“I have a girlfriend,” I blurt.
His eyebrow lifts. Slowly. Very unimpressed.
“You mean the girlfriend who pushed you to follow me at the Halloween party? The girlfriend you pretend to kiss? The girlfriend I never see you with unless your father is breathing down your neck?”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
How is it that this man, who has known me for all of three months, can see through me so well? Like I’m transparent.
“My dad would disown me,” I whisper. “And I know it’s dumb, but I’ve lived…” I swallow. “I wouldn’t know how to survive.”
Brody’s face softens slightly. Enough to make something ache deep inside my ribs.
“You don’t have to come out,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to tell the team. Or your dad. Or anyone you don’t want to tell.”
He presses his forehead to mine.
“Except yourself.” His thumb brushes my hipbone. “You have to be honest with yourself.”
My voice is barely a whisper. “And you?”
A grin flickers over his mouth, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I already know your truth, Becky.” His lips graze my jaw. “I’m just waiting for you to come around.”
As gross as it sounds, the wrestling floor on a competition day is one of my favorite smells. It smells like victory. Like sweaty bodies, rubber, and the sanitizing spray they use to disinfect the mats every night. It brings me good feelings the same way the smell of the ocean does, or the popovers my childhood nanny Ms. Delia used to make on holidays. And now Brody. He smells good. Comforting. Like heat and soap.
Huntston is destroying this dual way easier than we thought. We’ve won almost every match so far, and the gym is vibrating with applause and stomping from the student section.
I walk off the mat after my win, breath still heavy, hair sticking to my forehead. My muscles are screaming from how hard I’ve been pushing myself lately—earlier than usual lifts, extra runs, late-night study sessions and an obsessive need to check my phone for texts from a certain not-captain who gets on my nerves and takes up way too much brain space. I’ll do just about anything to keep my brain too busy to think about all the ways he makes me feel.
My eight a.m. Corporate Finance class is killing me. I desperately wish I could drop it. I can barely stay awake in class, and I never have that problem, but the professor drones on in this monotonous low timber that has half the class nodding off. It’s only adding to the constant pressure on my shoulders,because Ihaveto get an A. My dad will lose his mind if I don’t, especially considering it’s my degree concentration.
It’s all starting to pile up on me, and now that I’ve succeeded at this one thing, I’m starting to think too hard about what’s next, what’s left to do, how to do it all one notch better than everyone else. Otherwise, I’m a failure.
Before I can spiral too far, Brody’s voice cuts through the noise.
“LET’S GO, JAY! GET HIM ON HIS BACK!”
I look over to see what’s happening. Brody’s roommate Jay Norman has his opponent in a tight hold. Brody is on the sidelines, yelling encouragement like he’s coaching the Olympics. And it works. The period ends with Jay up thirteen points, a record margin for him.
Brody’s match is up next. Before he heads to the mat, I find myself beside him.
“Good luck,” I say under my breath.
He flashes me a grin that feels like a punch. “Aww, thanks,Becky. You gonna come congratulate me later if I win?”
I roll my eyes. “I won my match. Are you going to congratulate me?”
He winks as he pulls on his headgear. “Of course.”
He jogs towards the mat, and I can’t look away. His red Huntston singlet clings to him like it’s painted on. He looks like a sculpture come to life. His shoulders, his thighs, his stupidly perfect muscular ass—he’s perfection.
If only he didn’t know exactly what he does to me. As evidenced by the cocky little wink he gives me before shaking his opponent’s hand and getting set.
The whistle blows.
I blink, and he’s already got the other guy pinned. Straight to the mat. Over in seconds flat.
