The silence between us stretched on. He didn’t rush to fill it or push me.
Slowly, I turned around. His jaw was shadowed with a few days of stubble, and his eyes were softer than I could handle. He looked so effortlessly sexy, I wanted to scream.
I gave him a tight, bitter smile. “Horny pop star. Stupidly sexy football player. One-night agreement in the middle of a fake relationship. Feels textbook, right?”
His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Last night didn’t feel textbook.”
I set the glass down on the counter and crossed my arms. “Sawyer…we can’t do this again.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Because it was bad?”
“No.” I shook my head, biting back the ache in my throat. “Because it was good. Too good. One night. That’s what we said. We have an end date, and this—whatever it is—can’t go on after that.”
His face cracked for the briefest moment, something vulnerable and raw showing through—a glimpse of the man beneath the bravado. I wanted to reach out and catch him, but I kept my hands clenched at my sides.
“We had an agreement,” I whispered. “This ends in the spring. It was supposed to be manageable, something I could walk away from.”
“And now?”
“Now, I’m standing here in your kitchen, wearing your shirt, and honestly? My whole body still feels wrecked. Like…in a good way, but also like I got hit by a truck.” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to sound normal. “I thought I could handle it, but I really need us to be just friends.”
He drew in a breath, as if he was going to speak, but he didn’t.
“We had out one night,” I said. “Now, we just need to go back to just friends.”
“What does that mean?”
“No more late-night dates. Only PDA in public if we need to. No more crossing lines. We act normal when it’s just us. Friends.”
“You want normal?” he asked, his voice low.
“It’s what we agreed to.”
He nodded once, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Okay. Friends it is, Miles.”
Just like that, he gave me what I needed—the out, the boundary, no questions asked.
I studied him for a long moment. “I should get dressed.”
He didn’t move. “I’ll make coffee then drive you home.”
“Ben can come get me.”
“I’ll drive you home, El.”
“Fine.” I slipped down the hall, my heart heavy. I already missed the weight of his hands on my skin.
THIRTY-FIVE
Sawyer
The locker roomreeked of sweat and victory. Helmets clanged against lockers, music blasted from the sound system someone had cranked way too loud, and a few guys were shouting like we’d just won the Super Bowl.
We hadn’t. At least, not yet.
It was just the first round of playoffs, but we were still in it. Usually, this was the kind of night that lit a fire under me—something that made the fatigue and pain worth it. I used to crave it.
Tonight, I felt nothing.
