Gauging the Player: A One-Night-Stand Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romance Book 3), стр. 18

“Because I’m your big sister. I know all, I see all.”

Lily let out a sigh. “I sorta talked my way into being his social media expert, so I’ve got some work to do for him this next week.” A high-pitched noise, like a deflating balloon, came from the other end. Ivy was emitting a long, reedy squeak of delight. “It’s strictly business, Ive.”

Lily stifled a niggling doubt about that declaration. If she repeated it enough, maybe it would take root and spread until a canopy of belief sheltered her.

“Ooh, better wear the sexy underwear, Lil. Shit. You don’t have any sexy underwear.” A coffee cup clattered on the other end. “Okay. I have a plan. You need to go shopping, and I’ll come with.”

“Last summer was … a mistake. I got swept away in the moment. It’s not happening again.”

The phone rattled with indistinct muttering, which sounded suspiciously like cursing.

“Memories don’t keep you warm, Lil. Come on. At least think about it. This guy might be perfect for you. I mean, you don’t have to fall in love with him. Keep it light, fun. Just naked times between the sheets. Treat it like practice. Sharpen your skills. And just think! You could score hockey tickets and take your favorite sis to a game or two.”

Even though Ivy couldn’t see her, Lily shook her head vigorously. “I can’t do that.”

“What? Take me to a hockey game? Why not?”

“No! I meant I can’t just sleep with him. That’s … I can’t. Besides, who says he’d sleep with me again anyway?” No hanky-panky. “You caught me in a moment of weakness. I’m not accepting applications.” Lily recoiled inside from the sting.

“Pfft. He’s a guy. Correction. He’s a player, which is a polite way of saying fuckboy. They’ll sleep with anyone, anytime.”

“Gee, you’re really making me feel good about myself here.”

Ivy scoffed. “You know what I mean.”

Lily glanced down at the ring at the end of her necklace. “It won’t work. The guilt is … it’s not worth it.” Her stomach turned over, just like it had when she’d awakened beside Gage and realized what she’d done.

Ivy’s voice took on a soothing quality. “You’re my baby sister, and I love you.” Lily braced herself for the “but” that came next. “But Jack’s been gone over four years now. It’s like you’re stuck in your grieving steps—somewhere between despair and guilt—and you can’t get yourself unstuck. Don’t you think it’s time to move on? There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to another man. It’s natural.”

The fresh rise of tears stinging her eyes surprised Lily. The anguish was raw, stealthy like a thief. A thief that sneaked up on her and stole breath from her lungs.

“I can’t move on.” Lily hated the quaver in her voice. Hated how pitiful she sounded.

“Maybe you need to join your own group again or at least take a listen to what you tell others. I mean, I know your people love you, but I don’t understand how you can counsel them if you haven’t gotten to a place you’re trying to guide them to.”

Lily wanted to shout—if only she could breathe. It didn’t help that Ivy was poking another of her sore spots, the one that told her she was an impostor.

Ivy went on. “Hell, your house is practically a shrine to Jack. Maybe you should take down some pictures, get his clothes out of your closet so you don’t see them every day. I’ll come over and help you box everything up and—”

All of Lily screamed, No, no, no! “You don’t know what it feels like, Ivy,” she cried. “You still have the love of your life. And Parker adores you as much as you adore him.” When Ivy had married Parker Wilde, Lily had nicknamed her I.B. Wilde. It suited her to a tee.

Just as she had adored Jack and he had adored her. This perfect man—once her perfect man—had owned her heart. In fact, he’d taken up every part of it, making it impossible to let anyone else move in.

“Lil, you’re a beautiful young woman with her whole future ahead of her, and I’m not just saying that because you’re my sis. What you had with Jack was wonderful, but is it just the tiniest bit possible you’ve built him up into something more than he was?”

Heat clawed its way up Lily’s throat. “Not fair, Ivy.”

“No? Neither is what you’re doing to yourself. Or to Daisy.”

They hung up not long after. Utterly spent, Ivy’s words haunting her, Lily bundled herself under her covers and started up her DVD player. And like Anna Crowe in The Sixth Sense, Lily tortured herself with every press of the rewind button as she watched an old clip of Jack playing guitar.