“Yara…” he whispered, unable to say anything else. I laughed after he buried his face in my neck, kissing me as he continued to finish. I continued to stroke him through it all, enjoying every drop on my skin.
“Good?” I asked when he lowered himself down beside me.
David let out a heavy, contented sigh and nodded. “You’re dangerous.”
I laughed. “You already knew that.”
“I did,” he agreed with a smile. “But this is a whole other level.”
We lay side-by-side, watching the spin of the ceiling fan as we caught our breath. Now and then, I’d sneak a glance at him. He had his eyes closed. The small, content smile on his lips made my stomach flutter. He reached for my hand, his eyes still closed, and squeezed it as we enjoyed the quiet.
Eventually, David pushed himself up to go to the bathroom. He returned with a warm, soapy washcloth. I lay still as he cleaned me up.
“I don’t know if you understand how beautiful you are,” he whispered, with one hand caressing my cheek and the other wiping off the mess we’d made. “How well you did.”
I smiled, basking in the praise. David massaged my inner thigh, coaxing relaxation into the strained muscles. “Tell me.”
“The kind of beauty that makes it hard to think straight when I desperately want to argue,” he teased and kissed me.David tossed the washcloth toward his hamper before pulling me into his arms. I nestled my head right in the crook of his neck, enjoying the warm cuddle and abundant attention. Being loved before sex was incredible, but post-sex meant even more to me. The affection David offered was confirmation that I wasn’t a means to an end. This time in his bed wasn’t a temporary experiment.
“You give so much.” He kissed my forehead. “And take it so well.”
I sighed, relaxing in his arms. Protection felt like David’s warm embrace. His heartbeat drummed steadily in my ear. I pressed my nose to his skin, breathing in familiarity. The thought of ever having to leave made my chest ache with sadness.
“Will you stay here tonight?” David asked, reading my mind.
I smiled, nodded, and clung to him harder. “Since you asked so nicely, yes.”
29
The football stadiumreminded me of a living thing, pulsing with every roar of the crowd. I’d only been to three games in the whole time I’d been at Westbrooke. The first time was freshman year, when I thought happiness lay in experiencing every clichéd college moment. The second time was the water bottle incident. Third, when I was experiencing one of my bouts of homesick moments and knew I’d find David on the field. Unconsciously, I’d looked to him for distraction through the years. And his gift of distraction had evolved into one of comfort.
The Angels were ahead by three, their kicker winning them enough wiggle room to still have a decent shot at a victory. Tension was high considering we were up against the Mendell Hawks, the school that poached not one but two of Westbrooke’s best offensive players and one offensive coordinator.
“Think a fight will break out?” Haven had to cup her hand around her mouth as she whispered in my ear. Typically, the stadium was divided with the fans on their respective team’s side. And typically, home teams could expect way morefans than away teams. But Mendell had shown up and out, decked in their forest greens, mountain logo tees, and yellow foam fingers, claiming number one. There was a particular group of rowdy Mendell guys a couple of rows down who would cheer until their faces were red anytime Mendell so much as touched the ball. And their faces went blue anytime a referee called a play against their precious Hawks.
“If it does—” I eyed one superfan as he whipped off his shirt, twirling it in the air. “—we’ll exit stage left. No hesitation.”
Haven nodded and grabbed hold of my hand as if she were ready to bolt in a heartbeat. I squeezed her fingers, grateful she’d agreed to join me.
I’d said ‘yes’ to attending this game for David while hopped up on post-sex calm. David wanted to see me in his jersey. His number.
“Paint it on your cheeks,” he’d whispered to me this morning between kisses along my collarbone.
“What’s in it for me?” I’d asked.
His chuckle had sent my body aching despite having come twice. “Always negotiating.”
“It’d be a waste not to. How else will I be satisfied?”
“I can think of one guaranteed method.” He’d disappeared underneath the sheets and had me promising to paint his number anywhere else he wanted within a matter of seconds.
I untangled myself from the image of David in bed, replacing it with that of him on the field. He played focused. David didn’t find himself in the arguments fueled with a competitive venom that’d plagued most of today’s game. When the Angels and Hawks clashed post-play, David found himself outside the circle, either talking to one of the assistant coaches on the side of the field or Nathaniel, who (expectedly) also kept his frustration (if it existed) internal.
It was a relief to see David not taking the bait of fights. It was also a joy to see him in those tight white pants, and his muscles hardened whenever he got his hands on the ball or tackled a man in blue. The sun was setting, and within a couple of minutes, we’d be at some celebration party, counting down the moments until we got to sneak out for some alone time. I was counting down the seconds. But prepping for such a night proved to be a jinx after a Mendell lineman somehow got his hands on Weston. The crowd collectively gasped and winced at how hard the quarterback went down. And the angry uproar that followed was born from the lineman yanking Weston back up before slamming him into the ground again.
My gaze immediately found David. He’d been the one to shove the lineman off of Weston. And he didn’t stop there. The fury on the field flooded into the crowd, dyeing our clean waters red.
“Yara.” Haven tugged me behind her when the guys from below started shoving a couple of people in protest of the thrown flag.
