Page 71 of Your Play to Call

Willow’s phone dings. She takes it out of her pocket and furrows her eyebrows, before rolling her eyes.

“Everything good?” I ask.

She changes her face and forces a smile.

“Yes, all good. Nothing important.”

Chapter 38

Willow

Dexter

Will. We need to talk.

That’s the text Iget while I’m with Tripp and his mom. It makes my skin crawl, like it doesn’t fit my bones.

It’s been months and I’ve heard nothing from Dexter. Not even as much as a drunk dial. Even if I didn’t say it out loud, at first, his immediate absence hurt.

I’ll never understand people who can just get rid of someone like they didn’t share years of their lives together. A few months after, I had come to terms with him leaving. Now, I’m fine without him. Naturally, he’s always had a knack for timing.

I don’t respond to Dexter. In fact, I try to push him to the back of my mind as far as it will go, so I can be with Tripp—the one who deserves my attention. The one who makes me feel like I count, every time we’re together.

“How does it feel to be undefeated, Mr. Owens?” I put a fake microphone in front of him and Wendy giggles.

“Pretty damn good,” he jokes, grabbing my wrist, like I have a real mic and he needs it to be closer.

Instead of going out with the team, the three of us go out to dinner. Emilie set it up at one of my favorite restaurants, a place that specializes in small plates, that has a great track record of getting me in and outwithout much hassle. I know the press is inevitable, but I’ll do what I can for Tripp and Wendy.

We arrive with no issue, probably since my security team has been changing up their vehicles. It’s not a sustainable practice to do long-term but is doable for now.

It feels like we order the entire menu. Plus, our server brings out a few bonus chef plates. This is something that usually happens when I come in here and it’s one of my favorite parts. I don’t know how they do it, but they are always incredible. I don’t think I’ve gotten a repeat yet either.

“I’m going to head home before I slip into a food coma at this table,” Wendy says. She always has a driver on game days to get her home safe.

“Are we still on for lunch Thursday?” Wendy asks as she’s hugging me goodbye.

“Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it.” I can feel Tripp’s eyes on me.

Tripp and Wendy say their goodbyes and Tripp slides into the booth seat next to me.

“Are you sure about going home tonight?” he says, running fingers on my tights, right under the hem of my skirt.

“I should. I have a label meeting in a few days and need to get some tracks squared away.” His fingers keep drawing lazy lines.

Plus, I need to sort out this Dexter thing. I don’t tell him that. Part of me feels guilty for keeping this from him. But I don’t even know whatthisis. Who knows what Dexter wants?

Do I care? When the answer isn’t immediately “no”, a rush of guilt hits me.

“Fine. Responsibilities win this time. Are you ready?” Tripp asks, pulling my mind from Dexter.

I give him the one second gesture and take out a thank you note. He knows the drill. I leave the envelope on the table.

Tripp grabs me by the hand, and we go out the back way. Luckily, we don’t meet a single paparazzi. Minus our drivers both waiting for us, it feels like we’re a normal couple.

“Thanks for coming. And for wearing my jersey,” Tripp whispers in my ear, nipping at my earlobe.

“Be good,” I giggle.