good night boys,” she says, and we both blow them kisses as we close the door behind us, locking it too, just in case.
My phone buzzes about two minutes later with a text from Ty.
TY: Well played, Ninja.
ME: Enjoy your shit-brown room ;-)
TY: Oh I will.
ME: I don’t doubt it.
I think I may be more proud of this than I am of making the women’s soccer team. I fluff out the Barbie comforter and layer it with my quilt, then crawl into bed, kicking my shoes off and letting them fall to the floor. Rowe does the same.
“You know, I kinda like their room better,” she says, scooting into the deep corner of what used to be Nate’s bed with her blankets and pillows piled around her.
I smile at her, then say, “You mean our room.” I let myself relax, and when my phone buzzes under the blanket, I dip my head underneath to read Ty’s message privately.
TY: You know I love you, right?
ME: Yeah. I know.
TY: Good. Now watch your back…babe ;-)
My face buried deep in my sheets, I shake my head and grin from ear-to-ear, stopping short of kicking my feet and squealing because of how he makes me feel. I’ll let him get over this, and stew for a little while. Then I’ll give in and make my way to the brown room to spend the night—trading places with Nate, because that’s where I really want to be. I’ll watch my back, and he’ll probably get me with something way better than this prank eventually. But I won’t care.
I won’t care, because I love him. I’m in love with him. I love his funny side and his serious side. I love that he’s protective, and I love the part of him that sometimes misses baseball and won’t admit it out loud. I love the way he can talk to me with his eyes, yet never say a word with his mouth. And I love the part of him that thinks he can do anything—especially the impossible.
Tyson Preeter is my boyfriend—a real boyfriend, the kind that takes me on dates and leaves me love notes. The kind I wished for—the kind I promised myself I would have. The kind who loves me.
The kind who made me love me, too.
And I love him for that most of all.
Epilogue
Four months later
Ty
“Okay, so this series…it’s important,” I say, leaning over Rowe, ignoring Cass’s glare.
“She knows that, Ty,” Cass says, and I wave my hand at her, hushing her.
“I’m just making sure. This series, if we win, moves us to number one. Number. One.” I hold up one finger. Just to make my point totally clear.
Rowe leans forward, effectively ignoring me, talking to Cass. “Does he think I’m stupid?” she asks, pointing at me. “He thinks I’m stupid.”
“Yeah, I kinda think he thinks you’re stupid,” Cass jumps on the bandwagon. I pull my hat from my head and rub my face.
“Oh ha ha ha, yes, very funny ladies. Let’s cut the cutesy,” I say, and Cass punches my arm. “Oww!”
“You’re kind of crossing the line,” she says, giving me the face. The one she uses when I’m being too Tyson, as she likes to say.
“What was too much? Cutesy? Fine, I take back cutesy. Now focus,” I say, and now they’re both laughing at me. And I’m frustrated. “Forget it. This is no use. I’m just going to hope you don’t fuck up baseball, since you’re not taking me seriously.”