I make my way in the direction of both men—one looks at me expectantly, the other with joy.
Bryce’s eyes demand; Troy’s wish. Wait.
My choice is clear. I hold my hand out and press the engagement ring into Bryce’s hand just before leaping into Troy’s arms.
Troy’s breath catches in surprise, before it expels in relief. Like this is the moment he’s dreamed of all along. He lifts me up, much as he was earlier, spinning me in tight circles until my head is as dizzy as my heart.
Once he drops me to my feet, his gloved hands catch my face between them. Our noses brush. He breathes my name, “Maya.”
It’s reverential, awed.
He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. When he does, it all dissipates. The game, the crowd disappear. The noise that surrounded us fades to nothing but the hum of the television.
We’re back on the couch. The same couch we were watching the game on earlier. But we’re still kissing, still wrapped in one another like we were always meant to fit together.
My hand slides around Troy’s nape. His thumb traces the line of my jaw. I can taste Gatorade on his tongue instead of the wine we drank earlier. Our lips slowly break apart and I ask him, “Is this real?”
He trails his lips down the side of my neck before murmuring, “Only you can choose the answer to that.”
He leans in to kiss me once more, then?—
I wake up with my heart pounding. Hands wrapped around my pillow.
Like I’m holding him against me.
Groaning, I roll onto my side and stare out the window, watching shadows shift beyond the glass until exhaustion drags me under again. I pray I don’t dream—because if I do, I’m not sure I’m ready for the emotions waiting there, demanding to be faced before I’m willing to admit them aloud.
24
CHUNK PLAY: A PLAY THAT GAINS A SIGNIFICANT AMOUNT OF YARDAGE—TYPICALLY 10–20 YARDS OR MORE—QUICKLY MOVING THE OFFENSE DOWN THE FIELD.
Iwake up wondering if dreams based on memories are worse for sleep than living in reality.
All night long I tossed and turned, recalling the change of outcome to the AFC Championship game because Troy was there. The way I ran to him when it was over–bypassing Bryce and the feel of Troy’s lips on mine. Then, returning to this reality and the way his hands smoothed up and down my body.
I woke up reaching for him. Disturbed. Not from fear, but from want. The sheer force of my desire almost caused me to fling open my door, stalk down to his rooms, and have my wicked way with him.
The heat pooling between my legs is all for it. My head is swatting at my knees with a ruler to keep them closed, reminding me rather forcefully I just got out of a flipping engagement about four months ago.
And my heart? It’s so confused all it wants to do is focus on Troy. Whenever he’s around, the outside world shifts a little more out of focus. I forget why I even came to the vineyard, which was to heal my pride, my heart. Hell, both.
Grabbing the spare pillow on my bed, I place it over my face and scream the force of my frustration into it over the way last night went. Certain that the force of my howl caused some feathers to escape from their zippered captivity, I decide there’s only one course of action to take.
Rolling over to my nightstand, I snatch up my phone and fire off a message to the only people qualified to talk me down from the precarious edge I’m balancing on.
Maya:
I think I’m losing my mind.
Christin:
Elaborate, please.
Amy:
Especially since it’s too early for me to pull out a bottle of wine.
Emery:
