He’s mentioned that before but still I inhale sharply, the force of that one word knocking the breath out of me. I shouldn’t be surprised. Nothing Zane does should ever surprise me, but he continuously does.
“When are you going to believe that I never stopped loving you?”
My heart jolts, and I freeze as Zane squeezes my arm, his gaze boring into mine, his words and emotion chipping away at my walls.
“Zane? You—”
The door opens on Zane’s floor, halting my response, and I’m thankful since I have no idea what the hell I was going to say.
I knew his feelings were strong. Back then. I knew how he felt about me, but he never once said the words. He even threw me off when he jokingly said it yesterday.
The only person that ever heard those words come out of his mouth was Sierra, so I imagine “love” has even more meaning for him now.
“You know what?” He grabs my hand when we’re in the hallway, running his thumb over my skin. “How about we pretend I never said that. When you’re ready to believe it, I’ll say it again.”
My heart pounds in my chest as his beautiful eyes stare deep into my soul. “I don’t want you to hold it back.”
“Honestly, B, it shocked me too. I know I feel it, it just…” He trails off but I don’t need him to say it. I know exactly what he means.
“It’s forgotten, but…” I bite my lip, as emotion wells in my chest. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Come on.” He spins one of my suitcases around so he can hold them both with one hand and wraps the other around my shoulders. “If you thought the entry was nice, wait until you see my apartment.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Blair
After our little “love” mishap, things between Zane and me settled into a nice rhythm, and I have to admit, it’s likely because I finally stopped questioning everything he said. The feelings are there—I probably shouldn’t be feeling this strongly so close to ending another relationship, but that’s another issue—we just need time to work out how this can possibly work. If we can truly be together without constantly being taken back to that day. The day that changed it all.
The following evening, Zane walks in after practice, and a loud thud tells me he dumped his bag in the entry. “Honey, I’m home,” he announces, his voice lifting in a light chuckle. “For the record, that didn’t feel right either. It felt like something my teammate Luke would say.”
His voice gets louder as he makes his way down the long hall, and I laugh, picturing his face pinched in disgust.
He wasn’t kidding when he said his apartment was impressive. The condo I shared with Nathan was big, but it always felt cold and stiff. Which probably had something to do with the furnitureI hated so much. This place is double that size and it still warms me like a home, from the bright pictures on the wall in the entry that welcome you inside, to the high ceilings and pendant drop lights. The sunken living area has not one, but two plush leather couches, that wrap around you like a cloud when you sink back into them.
His marble kitchen is big enough for a small restaurant, but everything about it screams homey comfort—untidy letters and notes on the end of the counter, random coffee mugs lined up next to the machine. It’s designer for sure, but it’s also not.
And don’t get me started on the bedrooms. Both the bedrooms in our home back in Jacksonville could fit into Zane’s master. It even has a goddamn hot tub boasting a view of San Francisco with one-way glass—I asked—and a walk-in closet that would impress a New York socialite.
When I mentioned that to Zane, he told me he could test that theory with Easton’s girlfriend, only that it was more trouble than it’s worth. He then proceeded to tell me about his dickish mistake of sleeping with Easton’s ex. Except he didn’t call it a “mistake” because he claims he didn’t know at the time. In his mind the mistake was made in the way he handled it after.
And according to him, because he can admit that, he’s growing.
I wait for Zane to reach me before responding to his “honey, I’m home” comment, only the second he comes into view, words fail me. His hair is still wet from his post practice shower, and he’s wearing a fitted black Henley that accentuates the size of his arms. He runs a hand through his hair when our eyes meet, and the movement has his top lifting, and my gaze falls to the strip of his ripped stomach followed by the sneak peek of his V. I’ve seen him shirtless before; I saw it last night in bed. But I’ve always been attracted to athletes, and right now, he’s showing me the goods.
“You’re doing it again.” He groans and I laugh at being busted.
“Don’t come home looking like sex on legs, and I wouldn’t stare. Did you even bother to towel off your hair, or will I find drips of water down your back if I look.”
Zane smirks before spinning to show me, and sure enough, the neck of his top is wet. “I didn’t have time. I had places to be, people to see.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. By the way, I like hearing the word ‘home’ come out of your mouth.”
I try to fight it but my eyes roll of their own accord.
“There’s the sass I remember. How was your day?”
