“By the way, you never posted that video of me and that little girl from the community event, the one where I told her about my social anxiety and stuttering?”
My lips tilt up at the corner. “I never even recorded the interaction, Ezra.”
At that, his head jerks to look at me as if seeing me in a new light. “Thank you,” he whispers after a minute, and I just shrug.
Dividing the Chinese food into two plates, he grabs them and walks over to me. He keeps a plate in front of me, bending at his waistto glance at the screen of my laptop.
His light mood shifts instantly the second his eyes fall on Cillian on the screen, his jaw clenching. I had been creating some reels from the Bandits and the Falcons games.
Without a word, he slams his plate in front of him as he takes a seat at the head of the table to my left.
I slide the device to the side and grab my plate, digging into my food. When I’m almost halfway done with my meal, and he still doesn’t say a word, I ask, “What is it?”
“Nothing,” he grunts, his broody side making an appearance.
I do think I have an idea, so I test him. “Does your bad mood have something to do with Cillian?”
He looks up from his plate and cuts me a glare. “Don’t say his name,” he growls.
“So, it is?” My eyebrows arch, though the question is rhetorical. “Heishandsome, by the way, with his tattoos covering his rugged and rough edges.”
Ezra doesn’t say a word, but his knuckles tighten over the fork he’s holding. And I love to rile him up, so I don’t shut up. “I might need toask him for a selfie, and maybe wear his jersey to one of the games.”
His fist slams on the table, rattling the cutlery and scaring the daylights out of me. “Don’t you fucking dare.” His voice low enough to give me goosebumps.
But when I see his face, a truck of regret and guilt slams into me. Ghosts of some untold past cling to his features. His eyes glaze over as he battles to stay in the present.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Ezra. I was just kidding,” I cover his hand with both of mine on the table. When his muscles still don’t loosen, I stand up and walk over to him, making space between him and the table so that I can sit on his lap.
Ezra looks everywhere but at me, even though he doesn’t stop me from invading his space. Needing him to understand how sorry I am, I grab his face and make him look at me.
“I’m sorry, Ezra. So fucking sorry.” I kiss him, hoping that he’ll believe me, and massage his tightly corded shoulders.
With a sigh, he lets it go and wraps his arms around me, holding me in place as our warm and wet mouths engulf and comfort each other.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat against his lips.
He squeezes the back of my neck as he mumbles. “It’s okay.”
It’s not, but I know he won’t say it. So, I wrap my arms around him and keep my head over his heart, breathing him in.
A few minutes pass before he speaks. “Cillian was my best friend in college.”
Out of all the things I’d expect him to say, this was not it. The hostility between them would never let you believe that these guys could ever be friends.
I don’t move or interrupt him, just calmly rub his back. He needs to let it out.
“I was dating this girl, Jenna.” My body stiffens at the name of this girl I have never met, all because she had been someone important to him.
“I loved her in a way a college guy would,” he continues. “Was loyal to her and never looked at another girl once.”
Does he still love her?The question bubbles in my mind, but I stay mum.
“I thought she loved me, too, and all that bullshit. Turns out, she only wanted me for my fame,” he scoffs, his words salty. “One day, I walked in on her in the locker room fucking afew of my teammates at once. She cheated and had no sign of remorse for being caught.”
Fuck!
I finally pull back and look at him as his eyes line up with tears. Someone hurt this strong fucking man, and I want to punch Jenna in the face for letting go of this sweet man, for wasting her chance away and hurting his true and caring heart.
