19

I drum my fingers mindlessly on the marble top kitchen counter, my other hand cradling the side of my head as I hunch over a blank assignment I’ve been staring at for the last hour. I can hear a football game blaring from the living room, but it's as if the announcers are speaking another language, their words gibberish to my completely distracted mind.

I grab my phone and huff in frustration when I see a list of new messages, none of which have a small emoji for the name. Rayne and I still haven’t communicated since her birthday last week, despite my numerous attempts to contact her. Calls, texts, you name it. Shit, I got so desperate I even sent her a freakin’ email yesterday. Not too much longer and I’m gonna go real old school: Snail mail, carrier pigeons, telegrams, the works. 

After texting with one another every single day for a while now, an entire week of not speaking feels like an eternity. Especially considering we have a wholeeee lot to discuss. 

Like the fact that the last time we were together we were seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off. 

Or the fact that the connection between us was fucking magnetic. 

Or maybe the fact that I haven’t stopped thinking about it since the moment it happened, and I have a strong suspicion she’s dealing with the same damn thing. 

Not gonna lie, I’ve made out with a lot of chicks. It comes with the territory of being a student athlete, and I’ve taken advantage of it just like any other hot-blooded, college dude would. 

But this kiss? This fucking kiss was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. It was off-the-charts hot. The taste of lemon in her mouth, her soft, sensual moans as I nipped at her neck, the fucking passion in the way we were going at it, like I was going off to war or some shit. 

Goddamn. 

The bartender had to practically pry us apart at closing time, but that wasn’t the end of our makeout sesh. Not at all. We kissed fervently as we waited for a cab, spent the entire ride home tangled together in the backseat. When we came to a stop in front of her apartment, we didn’t come up for air until the driver threatened to charge us a PDA fee. 

I’d wanted to take her home—so fucking much—but we’d both been drinking and I didn’t want to take things too far too fast. 

So instead I bid her goodnight, enjoyed the view of her sauntering into her building, and jerked myself off twice in the shower when I got home.

Andddd now I’ve got a hard-on just thinking about it—something that’s been happening every time I replay that night in my mind. 

God, I want her. 

I want her bad.

But here’s the thing. 

Yeah, the sexual energy between the two of us is undeniably out of this world, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to me and her. That’s only surface level stuff. 

Because underneath all that, we’ve got a real emotional connection, the same sarcastic sense of humor, a true friendship. 

And that’s where things get complicated. 

All of my relationships with women in the past have either been purely physical or strictly platonic. It’s always been that simple, very black-and-white: hook-ups and friends. I can’t think of a time where there’s been any overlap, and that’s how I liked it. 

Because when you combine friendship and physical chemistry, you’re treading dangerously close to girlfriend territory. And I don’t do girlfriends.

At least not until I met her. 

Rayne’s not some random fling, and with the way I’ve been feeling the past week, I don’t think our “friendship” label is gonna cut it anymore. Not after all that. 

‘Cause, shit, I think I really like her. 

Screw it—I fucking know I really like her. 

And I have for a while. 

I didn’t expect to fall for the sarcastic, feisty girl who hated my guts less than a month ago, but here I am, falling. Falling hard. 

For the first time in my life, I’m curious to see what would happen if we gave this a shot. 

But I don’t know how that’s going to be possible if she won’t even speak to me. 

I push the homework off the counter and watch as it flutters slowly to the floor, knowing I’m not getting shit done tonight. 

I move to the living room, settling onto the couch as I try to focus on the game. I crank the volume as high as necessary to drown out my pestering thoughts. 

Ten minutes later, I hear the front door open and the familiar sound of Liam and Ellie’s voices as they enter the house. 

“Damn, mate. There a reason the volume is loud as shit?” Liam grabs the remote and turns it down a few notches. “Thought my Grandpa was in here watching the telly.”

Ellie ruffles my hair. “Going deaf, Vaughn? You’re a little young for that.” She veers towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna grab us all a few beers.” 

Once she disappears, Liam jumps over the top of the couch and lands on the cushion next to me. An annoying commercial blares on the screen.

“What’s on?” he asks. 

“Football.” 

“Ah, nofeetball,” he says with a nod, using his preferred term for American football. “What’s the score?” 

I shrug after realizing I never noticed. “Not sure.” 

“Who’s playing?”

Uhhh….

“Dunno.” 

Damn. I really wasn’t paying a lick of attention. 

