Chapter Twenty
EMERSON
I had no right to be jealous. But I was. So jealous I was ready to lose my mind. I’d had too much to drink, that much I knew. Typically, I only allowed myself a maximum of two, but I’d had a third after Sanchez kept beating me at stupid Indian poker.
Kinsey and Miller were talking in the corner again, and it took everything in me not to eavesdrop. He wasn’t mine. I had no claim on him. And it wasn’t fair that I wanted both him and Sanchez.
What type of person did that make me anyway?
Disgusted with myself, I quickly started tossing red plastic cups in the trash and cleaning up the best I could.
My hands were shaking by the time I got close enough to hear them exchange phone numbers. When I looked up, they were saying good-bye to the rest of us.
Were they leaving together?
Was it my business?
A few of Sanchez’s teammates followed them into the hall, talking loud enough to make my ears ring.
Leaving just Sanchez and me.
“You’re staying, right?” He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my stomach.
I wish I could say it made me shiver, that his touch did things to me—and it did, to an extent—but the feelings he evoked were nothing compared to the ones I was always comparing them to. Just another thing that made me a horrible person. Sanchez was in a contest he would never win, and he literally had no idea.
“You tense when I do that,” he whispered in my ear. “I hug you, and you tense. I kiss you, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in your head.”
Maybe it was because I’d been drinking, but I hung my head and whispered, “Sometimes it’s hard to forget the past.”
Sanchez tightened his hold on me. “You can’t move on if you keep holding on, Curves.”
I leaned back against him. “I know. I just . . . A part of me misses him.”
“You never had closure?”
“No.” I wasn’t sure how much to tell him. “I called and was told he’d moved on. I mean what else do you do, right? When I tried calling him again, the number had been disconnected.”
He hissed out a curse.
“We were kids,” I said in defense of both of us.
“Age doesn’t make pain any less traumatic.”
I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck. “For a football player, you’re pretty smart.”
His forehead touched mine. “I went to Stanford and graduated with honors, Curves. I’m a fucking genius.”
“And so humble too,” I teased.
“You humble me,” he fired back just as fast. “Care to change that no to a yes?”
“Nope.”
“Can I at least kiss you then?”
I didn’t answer.
“You know.” Sanchez’s eyes sparked with intensity, and they were focused solely on me. It was enough for my stomach to erupt with butterflies. Guys like him were dangerous to girls like me, girls who desperately wanted to give their heart to someone who promised to take good care of it. “I wasn’t always this suave playboy with a heart of gold.”
I couldn’t suppress my smile. “Oh? Do tell.”
He wrapped his arms around me, my heart thudded in my chest while he slowly licked his lips. “At the risk of being completely transparent with the girl who won’t let me see her naked.” He sighed heavily. “I used to believe in monogamous relationships. Ones where the guy fell for the girl, the girl fell for the guy, they bought a house together, a dog, two fighting beta fish, no goldfish in my fantasy.” The corners of his mouth dipped into a smile. “The point is, I believed in it, because I had no reason not to.”
“And now?” I asked my voice shaky.
“Now.” He sighed. “You make me want to, which makes me want to fuck you and send you on your way, because I know you’re the type of girl who will always demand more for yourself, and hell if I don’t respect that. But the past has a weird way of defining us, yeah?”
I nodded. “Who was she?”
“She belongs in the past.”
With Miller.
He didn’t say it.
He didn’t have to.
“You’re confusing when you’re honest,” I whispered.
“I’ve been honest since day one. Just because I’ve never been painted as the good guy, doesn’t mean I don’t want to be. Some people are worth taking risks for, and others . . .” He shrugged, his voice trailed off, and he was already pulling away.
I didn’t want him to.
There were so many layers to him and I wanted to know them all, and at the same time I felt selfish for putting him in a position where I was the villain, not him.
Because in that moment, I wanted him.
Even though, I still felt like I wanted Miller.
I reacted.
I stopped thinking.
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him as hard as I could; my body wrapped around his, fitting perfectly. He groaned against my mouth, his hands sliding down to cup my ass and pull me against him.
“Sorry, left my—” Miller’s voice sounded. “Jacket.”
I pulled away from Sanchez, but he refused to let me go.
“I think it’s on the couch, man.”
“Great.” Miller jogged over to the couch, grabbed his jacket and then glanced at both of us, a genuine smile on his face. “Thanks for the invite, man.”
“Anytime.”
It felt wrong.
I wanted it to feel right. It didn’t.
“And you . . .” Miller eyed me, his eyes were indifferent. I hated it. “Better get to bed. I heard that your coach is making you do a burpee day.”
“WHY!” I whined. Yeah, I’d had way too much to drink.
Miller and Sanchez both burst out laughing.
“It’s just too easy,” Miller called over his shoulder before waving good-bye and going into his apartment. Alone.
I exhaled in relief.
“You pull away when you see him.” Sanchez finally released me.
“You don’t let me.”
“I never will.” His smile fell as he grabbed the trash bag by my feet and continued cleaning up. “Why don’t you go take a shower. We both have early days tomorrow.”
“Sanchez—”
“Grant.” He sighed. “Call me Grant.”
“Grant.” His first name felt funny on my lips. “I like you. You know that, right?”
He looked like he wanted to say something; instead, he bit down on his lip and dropped the bag, then walked over to me and cupped my face with both of his hands. He slammed his mouth against mine, making it impossible to think or breathe. His hands were everywhere, the heat of his mouth addicting as his tongue fought for dominance. The man kissed like he played—without apology and without fear.
