Page 17 of Your Play to Call
I can’t help but wear a smile like it’s my fucking job. If anything, I expected a text message, not a phone call. Willow is the type of person who calls. Noted.
My heart beats too fast.
“You called,” I answer, probably too quickly, but I don’t care how excited I sound. It’s the truth.
“Thank you for the peonies. They’re my--”
“Favorite. I know.” I feel borderline smug, but it is what it is.
“How do you know that?” Her voice is sly and inquisitive.
“I have my ways.” I’ve seen almost every interview she’s done and probably have read the ones in print. She doesnotneed to know that I'm a bigger fan than I’m letting on. “So, are you going to let me take you out?”
“You’re for real?” She sounds like she’s trying to figure something out.
“Are you kidding? Yes. I'm for real. Just like I declared to many reporters yesterday.” I lightly laugh at the end.
The line is quiet. I know she heard me. Maybe I read this whole thing wrong. My stomach dips.
“If I overstepped—I'm sorry. I saw a chance and I took it.”
“A chance?” she asks.
My mind runs over itself. I know how much I’ve thought of her since the night we first met and the way my body felt pulled to her at the awards show. But this isn’t something you blurt out. The opposite of cool.
“I told myself if I ever had the opportunity to spend more time with you, I’d take it. I saw you at the awards show and I couldn’t help myself.”
“You didn’t. Overstep, I mean. I’m just surprised.”
“I’m going to need more than that...”
She takes a big breath and sighs. I give her allthe time she needs.
“Don’t worry about it because... I’m in.” The tone of her voice shifts at the end. I thought she was going to tell me “no” right up until the last moment. My heart rattles in my chest, beating fast.
“Yeah?” My voice a bit higher pitched than I intended.
“Yes. It sounds fun.” Her voice is sweet and makes me want to curl up on the couch and talk for much too long.
“Are you free tomorrow night? Dinner?”
“As long as we can run everything through my head of security—”
“I already have their information. For the flowers. I’ll give them a call and get it figured out.”
“Right. How did you even get their info in the first place?” she jokingly presses.
“Told you, I have my ways. Is eight a good time to pick you up?”
“You can’t just pick me up,” she scoffs. “I don’t think that will fly—”
“I’ll handle security. Just be ready at eight. And bring a jacket.”
“Whatever you say, Tripp.” She chuckles as she hangs up the phone. I know in this moment she doesn’t believe me.
My hand shakes as I’m dialing the number for the head of her security team. I bite my lip as my brain runs through the to-do list of how to make this happen. It’s also pointing out the time I’ll be missing out on some sort of training activity on the calendar. There’s always an extra workout, film session, or something completely outside of the team but football focused.
Tough, but I’m hoping also worth it. There’s something about her that’s pulling me in.