Liam cocks his head. “You going deaf and blind?” he quips before squinting at me. “What’s up, V? Something on your mind?” 

I contemplate brushing him off but realize out of all the guys who live here, he’s the only one with an actual girlfriend. Ellie’s freaking awesome, and, yeah, I’m aware this makes me sound like a total pussy, but they really do make a cute couple. If there’s anyone I’m gonna ask for advice on the situation, it’s gotta be him.

“This convo doesn’t leave the room, okay?” I demand and he nods as I continue. “What’s it like having a serious girlfriend?”

His brows shoot up in surprise at my question, but once he gets over the initial shock, a dopey smile spreads across his lips. “It’s fucking wonderful. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But only because it’s Ellie. A relationship’s only going to work if it’s with the right person.”

“How’d you know Ellie was the right one?” 

Scratching his chin, he answers, “It’s hard to put into words, mate. There was something extra with her, you know? She was different.” 

“Different how?” 

He ponders for a moment before speaking. “Here’s how it is. Imagine the girls you hook up with are bowls of vanilla ice cream, yeah? Vanilla ice cream’s quite nice, really hits the spot when you’re in the mood for it.” He pauses. “You like ice cream, right? Otherwise this analogy’s not gonna do it for you.” 

I nod. “Who the hell doesn’t?” 

He goes on. “Although vanilla ice cream’s great, there’s nothing special about it. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely respect vanilla ice cream, but I’m not obsessed with it, I don’t need it.” 

He drags a hand through his light auburn hair. “So one day you come across a bowl of something, and at first you think it’s just another scoop of vanilla. But the moment you taste it you’re like, bloody hell, this is brilliant.”

I stifle a laugh at how freakin’ English he sounds. 

He’s totally engulfed in his story, his voice getting more animated as he goes on. “With each bite, you’re discovering how much better this is than plain ol’ vanilla; it’s got chocolate syrup and chopped nuts and whipped cream. It’s a fucking ice cream sundae, and now that you’ve tasted it, you can’t imagine having normal ice cream ever again. You want this sundae everyday for the rest of your life knowing you’ll never get sick of it. You’re positive nothing will ever taste as good as this. Absolutely nothing compares.” 

He sighs happily, lost in thought. “Ellie’s my ice cream sundae, mate. With a cherry on top.” 

I slowly shake my head. “Fucking poetic, dude.” 

He glares at me. “Oh, piss off, Steel. You asked and I answered. I’m not gonna apologize for having a way with words.” 

We look at each other for two seconds before we burst out laughing. 

Despite his unique way of explaining his feelings, I do understand what he’s getting at. 

Ellie returns, looking at us like we’re insane as she walks around the front of the couch and hands me an open beer. 

“What’s funny, boys?” 

“Nothing. Thanks for the beer, Sundae.” 

She arches a manicured brow and opens her mouth to say something, but closes it and shakes her head instead. “Nope. Not even gonna ask.” 

She struts over to Liam and hands him a drink. He grabs her before she walks away, tugging her down and cupping her cheeks as he kisses her.

When they pull apart, she giggles and runs a thumb across his lips, wiping her lipstick from his mouth. 

“What was that for, babe?” 

“Vaughn was reminding me how much I fucking love you, El.” His hands drop to her hips as he pulls her into another steamy kiss, this one verging into something not appropriate for all audiences. 

“Hey,” I say, tossing a throw pillow between them. “Take that shit to Liam’s place.”

Liam grins. “You heard the man, Peaches. Let’s go.” He stands, grabbing her and tossing her effortlessly over his shoulder as she squeals. 

He turns and points a finger at me. “Take this advice, V. When you find the one that makes vanilla ice cream seem like the blandest damn thing on the planet, you better not let her get away.” 

Ellie lifts and twists her head to frown at us. “What are y’all talking about? Sundaes and ice cream?” 

Liam smacks her ass. “Don’t worry about it, love. Let’s leave Vaughn to his telly watching. You can turn the volume up again, mate. I have a feeling things are going to get a bit loud next door.” He winks before carrying Ellie out of the room. 

You better not let her get away.

Liam’s words hit me hard. 

I need to convince Rayne to give me a chance and explore whatever the hell is going on between us. 

She’ll have to talk to me eventually. I mean, the season’s not even halfway over and she still needs more info for her article. There’s only so long she can avoid contact. 

She can’t ignore me forever.