Chapter Fifteen #2
You seem to be exhibiting signs of jealousy, Harriet. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider your decision about pursuing
a relationship with Gale?
“I’m not jealous!” I protest, a bit too quickly. Now E.M.M.A. is what, a mind reader? “I’m just looking out for my friend.
I don’t want him to get hurt.”
Of course, E.M.M.A. says, in a tone that makes it clear the AI doesn’t believe me for a second. I recommend you arrange an introduction between Gale and Jasmine. I can provide her manager’s contact details.
I hesitate. This was what I wanted, right? A good match for Gale, someone who isn’t burning through vibrator batteries because
she can’t stop imagining him on his knees, looking up with those eager dark eyes . . . God. Just the thought makes heat pool
between my legs, makes me shift in my chair, desperate for friction.
Is matchmaking Gale a good idea? No way. But I have to try, because I am sure E.M.M.A. is right and he does need someone in
his life. And not me. Not the woman who’s got a growing collection of bookmarked erotica that would make a romance novelist
blush. If I don’t at least attempt to keep my distance, I’m going to end up in a whole world of trouble. I’ve already made
out with him twice. Two mind-scrambling, pulse-racing times that left me wanting more. That left me awake at night, fingers
sliding between my thighs as I imagined all the ways I could make him beg.
And that’s two times too many.
Shit.
Every time I see him, it’s like my common sense takes a vacation.
My heart races, my skin heats up, and I forget every reason why this is a bad idea.
One more of those looks from him and I might just throw caution to the wind.
But I can’t. I won’t. Even if the temptation is killing me.
Which, right now, it definitely feels like it is.
I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the conflicting emotions swirling in my chest. “I . . . I need to think about it,”
I finally say. “Let’s put this on hold for now, okay?”
UNDERSTOOD, E.M.M.A. intones flatly. THIS SYSTEM WILL CONTINUE TO ASSIST FOR FUTURE DECISION-MAKING PROCESSES. TOPICS AVAILABLE FOR PROCESSING: GALE’S COMPATIBILITY
ANALYSIS AND CURRENT USER’S EMOTIONAL STATE ASSESSMENT.
I groan, slamming my laptop shut with more force than necessary. I need space.
“Stupid,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “So stupid.” I am supposed to be the strong one, with walls a mile high.
Instead I’m more like the Palace of Knossos, strong walls, yes, technically, but in my core is a twisty-turny labyrinth and
my morals bang around within it as unpredictable as a Minotaur.
I push away from my desk, needing to move, to shake off this digital dependency and face the facts: The only way to keep Gale
at arm’s length is if he were to belong to someone else. I’ll keep these newfound cravings where they belong—locked safely
in late-night fantasies, in the privacy of my shower, where I can let the hot water run down my body as I imagine his mouth
following its path. In the dark when I’m alone with my vibrator and my filthy imagination, when I can pretend it’s him writhing
beneath me, begging for permission, those dark eyes desperate as I make him wait.
Because fantasies are all they can ever be.
All they should be.
I stare at my phone, thumb hovering over Gale’s name in my contacts. Why is this so hard? It’s just a text, for crying out loud. But after our kiss and my subsequent freak-out on the weekend, things have been radio silent.
Taking a deep breath, I finally tap out a message:
Harriet: How was practice?
I hit send before I can overthink it. Gale’s response comes quicker than I expected:
Gale: Great, actually.
My eyebrows shoot up. This is new. Gale has been struggling since being made a healthy scratch.
Me: Yeah? What changed?
Gale: Not sure. Just felt more focused, I guess. Coach even gave me some ice time with the first line.
A smile spreads across my face.
Harriet: That’s awesome, Gale! I’m so proud of you.
Gale: Thanks. It felt good to be back out there, you know? Really playing.
I can almost hear the relief in his words. Before I can respond, another message pops up:
Gale: Hey, this might sound weird, but . . . think you deserve the credit.
My heart skips. What does he mean by that?
Gale: I’ve been thinking about you. A lot. And by a lot I mean every hour, every minute, all the time. And today, when I was on
the ice, I kept remembering what you said about believing in me. It helped.
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. This is exactly what I’d been afraid of. I messed everything up with that stupid kiss, and now Gale is . . . what? Attributing
his success to me? It isn’t that simple—can’t be that simple. Having someone truly see you, believe in you, support you through
your darkest moments—yes, that could help rebuild the shattered pieces of self-worth. But I can’t let myself become his emotional
crutch, his talisman against doubt. That wouldn’t be healthy for either of us.
