18. Natalie

Chapter 18

Natalie

As Heather practiceswalking up and down the aisle, I pull out my phone.

There’s no wedding party. Which I think is cool, because why bother? But I’m sure Heather chose it because she wanted all the attention on her. So I have nothing better to do than search online for Luke Anders.

Sure enough, his cocky grin stares back at me from my screen.

It’s not that I didn’t believe him, but a girl has to be sure.

I click on the top link, which takes me to the Sleet home page, and pull up his bio.

Veteran on the team. Starter.

“Let’s just start with one team, yeah?” Dad whispers as he reads over my shoulder.

I click back to the home page.

“Just some friendly research.” I turn my phone off and set it on my lap.

I felt a little weird when Luke said he played for the Minnesota Sleet. And then, when he confirmed he lived in Minnesota, I started to feel a little more weird.

I didn’t lie.

I do live in Naperville. I’ve spent most of my life in Illinois.

But I didn’t mention that my dad and I, and a group of Wag Corp employees, are moving to Minnesota before the end of the year. Because Dad has decided to finally invest in the one thing he’s always dreamed of.

Professional sports.

Sitting here next to my dad, I send up a silent thank-you for the fact that he loves football above any other sport. Because it will be awkward enough to tell Luke my dad is about to buy Minnesota’s professional football team, the Biters. I can’t even imagine how uncomfortable it would be if my dad was buying his team.

But I’ll wait to tell him.

There’s no need to tell Luke I’ll be moving to his metro area unless we’re somehow still in contact when I make the move.

Until then, why make it weird?

Dad leans into my side again. “I did have a nice chat with the owner the other day.”

“Which owner?” I whisper back, thinking of the couple that currently owns the Biters.

“The Sleet owner.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

“Dad, I⁠—”

“Don’t worry, he wasn’t offering to sell. I know one team is enough.” Dad pats my knee, misunderstanding my reaction. “He invited us to a game.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice.” I try to think of something else to say. Something other than Oh, that’s funny because I was practically humping one of their star players in the ocean this afternoon. But I can’t think of anything, so we just settle into silence.

Turning off the bathroom light, I head into the main part of my suite.

I took a quick rinse-off shower after our outdoor dinner. And now my hair is up in a bun on the top of my head, and I’m in my pajamas with my nighttime lotions slathered all over my body.

I flop onto the bed.

The TV is playing reruns of a show I’m not familiar with, but I like the background noise, especially when I’m staying in a hotel room alone.

With no one here to look over my shoulder, I prop myself up on my elbows, pick up my phone, and resume my search for information on Luke.

His Instagram is one of the top hits, and I click on it.

I’m not going to pretend that I’m better than this. That I won’t snoop through any of his public profiles. This is reality, and a girl can never be too careful.

As I scroll through his posts, I’m a little surprised at how tame his photos are.

Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, but in my interactions with him so far, he’s given off a cocky jock vibe. I’ve seen him in just swim trunks. I’ve seen him in sweaty, clinging clothing. He’s always grinning and smirking.

But these photos of him are all fully dressed.

And there are some with him in a suit before a game, but most of them are just ones he’s taken himself of regular life stuff.

He has one with him holding an orange cat, their faces pressed together cheek to cheek, Luke smiling at the camera.

I tap the heart below the picture, then scroll to the next photo.

My fingers freeze.

Shit.

I scroll back up.

I didn’t mean to heart that.

Fuck.

Do I unlike it?

Will he still get a notification that I liked it?

Would he even see it?

He’s got—I click back up to his profile—a ton of followers. His notifications must be out of control.

He probably won’t see it.

My phone vibrates, notifying me that I have a new message request.

From Luke’s account.

I drop my face to the bedspread.

Caught.

I wallow in embarrassment for a heartbeat, then lift my head and open the message.