“How was your night with Sawyer?” It’s a few days after my pregame excursion with Sawyer. I’m sitting on my couch with the TV on silent, talking to Bear. He’s taken to calling me every night while Sawyer and I text all day. I don’t want to admit how much I look forward to Bear’s gravelly voice on the other end of the phone, even if he’s always so serious. Sawyer is flirtier.
I touch my lips where I still feel the ghost of Sawyer’s kiss. He’d swept me off my feet until I floated in the sky with the fireworks. It wasn’t his fault I forgot it was a game. The moment he reminded me; I came crashing down.
“Amazing. You and he are even.” There. My voice is coy and flirty, not a hint of wobble to betray my raw, unsure feelings. Which is crazy. I shouldn’t have feelings. I take a deep breath and
