But there is also another part of me that doesn’t want to because he may not have deliberately hurt my feelings that first time, yet he continued to every other time. I am not the only one who acted out of anger.
We were like bickering children, poking each other until the other one flinched.
Well, he’s got me flinching.
So much so that I’ve been keeping as much distance as possible from him.
Physically and emotionally.
Except that’s hard to do when Paisley and I turn on his game later. Paisley is mostly uninterested, texting her best friend, only lifting her attention to it every few minutes. I have the volume up and the captions on, and as the camera zooms in on Camden, he tunnels his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair, his woven bracelet still on his wrist. I notice Paisley smile to herself until the commentators start dissecting his private life.
“Long’s comeback after an embarrassing display, which cost the Founders their national championship, and a terrible tragedy in the off-season has had a surprising upward trajectory.”
“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to come back so well, or at all. With a personal loss like that, you never know how it’s going to affect a player.”
At that moment, they cut away to a prepackaged video, a montage of Camden’s highest and lowest moments. Next to me, Paisley shifts as the commentators go on. “Long’s a smart player, a natural-born talent. We saw that in his rookie year. Coming outof college, the kid threw up statistics that matched veteran players.”
“But you said the keyword there—kid. For as mature a player as he is on the field, he doesn’t have that same maturity off the field.”
“It’s still early in the season, but it seems he did a lot of growing up.”
“He had to. You don’t lose both of your parents at the same time without it changing you as a person.”
The camera pans back to Camden as he stalks to the fifty-yard line with Erik and the other two captains for the coin toss. The Founders win and choose to defer, but Paisley doesn’t stay. She tells me that she’s going to her bedroom, leaving me alone to watch the game.
I don’t have to, and yet I don’t turn it off. Instead, I curl up under a blanket with a mug of hot tea and watch as Camden Long once again displays his maturity on the field. If only they knew what his life has been like off the field these last few months.
He plays well, and though he doesn’t score any points, he has a couple of catches and a great block in the third quarter so my brother can score on a rushing touchdown. I try to stay awake to watch the postgame wrap-up and interviews, but it’s almost midnight and I pass out right there on the couch in the living room.
I don’t know what time it is when I come to with a gentle hand on my shoulder and a quietly rumbled, “River, honey, wake up.”
I feel like I’m moving in mud, and it takes my brain a moment to process that I’m still on the couch in Camden’s penthouse. He’s in front of me, sitting back on his haunches, his face mere inches from mine. All the lights in the main areas of the condo turn off automatically at midnight, so only the glow of the television remains to illuminate the room, casting his face mostly in shadow.
But he’s wearing his glasses, and I find myself smiling in my exhausted delirium. “I like when you wear them,” I murmur, forcing myself to sit up. “I like the Clark Kent version of you.”
“Yeah?” I can hear more than see the arrogant tilt to his lips. “You don’t want Superman?”
I shake my head. “Too many people know him. But I know the real version. Only I know Clark.”
He doesn’t reply, merely makes a soft sound, one I can’t interpret, but then his hand is under the blanket, wrapping around my calf, his thumb stroking the back of my knee. And I reflexively extend my leg farther out, giving his fingers more room.
“You feel okay?” he asks. “These couches can’t be too comfortable to sleep on.”
I yawn. “It’s okay. The blanket makes up for it.”
The plush fleece in the color Cappuccino, the one I bought with his credit card.
He brushes his other hand along the edge. “You should order a few more of these if you like them.”
“A few more items to ruin your bachelor aesthetic,” I tease, and he mutters an assent before tugging the blanket off me to find my hands.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
“Yes, just give me a few minutes, and I’ll head out.”
He pauses. “Head out?”
My brain is still fuzzy with sleep, and I don’t understand. “Yes…?”
