I snort at that, although I know exactly what he’s implying. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who’s about to head out for a night of debauchery.”
“A night ofart,” he corrects, which has me snorting as he heads to the door again. “Go-go dancing is an art. Besides, I only look, never touch. If one of them happens to fall into my lap or writes his phone number on my chest… What’s a guy supposed to do?”
My stomach flips when he swipes his keys off the hook on the wall. Finally!
Iambeing a terrible friend. He’s the one who pointed out that we’re young, though. Why shouldn’t I engage in a few bad decisions?
Or…the same one. Over and over.
I get a wave and a farewell from him that feels three hours overdue. As soon as the door closes behind him, my legs act like someone just fired a starting gun at a track meet. Racing across the living room, my bare feet make a squeaking sound against the hardwood flooring when I jerk to a stop at my bedroom doorway. Reaching around the doorframe, I flip the switch on the wall inside, turning out the light—my sign that the coast is clear.
It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen Chris. Seen himhere. Sneaking glances at him during the final for the one class we had together this semester doesn’t count. He got approval to complete his classwork remotely these last few weeks after he got invited to the NFL draft. It left me in limbo, both silently hoping for his dreams to come true and wishing that they wouldn’t, so he could finally have an excuse to stay in my orbit. The orbit of people who aren’t perfect superhumans. To be honest, though, my brain can’t fathom him as anything other than a star athlete.
Shaking my head, I walk to the sofa, the only piece of furniture left in the living room. He got selected in the first round of the draft. Of course, he did. I never doubted he would. That has nothing to do with my foolish crush. Granted, I’ve learned more about football these past two years than I ever imagined I would, but I’m far from an expert on the game. Still, it would be obvious to anyone with half an inkling about football that he’s a phenomenon.
Rubbing my stomach, the thought drops the bottom out of it. Now that he’s made it, why would he show up tonight? He left again after finals last week for mini-camp, where draftees go to get acclimated to the NFL playbook. He’s really in. It’s begun.
A thirty-two-million-dollar contract. He can have whatever—and whoever—he wants. But…hedid sayhe’d be here.
Flopping down on the couch, I throw my forearm over my eyes. Maybe if I close them, it’ll blot out the incessant thoughts that have been spinning me up over the past month.
It’s over. It’s really over.
No more Chris. No moreme and Chris.
I know we made no promises. The only hints he ever dropped were that he couldn’t wait to leave here and never look back. I understood that for what it included—me. I’d be part of the past he wants to leave behind, not the future he’s been so eager for. He never said it any plainer because he didn’t have to, not that we spent much of our time together talking.
A punch of lust warms my cheeks. Shifting, I adjust myself through my shorts. To be fair, when he’s within reach, I don’t exactly have talking on the brain either. That’s the thing about me and Chris—there’s a powerful force that draws us together like nothing could disrupt it. I’m gasoline, and he’s a flamethrower.
Whenever he talks about the future, though, ours are separate. It’s almost like he’s reinforcing that I’ll be far away from him, like he thinks I’ll forget. I know I’ve heard this from Jamie dozens of times, too—harsh reminders that one Panthers tight end and a wallflower, future physical therapist like me, can only be fuck buddies, but I resent it. Chris choseme.
I still shiver each time I think of the way he held my gaze the first time he noticed me. I was waiting for Jamie outside of one of his classes that they share. It was just a few seconds in passing, but the way he looked at me made my throat go dry. I ran into him at a bar shortly after that. We chatted about nothing worth any merit; all I remember is the way we couldn’t take our eyes off each other. He ran his hand down my arm before he left, and I cataloged the move in my brain as though it was the equivalent of receiving someone’s letterman jacket. A week later, I saw him in the back of the library, and it was nothing short ofa lightning bolt striking between us. Any doubt I had over his interest in guys, or ratherme, was resolved when I nervously admitted that I didn’t have a girlfriend because I preferredboyfriends.
“And do you have one at the moment?” he asked, voice dropping as he stepped closer.
“No.” I gulped, backing into a shelf until the book spines dug into my back.
He rested his hands on a shelf above my head, his meaty biceps framing my face. His gaze slid down my body, and for the first time in my life, I knew what it was like to feel truly desirable.
“Would you be interested in having aspecialfriend?”
I suspected immediately what he meant, but I got stuck on the words. I’ve never been good at innuendo.
“I… Sure. I can always use another friend.”
His breath gusted out, amused. He glanced down at where my hands were holding a book to my chest like it was a shield. It was both a test and an invitation. He waited patiently as I figured that out, and then I finally worked up the nerve. Reaching out, I stroked the back of my knuckles over his abs, my hand trembling. His slow inhale was a sexual validation I hadn’t known I’d been looking for my entire adult life. He leaned his hips against mine, showing me how hard he was, meeting how hardIwas.
“This can’t go anywhere, though,” he warned in front of my lips. “I’ve worked too hard to be distracted. No one can find out. I want to be known for football, not my personal life.”
I was so lost in the silent storm that had been brewing between us, I’d have agreed to anything. I got it. He didn’t want any attention drawn to himself. Neither did I. All I wanted washisattention. And somehow, I’d gotten it.Me—boring Jeremy Tanner, who shouldn’t even have existed on Chris Mightener’sradar. Who’s ever had the chance to have their fantasy man choose them?
I had, though. He chose me for a reason and kept coming back. I know we made a promise that we never promised, but…God, how can it be over? How can you not form some kind of emotional attachment after almost two years of screwing around?
I just…have thisfeelingthat something could be different. It says something if he’s coming to say goodbye, right? Like maybe it’s not a goodbye.
NFL players travel. He’s not going to Mars. We could still see each other.
An unexpected chime from my phone has my arms flailing, and I nearly drop the device. Get a grip, Remy. Jeez.
