“Please, go, before I do something we’ll both pretend to regret,” he sounds like I feel—pained.
What’s regret when I am aching for him? Nothing eases the constant assault on my senses, the desire for all of him. It’s like I only get a taste from the elixir of the gods when I want to drink it all. Greedy. Weak. Human.
My heart wars with my mind. I have a split second to decide.
My mind wins once again.
I force myself to escape his magnetic pull, those midnight eyes mapping the galaxy of my dreams.
His sigh follows me as I stumble out of the car, drunk on his touch, drunk on all the unsaid words, drunk on the possibilities—completely intoxicated.
In the elevator, I let a scream out, a mix of frustration and desperation tearing from my throat.
I feel the same, Ian.Our friendship will end, either because something more emerges or we part ways. This limbo is hell—trapped inside with my needy heart and wanton body.
We can lie all we want, but one of us will crack. It’s only a matter of time.
TEN
IAN
January
Being justher friend is agonizing, especially when we lean into each other over our takeout or when we cuddle on the sofa watching a movie.
It’s been weeks, and one season has gone by. Winter replaced fall, not that it means much in San Diego. Shorter days and longer nights extend an unofficial invitation to more snuggles and sultry moments.
My longing hasn’t subsided, but I’ve learned to push through this hunger ravaging my being.
The time I spend with her is overflowing with a familiarity and intimacy I have never experienced before.
Even my game has improved, which I didn’t even think was possible. I am hyper-focused, channeling all my frustration into playing. The praise from my coach and my teammates validates that. Only Levi eyes me knowingly, as if aware of the reason, but I’m thankful he has stopped giving me shit.
Saturday is the AFC Championship, and there’s a nervous energy buzzing under my skin.
I am pacing around the living room, waiting for that knock on my door. The rap finally echoes, and I have a pep in my step as I open the door to welcome her, wishing she’d never leave my place, my life, my bed. Everything else ceases to matter. She smiles from ear to ear, showing me a brown bag.
She looks out of this world beautiful that I forget myself. Inviting her in, her sweet smell infuses the space, chipping at my control with unparalleled dexterity.
“How was your day?” we ask at the same time.
“Good,” she says.
“Better now,” I reply.
As she tells me more about her day, I perch my back against the wall. I watch as she places the brown bag on the coffee table, the aromatic smell of Chinese food wafting around.
She scrunches her nose whenever she comes to a point when something didn’t go according to plan. I know all her tics by now. She fascinates me, consumes my thoughts like nothing else.
“I am excited, but so bummed I won’t be at your game. My mom planned this girls’ weekend trip to a spa in Arizona months ago. There’s no way I can cancel it. I wanted to be there for you.”
Sadness flickers in her eyes, tugging at my heartstrings. I wanted her at my game too, but spending time with her mom is important.
“You’ll be at the Super Bowl,” I offer, wanting to erase her distress.
She regales me with a radiant smile. “I promise.”
I love this woman. There’s no point denying it. She progressed from the girl who stole a piece of my heart to the woman who owns every beat.
