We weren’t falling asleep tangled up during Christmas movies as often, because I had exams and he had film and practice and scouts and conference noise and a body that could be one hard hit away from becoming a headline.
But somehow, even with less time, he got harder to shake.
He was in everything now.
In the hoodie I stole and kept folded at the end of my bed.
In the coffee order I stopped pretending he didn’t know.
In the way I checked my phone after training, not for my mother, not for campus gossip, not even for soccer updates.
For him.
Drew:Eat protein.
Me:Bossy.
Drew:Beautiful.
Me:That did not answer the accusation.
Drew:It distracted you though.
It always did.
That was the problem.
Yeah, distracted me from the fact that New Year’s Eve was ten days away.
Ten days to midnight.
A clean break.
My brilliant, practical, emotionally mature plan had started to feel less like control and more like a countdown to an execution I had scheduled myself.
I told myself this was still fake.
I told myself we were just good at pretending.
I told myself wanting him did not mean loving him.
Which was technically true.
Probably.
Maybe.
I knew one thing for certain—I wanted Drew Travers so badly I was starting to resent him for being honorable.
That was new.
Men had pushed me before. Men had wanted to take. Men had looked at me like my body was a locked door and their ego was the key.
Drew did not.
Drew kissed me like he wanted to ruin my common sense, touched me like he had memorized every place I went soft, made me shake apart in his arms more than once, then stopped before the final line every single time.
Not because he didn’t want me.
