“Let me know if you want some of the protein powder I got,” I tell him. “It’s just vanilla, but it tastes a lot better than the tiramisu one. Still chalky, but tastier chalk.”
“You were supposed to grab us something nutritious, like a sandwich,” Colten says, shaking his head. “Protein powder does not replace actual food.”
“I have sandwiches, too,” I reply, mock offended. “Cake sandwiches, but like, it adds variety.”
Colten lets out a long-suffering sigh, ruined almost immediately by the laugh he's obviously trying to hold back.
“If I die from all this processed food, it’s your fault.”
“We’re superheroes now, remember?” I say, grinning. “Even with a stupid power, a bit of sugar and salt won’t destroy us.”
He lets out a bark of laughter. My shoulders loosen, though I didn’t even realize they were tense.
He still declines the cake sandwich when I offer it to him.
This is good, it’s normal. Or at least, it feels normal enough.
If I can just keep making him laugh, maybe it will be like nothing has changed.
The music keeps playing, the road keeps going, and the sun shifts slowly across the sky.
Eventually, there’s nothing left to do but think.
Which is a problem, because my brain immediately goes:Hey, remember last night?
I stare out the window, watching the blur of trees and asphalt, and try not to think about Colten’s mouth on mine. About the way his hands felt. They were firm and sure, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
Which is unfair, because I barely got to touch him even though his hands were all over me!
I swallow and sneak a glance at him.
He looks…normal. Annoyingly normal. Like he didn’t make me almost cum in my pants from some kissing and heavy petting last night.
I frown and then consider this whole situation. From suddenly making out at the soccer party to dry humping in his mom’s house…
…Is it too much?
I mean, okay, yeah. It’s probably a little weird to start making out with your best friend of three years, but also, we now glow when we’re horny, so it’s just another odd thing on the list.
And he liked it. I know he did. He liked it at the party, too. Before he just—left.
My grip tightens around my shaker bottle before I break and glance at him again.
He’s focused on the road, his strong jaw set, fingers flexing slightly against the wheel.
And now I’m thinking about those hands, and how those hands felt on me, and wondering if he would ever want to kiss me again, or if he wants—
Nope! Abort mission.
I sit up straighter, like that will physically shake the thoughts out of my head. If I start glowing because I’m thinking horny thoughts about Colten, he might get distracted and cause a five-car pileup, which is not ideal.
So, time to think about something else, somethingnotsexy.
Soccer—okay, soccer is good. There’s the combine, scouts, drills, footwork, conditioning—
In my head, I can hear Colten’s voice saying:You should be practicing more.
I make a face. Colten’s been on me about it all year since the injury. About losing time, staying sharp, and not screwing this up. Being a professional athlete doesn’t just happen, after all.