The worst part? A tiny, selfish part of me wants to lean into it. To let myself believe I am as important to him as he is
to me. But in that way lies madness—I have to shut this down. Fast. Before hope can take root, before we cross a line we can’t
uncross.
I have to shut this down. Now.
Harriet: Oh, that’s great! But I’m sure it was all you. Speaking of which, I was working with E.M.M.A. and might have found you a
match!!!!!!
I cringe as soon as I hit send, my stomach doing a full gymnastics routine.
Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Harriet. Way to chicken out.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, itching to type something—anything—that isn’t this exclamation-heavy bait and switch.
But the memory of Gale’s lips on mine freezes me—those earth-shattering kisses that have been keeping me up at night, making me bite my pillow to stay quiet as I touch myself.
God, I’m getting wet just thinking about it, squirming in my chair when I should be working.
But I can’t let myself have this. Can’t let myself imagine what else those lips could do if ordered. No. I gotta stop.
Focus, Harriet. Keep it professional.
He starts typing and stops at least three times.
Gale: Wait, what?
I can practically see his knotted brow through the screen. But I am committed now. No turning back.
Harriet: Hey . . . I had E.M.M.A. run some analysis to find you a perfect match.
There is another long pause. Too long. I start typing again, words spilling out in a nervous rush.
Harriet: It’s Jasmine Chen—the WNBA player, and she’s a local, if you can believe it. E.M.M.A. says you have a lot in common. Love
of sports, similar sense of humor. She’s a cat lady too. And she’s tall. You’re tall. She likes sports. You like sports.
Another pause. Then:
Gale: What’s really going on here?
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.
Harriet: It’s exactly as always. I’m just trying to keep my promise. You know, find you a good match so you can improve your gameplay. See if E.M.M.A. is right. Jasmine seems great. You have such high compatibility matching.
Gale: I won’t force anything here. But circling back to this matchmaking stuff feels like you trying to push me away.
I stare at the screen, my throat tight. Gale isn’t wrong, but it’s not just about being uncertain about putting my fantasies
into action, but about protecting the friendships that mean the world to me. I close my eyes, a memory flashing unbidden,
from five years ago, right after Gale joined the Regals:
Brooke, expression grim as she deleted our friend Jess’s number from her phone. “My friends are like family to me,” she had
said, her voice tight. “But Gale is my actual family. If something goes wrong between him and a friend . . . I’ll always have
his back. I hate that it has to be that way, but he’s my brother.” There’d been real regret in her eyes, but also certainty.
The image shifts to Brooke at a party, shoulders tense, turning away from Jess’s tearful apologies. Gale, looking uncomfortable,
trying to smooth things over, but Brooke had already made her choice. Our college friend group eventually fractured. And of
course I chose Brooke—I understood her impossible position.
I can’t become another Jess, or have Brooke shut me out. If things didn’t work out with Gale, the damage would be done. Because
let’s face it, my romantic track record isn’t exactly stellar. And Brooke . . . she’ll always choose her brother. I respect
her loyalty, but the thought of losing them both is unacceptable to ponder.
Harriet: I just want you to be happy.
Gale: And you don’t think I could be happy with you?
The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I blink back tears, my fingers shaking as I type:
Harriet: It’s complicated. I’m best friends with your sister. If this went bad between us, it would affect that relationship. There’s
just a lot at stake.
Gale: So you’d rather set me up with a stranger?
I close my eyes, feeling like the world’s biggest coward.
Harriet: I’m trying to do the right thing here.
Gale: For me? Or for you?
I don’t have an answer for that. At least, not one I’m ready to face.
Harriet: Can we talk about Jasmine? You have a short cafe date tomorrow—nothing serious, just lunch. Give her a chance? Please? It’s
a miracle you were available given both your schedules in the season.
There is a long pause. So long maybe Gale has given up on me entirely. Then, finally:
Gale: Sure. Whatever you say.
The relief I feel is tempered by a sharp pang of . . . something. Regret? Loss? I push it aside, focusing on the task at hand.
Harriet: Great! I’ll set everything up.
As I put down the phone, I hear footsteps.
“You still here?”
I swallow a groan. It’s Tony. “Hey, sorry, just wrapping up a few things.” I fight off a grimace. Why did I automatically
apologize? I should be proud of working hard.