“Oh yes, very much. Especially with my mom. We’re attached at the hip.”
I loved her smile. It was contagious. When she smiled, I couldn’t help but smile too.
“What about you?” she asked, and one of her hands came over to softly touch the stubble on my face. Her skin is so warm. I never wanted her to let go.
“I don’t know my parents,” I told her. “I was given up for adoption when I was a baby. I heard my mom was a junkie, and my dad wasn’t really in the picture, so I was not surprised.”
“God, I’m so sorry.”
“Eh, it’s just life, right?” I place my hand on top of hers and close my eyes. “I bounced through many foster homes when I was little, just living in the system, you know? I finally found a steady place in my last elementary school years, so I could stay in the same district as my friends. The older I got, the less chance there was for an actual adoption, so I was a ward of the state until I turned eighteen and could do what I wanted.”
“Wow.” Renee squeezed my hand, leaned forward, and rested her lips on my forehead. “I had no idea, not about any of it. But look where you are now, right? You’re already in your fourth year of college. I’d said you did pretty well for yourself.”
“Yeah, well, that’s debatable,” I murmured. Still, Renee kissed me again, shushing me, and at that moment, kissing this beautiful woman on the bench in the empty quad, I realized that I did want her —- I wanted her more than I’ve ever wanted anything else.
And I was going to have her. Because now ... now, I couldn't live without her.
Chapter 19
Jake
“Denny! Get your goddamnchin up and keep your eye on the ball!” Coach screams from across the field. “Don’t make me tell you twice!”
Sweating like a fucking animal, I looked up briefly to wipe the sweat from my eyes, then nodded, forcing myself to try and focus better. It was proving to be a difficult task considering I couldn't stop thinking about Renee and how fucking good she felt in my arms. I’ve never felt this way before, so distracted by a woman. Renee Lyon, no less, was a woman I used to be unable to stand.
With a sigh, I put my head down and manage to make it through the rest of practice with only one more fumble, but by the time I walk to the locker room to clean up, Coach is on top of me, bitching and moaning about the same shit he usually does.
“What’s distracting you out there, son?” he asked. He was trying not to appear too demanding, but he was terrible about it because his entire face was pinched in distaste as he glared at me. I imagined he’s that grandpa that all the grandkids are intimidated by when he comes for the holidays. A lot of yes sirs and no sirs in his household.
“I’m sorry, Coach,” I told him, removing my helmet. “It was just an off day, I guess.”
“Is it your classes?” demands Coach. “Are you overwhelmed? Do I need to write a note to one of your professors?”
“No, classes are fine.”
“Is it the parties?” Before I could answer, his voice dropped low, and he glanced over his shoulder for a split second to ensure no one was eavesdropping on this ridiculous conversation. “Is it drugs?”
