Chapter Twelve
MILLER
I wasn’t sure how long I’d stared at the blank wall.
The paint was a muted tan that only seemed to remind me of my own emptiness—and of the need to fill the wall with something that felt like home.
I’d never put up pictures.
It had seemed pointless.
The only ones that had ever meant anything to me were of Emerson and my mom.
My dad only wanted me for my money and, ever since my mom’s death, had found most of his answers at the bottom of a bottle.
Unpacked boxes littered the apartment. I’d taken the first available penthouse apartment in Bellevue, with hopes that the security would be enough to give me privacy.
And if I was being completely honest, it was also far enough away from my childhood home, from her, from the McDonald’s we used to go to, from the high school we’d both attended. I sure as hell shouldn’t let my brain go there but it did, and just like that one of my last memories with Em pushed through the surface, begging to be remembered.
(Then)
“Eat.” I slid my fries across the table. When she didn’t reach for them, I opened up some ranch dipping sauce and sniffed it. “God, that smells good. Don’t you think this smells good, Em?” I held it right underneath her cute-as-hell nose. She flinched before casting a murderous glance in my direction.
“I think I’ll dip my fries in this.”
I knew what I was doing.
Stomping all over her weaknesses. The girls on the squad were mean to her because she was a threat—Emerson always saw it the other way around—she was bigger, curvier, ergo their words must be right. No matter how many times I tried to convince her that any guy would give his left nut for a chance to even hold her hand—she still thought she was the one lacking, and unfortunately that even trickled into food.
“Mmm.” I shoved five french fries in my mouth as ranch sauce fell in a gooey blob onto the table. “That’s the spot, baby.” I grinned over another huge mouthful. “I’m so close!” I slammed a hand onto the table. Everyone at the burger joint turned to stare at us.
Her lips twitched while her eyes snapped to my fries with longing, damn french fry, making me want to trade places. “You’re not funny.”
“Eat the fries before I orgasm in front of the entire restaurant, Em.”
“We’ll get blacklisted . . .” She sighed. “Again.”
“The first time was bullshit, and you know it,” I said defensively.
“Miller.”
I wasn’t going to take no for an answer, French orgasm here I come, I snickered at my own word play. “OH, OH, OH—”
She quickly shoved two fries in her mouth and glared at me. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”
I glanced under the table and then moaned. “But your ass is second only to your face. And that comes from the heart, Em.”
“I think that was a compliment.”
“You’re welcome.” Satisfied, I spread my arms wide and chuckled while she swallowed and drank me in with her eyes. I knew what she saw. My Bellevue Football team T-shirt was stretched tightly across my lean muscles. She looked away and shivered. Nobody would have noticed the effect I had on her—I noticed. I always had.
Fucking memories.
A chill ran down my spine as my ears strained to hear anything else on the other side of the wall, aside from Sanchez’s moaning. Why? Why did it have to be her? Why. Why. What the ever-loving-F why!
I wanted to believe the Em I used to know had grown into a mature adult who wouldn’t just jump in bed with a guy like Sanchez because he smiled in her direction.
Then again, I didn’t really know her anymore, did I?
And I blamed her for that more than I would ever blame myself.
I clenched my hands so tight my palms burned. I wanted to seriously take an axe to that bare wall and chop until I made my way through.
The whole scenario was straight out of The Shining. I seriously needed to get my shit together if I was going to be able to focus on our first preseason game in two weeks.
Focus, Miller.
Not on the noises next door.
If I closed my eyes, I swore I could still feel the way her body felt beneath my fingertips . . . the buzzing awareness of her mouth as it drew each kiss, sucked the life out of me.
I kicked one of the ugly brown boxes full of shit I didn’t need and heard the sound of glass breaking.
I was ready to throw the box across the large living room when a knock sounded at the door. I tripped over four more boxes in an effort to answer it.
I jerked the knob and swore. “Sanchez.”
“Miller.” I hated that I was inspecting him for any hint that she’d been kissing him, tugging at his clothes, sucking his—
Yeah, I needed to stop.
He sidestepped me, breezing right into my apartment like he owned it.
“Did you need something?” Hadn’t he already done enough?
“Nice place.” He did a slow circle where he stood and then crossed his bulky arms over his chest. “If you need the name of a decorator I can—”
“Cut the shit,” I interrupted. “It’s late, and we both have practice in the morning. What do you need?”
His green eyes flashed. “I called dibs.”
Not what I expected him to say.
It felt like someone had punched me in the face and then shoved me off the nearest cliff. “You can’t just call dibs on a person, Sanchez. Besides, I’m sure if she knew about your little bet with the rest of the guys, she’d feed you your own heart.”
His lips twitched. “I can see my girl being violent like that, kinda kinky. I think I like it.”
My gut twisted. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I bit my tongue in an effort to not rip his face off. I had no right to be possessive. No right to be upset. No damn right.
“Was that all? I’m tired.”
His eyes narrowed. “So, you’re cool with this? With me dating Emerson?”
It was the first time he’d said her name, which was my first clue. He wasn’t kidding. He was serious as hell.
“I don’t even know her anymore.” I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal and immediately felt like I was going to throw up. “You can screw whoever and whatever you want, man. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression you needed permission.”
“Good.” His smile grew. “Because this girl’s different.”
I know she is, my heart screamed.
“Sure she is.” I snorted. “Just wait.”
“You sure sound bitter for someone who stole her virginity then left her all alone.” His gaze met mine. “Something you’re not telling me before I go back into my apartment and strip her naked?”
Red. I saw fucking red. “Nah, man, have at it. Just make sure to wear a condom.”
I sounded like my father.
My drunk, bitter father.
I’d never hated myself more than I did in that moment.
“I always protect those I’m with, even if it’s from themselves,” he finally said as he walked by me. I could smell her on his skin, and I hated them both. I couldn’t afford to hate him if I wanted to win games, but damn, I’d never wanted to inflict physical harm more than I did in that minute.
All I needed him to do was trip over at least five boxes, the heavy ones, snap his leg in two, and then he’d be out of the picture, and I could go back to being lonely.
And angry.
Why the hell had I been traded now?
I ran my hands over my buzzed hair and swore again.
“Hey, Miller?”
“Yeah?” I tried to sound casual. I failed.
I knew he could see right through me. My posture was rigid, my voice hoarse, and my eyes probably looked as wild as my heartbeat.
“Never say I didn’t warn you.”
He nodded. “Game on.”
“Game?”
“May the best man win.” He winked and shut the door quietly behind him, leaving me blanketed in silence, until of course, his own apartment door opened and footsteps sounded.
Followed by female laughter.
I couldn’t tell if it was the TV or if it was Emerson.
And then I was irrationally angry that I’d forgotten the way her laugh sounded, and that if she was laughing, it was because of him.
Sleep.
I needed to go to sleep.
Or I was going to lose my mind.
And be complete shit at practice.
But when I slid into my sheets a few hours later, my head resting against the pillow, the only vision that would come was that of Emerson crying and clinging to me, her nails digging into my biceps.
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”