I want to tell him it’s okay, that losing my virginity isn’t that big a deal to me and we should just do it. After all, I have a pretty impressive vibrator collection, so I’m not a total novice. I just haven’t had an actual man inside me. But I’m not going to beg for sex. That would be pathetic. Plus, I can understand why it might be uncomfortable for Miles, and I’d never want him to feel bad. He really does have a good heart beneath all that delicious muscle.
“You’re a good guy, Miles Soren,” I tell him, giving him a kiss on his chin.
His mouth pulls up on one side. “Tell that to my dick. He hates me right now.”
“So how’s this going to work?” I ask Miles as we eat the casserole I’d prepared earlier. “Clean break so we never talk to each other again?”
He looks horrified, his fork poised just in front of his lips. “Hell no. We can still be friends, right?” At my smiling nod, he sets down his fork and continues. “I still plan to keep up with your career and cheer you on from wherever I am. And we can text and stuff. If you need anything at all, I’m just a phone call away.”
The ache in my heart eases a bit at this news. While we might not be pursuing a romantic relationship, I dread losing the easy friendship I have with Miles.
“I’ll be cheering for you too,” I tell him.
He picks up his utensil and resumes eating. “The press is going to have questions when they learn I’ve been traded since they’ve taken such an interest in our relationship.”
“They’re vultures,” I proclaim, disgust wrapped around each word. I don’t get on social media much, but friends have sent me screenshots of pictures the paparazzi have taken on the few times Miles and I have been spotted out to dinner together. “I have no idea why they’re so interested in what we do off the field.”
“Because we’re so cute,” Miles says with a wink. “Should we make a statement or something?”
I aim a glare his way. “No, I refuse to give a statement to the press about our personal life. It's none of their damn business.”
He nods good-naturedly. “Whatever you want. They’ll figure it out in time when they no longer see us together.”
When we’re done eating, Miles helps me clean up the kitchen before leaning casually against the counter. “Would it be okay if I stay the night with you?” Drying off my hands, I cut my eyes at him, and he adds, “No funny business. I’d just like to stay.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I nod. “I’d like that.”
Early the next morning, I walk Miles to the door. He’d slept in my bed, though we hadn’t done much more than make out and cuddle.
Our goodbye kiss is lingering and sweet, probably the last we’d ever share. While I can’t say I’m heartbroken about our breakup since we weren’t in love, I am sad about it and feel a bit bruised on the inside.
As I get ready for morning practice, my mood darkens. First my mother announces she’s moving away, then Carly, and now Miles. And I can’t do a thing about any of it.
Unless…
Hastily dressing, I reach for my phone and dial. Her voice is groggy when she answers. “Jordie, what’s wrong?”
I let out a gust of air and speak. “Mom, I can help you with your rent if… if you’ll stay.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Silly Sprinklepants
Jordie
Driving through Phoenix Hale’s neighborhood on Friday evening, I consider turning around and going home to change. Into a damn ballgown or something.
“Lord have mercy, these houses are bougie,” I mutter to myself, my eyes darting from one side of the perfectly maintained street to the other.
Because I don’t own a ballgown, I continue driving until I’m in front of his house. It’s as huge as the others, but it’s somehow cozier with white Austin stone and a wraparound porch that makes me think of drinking sweet tea and watching the sunsets on Dad’s back porch. Though you could fit ten of Dad’s entire house onto this one.
There’s a pristine, white concrete driveway leading to a five-car garage, so I park there. My old truck would probably get towed from this neighborhood if I left it on the street. Getting out of the car, I look down at my purple Dragons polo and black shorts and sigh. I’m so out of place here. I imagine Phoenix inside in his bespoke suit and tie with his wife or partner in an elegant cocktail dress as they sip apéritifs before their five-course meal is served on an exquisitely appointed dining table.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The first indication is when I ring the doorbell and hear Forrest Gump’s unmistakable voice saying, “Your doorbell is ringing. You might want to answer it. It might be your mama.”
A snort escapes me, and I shake my head. I guess that’s kind of on-brand for Phoenix Hale and his ever-present smile.
