No matter what, I take it. Because as I follow him to our table, I’m willing the blushing to leave my cheeks.
Two
Tyson
Maybeyoudon’thavefeelings for her anymore?my brain suggests, forcibly. But, I see her walk by the window, the wind rushing through her wavy dark hair. She struts in, her legs strong and muscular, and I can’t stop staring at them. The way they lead into her perfect curves.
She’s trying not to cough–one of her least favorite things to do in public.
I open my arms for her. “Blair, come here.” She presses herself to me and I hug her for all the times I’ve wished we were in the same place during the last few years. This is the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other and she’s just as stunning as she’s always been.
She looks at me with eyes that shine like if sunlight were to hit a jar of honey. They’re so gorgeous it’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t witnessed them in person.
Blair lightly taps a hand to the side of my face. “The beard.”
“You hate it?” My brows furrow.
“I love it,” she gushes, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips.
Fuck. Just like that, I’m under her spell. But she’s always been the thing I couldn’t have. My feelings are still alive and practically thriving. Feelings that have no business taking up residence the way they have. Girls like Blair don’t end up with the guy like me–the one who fits so perfectly in the friend zone.
Reluctantly, I end the hug. “Sit. I got us a bottle of rosé.” I pull out her chair and gesture for her to take it.
“You don’t even like pink wine.” She grabs the napkin and puts it on her lap.
“I mean, it’s not my favorite. But I know you love it.” I try to play it off, like even if I didn’t like it, I'd still order her a bottle and pretend to sip it.
Sitting across from her, I take her in. She’s wearing a tight cream top, making her golden skin stand out, and a jacket I've seen her wear for years. As always, she looks effortlessly beautiful.
“I can’t believe we’re finally in the same state,” Blair exclaims, leaning forward, her hands on the table. “You’re here!”
I push my hands through my hair. “I know. It’s been wild. Everything happened so fast. My agent gave me a heads up about ninety seconds before the old team called to tell me their version. Then the new team was trying to get ahold of me for logistics and delivering playbooks and, fuck. It was a lot.”
“I can’t even imagine.” She shakes her head. “Where are you staying?” she asks, lightly pivoting, picking up the menu and looking at the starters—her favorite place to order from.
“I’m in the city. Found somewhere that was available a few days after the trade.”
I don’t like thinking back to it. The day I learned that no matter how good you are, how much you wish to stay with an organization, all teams are about making money. My previous team struggled the entire time I'd been there... always finishing close to the bottom. In eight seasons, I played in two playoff games—each ending in a pretty horrible loss.
Honestly, the end result never mattered much to me; I loved my coaches, the training staff, my teammates, the fans. So, when my agent called to tell me about the trade, just a few minutes before it went public, it fucking stung. Bad. Given that the Cosmos have won a Super Bowl already, and have a stacked roster, I thought it would hurt less, but it surprisingly didn’t.
Part of me was excited to be in the same state as one of my college friends. Blair offered to help me move, figure things out, but I told her I had it under control. I didn’t, but I couldn’t let her see me like that. Things got dark for a while... dark in a way I hadn’t felt in years. But it also helped with clarity. What I want to do. Who might be next to me when I do it.
“Can’t wait to see it. Finally, a place to crash when I want to go to the city,” she giggles as our server fills her wine glass.
“Any time,” I say, and her eyes stay on mine as she peers over her menu. We hold for a second longer than what seems friendly, but I can’t help it. Being here, in her orbit, fuck. I’ve missed this.
The server's voice interrupts us. “Anything you’d like to start with?”
Glancing down at the menu, I take a breath, knowing Blair is waiting for me. This is one of our things—ordering food for the table and seeing if we missed anything the other couldn’t live without. That’s how well we know each other.
“We’re going to do some sharing. You can bring these as they’re ready, split what’s easy, if you can. We’ll do the burrata with the pears and crostini, fried pickles, the smoked pineapple dole whip wings, a side of the blackened green beans, the cobb salad, and the PB&J burger.”
Blair grins, her head tilting with each item I said.
“Anything else?” I ask her, tilting my head to match hers.
She hands the server our menu. “No. Sounds absolutely perfect.”