He jerked away. “Sleep.”
“What?” My voice was breathless. “You’re not going to ask me to have sex with you?”
“Nope.” He went back to tossing things in the trash. “Because when you actually like a girl, you’re willing to wait until she’s ready.”
“Ready?” I repeated.
“You’re not ready. Go. Shower. Bed. Before I kiss you again.”
“I kind of like that threat,” I mumbled, then let out a little gasp at his laughter. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
His laugh turned into a groan. “There’s only so much I can take of this . . .” His gaze was liquid fire as it roamed over my body from head to toe and back again. “Leave before I go back on my word and ask you for sex, because for some reason, I think you’d say yes, and then you’d hate me after, and I’d hate myself and—I can’t believe these words are coming out of my mouth right now. GO!”
With a laugh, I skipped down the hall toward the shower.
It wasn’t until I grabbed my phone and saw a text from Miller that my grin fell and my heart started pounding against my chest. It made me feel horrible, that the slight buzz from Sanchez’s lips didn’t even begin to match the burn in my fingertips as I gripped my phone like a lifeline and read.
Miller: I’m sorry. I didn’t know.
Me: Know?
Steam filled the bathroom, and my hands shook as I waited for his response.
Miller: I didn’t know you tried calling. Your number was disconnected too. I had no idea. I came home one day, and my dad said my phone was broken. He threw it away. I had to get a new number. I didn’t know.
Me: I changed my number after what he said.
Miller: What the fuck did he say?
Me: Does it matter?
“Hey!” Sanchez called. “You fall down in there? And are you naked?”
“Stop!” I laughed. “I’m a girl. We take long showers.”
“No, guys take long showers for obvious reasons, and I have the need for a very long shower after that kiss, so hurry it up, Curves!”
“Sorry!”
Miller’s text popped up.
Miller: You know it does.
Me: He said you were with your new girlfriend, that you’d moved on, that you wanted nothing to do with me. He said you felt sorry for me, and that you had a new life. It was bad. I cried.
Miller: You don’t want to know how angry I am right now. How much I want to fucking kill him for that shit. I spent my senior year of high school sitting by myself at lunch, doing extra homework so I didn’t have to go home to my abusive alcoholic father, and praying a college would pick me up so I could leave. I had one friend. And that friend was you.
Tears ran down my face as I quickly jumped into the shower and thought about what he’d said.
Why? Why would his dad do that to us?
It was almost like he’d known the reason I’d called.
But that would be impossible.
Right?
I dried off as fast as possible, grabbed my phone, and slid it into my sweatshirt before opening the door to a glaring Sanchez.
“You crying?”
“No,” I lied, and flashed him a smile. “Eyes bloodshot from booze. It’s what happens to me when I drink more than one drink.”
“That’s sad, Curves. Now I want to cry.”
“Hah!” I snuck past him. “Have fun in your long shower!”
“Give me some material, and we’ll see!” He crossed his arms. “Come on, just a little boob. Do me a solid?”
“Use your imagination!”
“I failed that class in school!” he yelled after me. “Come on, Curves!”
With a sigh, I walked back to him and kissed him softly on the mouth, tugging his lower lip between my teeth. “Fantasize about that.”
He let out a groan and reached for me, but I jumped back just in time.
“Play fair!”
“Hey, at least you’re in the game.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not just in it. I’m going to win it.”
Something about his gaze told me that he wasn’t just talking about a figurative game, but something much more serious.
My cell phone burned in my front pocket.
“Good night.” I didn’t know what else to say. I made a beeline toward his guest bedroom and locked the door—I always locked the door. He said it was for me, but tonight, it was for him.
Because something in his gaze told me things were shifting.
And I was either going to get caught up in the crossfire or burn alive.
I quickly grabbed my phone and texted back.
Me: I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I was too hurt. I thought you wanted to end things. I thought—I don’t know. I was emotional and stupid. I’m so sorry.
Miller: I promised you.
Me: You did.
Miller: And you clearly didn’t believe me.
Me: I was . . . hurt.
God, I wanted to tell him. But I knew it wasn’t the time; plus, it was the past. It wouldn’t fix anything now.
Miller: We really do need to start over, put this shit behind us. I want to be your friend again. I want us back. The us without kissing, I guess, since Sanchez cock blocked me before I even got a shot.
I burst out laughing, even though tears still ran down my face from our conversation.
Me: It’s one of his finer attributes.
Miller: Tell me about it . . .
Me: Yes.
Miller: Yes???? Did you just say yes to my offer of friendship? Should I make bracelets?
Me: No need. I still have our necklaces.
Miller: Tell anyone we had friendship necklaces, and I’ll deny it till I die.
Me: Your half was pink!
Miller: I hate you.
Me: And when we put them together, they made a heart!
Miller: I’m deleting all of these texts, just so you know.
Me: Remember our handshake?
Miller: It had snaps.
Me: Your favorite part!
Miller: I take back the friendship offer.
Me: No you don’t. You know you’re laughing right now and trying to get the stupid handshake out of your mind.
Miller: Damn it.
Me: If you remember it tomorrow AND do it, I’ll bake you cookies.
Miller: You’re on.
Me: I missed you.
Miller: That’s in the past.
Me: Deal.
Miller: And Em?
Me: Yeah?
Miller: I’m pretty sure, I missed you more . . .