Come Sunday, back from game-day chaos, Colt and I swing by the drive-through diner to grab burgers, against all potential dietary regimen costs. We dig into greasy heaven in the back of his truck, sitting on a pile of ridiculous chevron-striped blankets as we share a basket of fries and a pack of my favorite Busch Light Peach. We’re parked up in the middle of the field a good mile outside of the new and improved Eagle Rock sign. It’s so clear out here I can trace each and every constellation my parents taught me. I start with Orion, dragging an imaginary line across the three stars in his belt.
‘Now,’ I ask Colt around a fry, ‘where in the hell did you get that shirt? They don’t make May Velasco merch, I’ll have you know.’
‘I, uh …’ He laughs nervously, putting down his burger to regard me with complete attention. ‘I know that. I, um, I stole my sister’s Cricut machine.’
‘Huh. You did all of that for …’
‘Well, uh, for you. Obviously.’
For me.Damn it. No one but CJ Bradley could say something so cheesy and yet send a shiver from my head to my toes.
‘We still have such different destinations in life, Colt.’ I pick up another fry, and a dull wind comes through, tousling Colt’s wavy brown hair – that stupid (splendid, but stupid) ‘flow’ of his – as I glance up at the sky of perfectly clear stars. ‘You, professional lacrosse, far from home.’
‘And you?’ he says quietly.
‘I guess I seem like a square.’ I shoot him a smirk. ‘You think I’m a square.’
‘I never said that.’ Colt shakes his head, but the slightest smile sneaks out.
‘I have things I wanna do, but my best option is staying home. Holding it down. You have choices. We have different destinations,’ I repeat.
‘Hmm.’ He chews in thought before swallowing, swirling the beer in his can around a few times before he speaks. ‘May, I think … we don’t get assigned a direction in life. I get that I probably don’t understand what it’s like to become an adult here, where everything is so uncertain. But I think you choose your destination. And I think there comes a time when someone with the sort of talent you have has to make a choice as to who they wanna be.’
Colt’s dusky eyes glitter, magnetic, drawing me closer. I raise an eyebrow, setting down my beer and planting my chin on my hands. ‘A choice?’
‘Yep.’ His breath fans my cheeks. My eyes flit to his lips. On a normal day, I’d stop myself there. But something about the stars, and the truck, and the low rasp of Colt’s voice … all inhibitions leave my body. I’m doing exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t. Over, and over, and over, and apparently, it didn’t work. ‘Are you gonna be ordinary, or extraordinary?’
My breath catches as his fingers brush my temple, tucking an errant curl behind my ear. ‘You still got time, you know, before you make that choice. May.’ The soft, sweet whisper of Colt’s voice caresses my skin, a teasing smile entering his eyes before it traces its way across his lips. ‘But if you care, I think you’re pretty fucking extraordinary.’
The bass drum in my heart starts thudding on cue. Suddenly, my stomach is a flurry of something I’ve not felt since high school, not since I thought Colt was going to kiss me after the championship game sophomore year, and then stupendouslydidn’t, probably because the guys swept him away for a victory lap of the field. Every so often, I wonder if he would have kissed me. Now, I think to myself, I might be getting my answer.
‘No one’s watching, New Haven.’ My voice is a quavering sound that floats on the air and dissolves a moment later, threatening to cave to the hand that cups my cheek. ‘You don’t have to pretend here.’
‘I’m not pretending.’ Our knees are touching, a strangely intimate feeling, and he pulls me closer by warm hands at my waist. ‘Are you?’
I don’t expect a bit of what I do next.
All at once, my lips crash against Colt’s, the taste of celebratory peach beer on both our parts invading my senses. It’s not at all like the tame, orchestrated kisses we’ve shared in the public eye. It’s unbridled, raw, and much needier. His hands travel down my body, marvelling at every curve in a way no man’s hands have marvelled before. I wrap my legs around his torso, pulling our bodies closer to one another. His fingers tangle in my hair, his eyelashes fluttering against mine. I move a hand to his chest and give him a little nudge in the right direction.
‘May,’ Colt laughs as he falls back against the floor of the truck’s bed with a grin that possibly, maybe, couldn’t be anyhotter.
I lean down and kiss him again, and his grip on my hips tightens, fervent and searching. His fingers just brush the hem of my shirt.Keep going, I want to beg him.
‘What if someone sees us?’ he murmurs, his index fingers hooked through my belt loops as I lean back and do a quick three-sixty scan for the both of us.
I make my decision pretty quickly. ‘Then,’ I lean right backdown and whisper my next words at his ear. ‘To hell with ’em.’
With a grin, Colt pulls me back down to him, and he presses his lips to mine. My senses are overwhelmed in the most blissful way – the taste of the beer, the feeling of his skin against mine as he tosses my tank top aside. My hands roam until they find their way beneath his shirt, and I pull it right off him as quickly as I can. I relish every beautiful part of him. There is a shit ton I hate about lacrosse guys, but I will never complain about the wonderfully defined muscles and the abs. The perfectly toned six-pack on CJ Bradley. I have no comments or suggestions. I hum happily as my fingers trace their way down the sharp V just below those abs, and Colt gives my ass a squeeze, pushing our bodies close enough together that I can clearly feel the evidence of just how extraordinary he thinks I am. My eyes widen. Oh. My. God.
‘This okay?’ he murmurs into my hair. His hands are in my back pockets.Back pockets.We’re in the bed of his stunning truck. This is, as much as I hate to admit it, actually a dream come true. Yes, it’s absolutely okay. It’s beyond okay.
‘Yes,’ I try to say, except it turns into more of a needy keening when Colt kisses his way down the side of my neck. Any language in my brain turns into incoherent mush. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll look back on this and have to do damage control, but right now, I have nothing to lose. And frankly, I have so many things I’ve yet to feel.
I’m beyond thankful when Colt finally finds the button of my jeans. I wiggle out of them as quickly and effectively and eagerly as I possibly can.
‘May, if you’ll let me, I wanna apologize again to you.’ Colt’s chest heaves against mine, and in one swift move, his handprotecting the back of my head from the floor of the truck, he rolls us over, tugging a fold of the blanket with us. I’m still holding onto him like my life depends on it, my thighs at his hips, legs pulling him close to me, but cohesive thoughts become a thing of the past when I hear the rasp in his voice. The small silver medallion around his neck swings above me as he brings his lips to mine, his hair tickling my forehead, and then, one sweet, husky word out of that beautiful mouth: ‘Properly.’
Immediately, I’m nodding vigorously. ‘Please,’ I try my best to say. He’s literally killing my brain cells. How is that possible? How is a man so gorgeous?
