“That works, thanks.” I took his clothes, and he grabbed a few more things for himself.
“I’m gonna change. Be right back. I’ll knock when I return.”
I wanted the cold, wet clothes off me. I tossed them onto the floor and slid on the sweatshirt and baggy shorts. I rolled them up a few times and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked ridiculous but happy. I didn’t wear underwear or a bra, but that wasn’t unusual for me when I was lounging at home.
I used the extra time to snoop in his room. Not the boundary-crossing type, just staring at the things on his walls and his desk. There was a picture of him, his mom, and his sisters. They all wore jerseys with his number. His dad was definitely absent from the pictures. I wanted to ask about that. He didn’t have much, but a corner of a canvas stuck out near his dresser. It leaned against the wall, and my heart galloped when I realized what it was.
We’d made that together. It was a month before our fight, June after we graduated, where we kept hearing about this new painting class at midnight. It was all neon lights and drums, andyou had to wear goggles. We stayed there for hours, laughing, and it took weeks to get the color out of our nails and hair. But we made this stupid painting that was only twelve by twelve inches, and he’d kept it.
I didn’t have much of Callum in my room. I purged it because the memories were too much. My eyes prickled just as he knocked on the door.
“You all dressed?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Callum walked in with dry gray shorts and that was it. No shirt. I gulped, blinking away the bout of moisture forming from seeing the painting.
Of course, he caught on. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“You kept that painting.” I jutted my chin to it. “After all these years. Why?”
His jaw flexed as he stared at it, then me. “I already told you, Ivy. There is an entire part of my mind dedicated to you. I liked having things that reminded me of you around me.”
The prickle returned. “I threw it all away, and now I feel horrible.”
He frowned before walking toward me and pulling me into a hug. “Don’t feel bad. That means we’ll make new memories together. I’ll find another class or something.”
I loved Callum’s hugs, but he was shirtless, so my face was pressed up against his bare chest as my hands gripped his bare back. He was so warm and strong and shit. I dug my fingers into his muscles, feeling how thick they were. It made my face heat and my mouth water. He was so toned and beautiful it made me breathless.
“No more tears, you hear?” He tilted my chin up. His blue eyes were the color of the sky, first thing after the sun rises. “I learned how to make homemade mac and cheese, and you’re going to be super impressed. Trust me.”
I snorted and wiped under my eyes. “Cheese?”
“That’s my girl, still obsessed with cheese?”
I followed him out of the room, his phrase echoing in my mind.That’s my girl.I wore his clothes and was letting him cook for me when he said those words. I didn’t do this with my other friends, ever, but then again this was Callum. He was always different to me. Larger than life.
When he grinned at me with mischief, it was hard to remember to protect my heart. Because one thing he’d always been good at?
Getting me to love him.
14
CALLUM
Imight’ve angered some quarterbacks today.
And it felt damn good, didn’t it?
Wiping the smirk off Jameson’s face? Priceless.
It felt good to take out my annoyance at myfatheron the field. Curt sent me a thousand dollars to spend on education. Just sent it. No note. No “sorry I’m an asshole.” Just sent money. I hated it. I didn’t want it. I already hated the fact the kick-ass summer house my mom won in the divorce was his, so taking anything from him appalled me. He texted ten more times that he wanted to chat, and a part of me wondered if it was about getting drafted. Did he want the fame? To join the ride?
I hated that I cared.
“Come on. Get up.” I held out a hand and wiped my face with the back of my other. Sweat dripped down from the sun beating on us at practice today. Wednesday, we scrimmaged small scale, and I continued sacking Jameson. Dean watched from the sidelines, annoyance etched on his face.
It shouldn’t be this easy, but the guys kept leaving an opening. Straight shot to Jameson, every time.
