Laney
IT’S STARTING TO rain.
After the coffee debacle with Kam, I came home, changed into the crumpled-up shirt I slept in last night, and disappeared under the covers. I listened to the large droplets hitting the pavement outside like a drum until I fell asleep.
I don’t know how long I have been holed up, but when I throw the covers off, I realize its dark outside. I just lie there as the thunder pounds and my emotions stir. I have been in a state of conflict all day. Wanting Kam is one thing, but knowing he wants me back is entirely another. It opens doors that should stay closed forever. Dangerous, emotional, heated doors that warn Enter At Your Own Risk. And loving Kam has always been a risk.
I know I have to stop obsessing. About Kam, about the past, about the present, and about the very potent feelings that just won’t seem to go away. I’m going to drive myself nuts!
My personal-crisis situation calls for some pizza and ice cream . . . stat.
I shoot out of bed and walk into my living room, and what do I see as soon as I look at the television? Kam’s face.
“You’re up.” Steven is lounging on the couch holding the remote.
“How long have you been here?” I ask him, peeling my attention away from the headline for only a second.
“A few hours. We were supposed to grab dinner, but you were asleep when I got here. Are you feeling okay?”
“Not really. What’s going on?” I point at the television.
Steven snickers. “He’s not so golden after all.”
I want to slap him for his scathing remark.
“Why are you always hating on Kam?” I snap at him. “Does he intimidate you that much?”
Steven stands up. “He doesn’t intimidate me, Laney. I’ve just always seen him for what he is. And now the rest of the world sees it, too.” He motions to the screen.
Alabama Golden Boy Accused of Sexual Assault.
“Kam would never do that,” I immediately defend him.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“I guess you would know,” he replies snidely.
“What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“Still having feelings for your ex,” he says blatantly. “The two of you have been pretty cozy lately.”
“We’re friends.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?”
“You’re being an idiot.” Just like Kam called you today. “Where is this coming from?”
“It’s coming from the fact I’m not blind, and that you wear his practice jersey to bed every night.” He pokes me in the chest. I look down and realize I’m wearing the dark-blue jersey with the number seven, a pair of underwear, and nothing else.
Steven heads for the door. “Why don’t you call me when you work out what the hell you want. Although, I’m pretty sure I already know what that is.” Thunder booms and lightning strikes just as he storms out, slamming the door behind him.
I stand there gaping. What the fuck just happened?
First Kam, now Steven? My life is turning into a car wreck.
I rub my temples, sit on the couch, and turn up the volume so I can listen to the news report that’s playing on a loop. “Sandra Collins, twenty-two, has accused the football phenom of raping her at a college party after she repeatedly refused his advances. An investigation is underway.”
I just shake my head, disbelieving. Kam may be many things, but a rapist is definitely not one of them.
I suddenly jump from a knock at the door and a simultaneous lightning strike that illuminates the whole room. I run to answer it, fully expecting Steven to be on the other side, gearing up for round two. Instead, I swing it open to a soaking wet, hooded figure.
“Kam?” I yank him inside. He’s drenched from head to toe.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.” He pulls off his hood and unzips his sweatshirt. His wet T-shirt is clinging to all the right places, most notably his chiseled chest and ripped abs. I look away so I don’t start salivating.
“It’s fine. Come in.” I walk him into the living room of my moderate-sized, off-campus apartment. “How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
“In the rain?” my voice elevates.
“I had to get away. There are reporters crawling all over my house. I snuck out the back.”
Kam shares a spacious colonial with three of his teammates. It’s a hub for parties and a hangout for almost every athlete on campus. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now.” He shivers, dripping wet in the middle of my living room.
“I just saw,” I reply as I grab a towel from the bathroom and hand it to him.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” I respond sympathetically.
“Fucking, bullshit,” he mutters as he wipes his face, then sneezes. Not good.
“Um, not to sound like I’m coming on to you, but you should really get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.” Kam’s grim expression lightens a little.
“Lemon, if you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.”
“Kam, please.” I stop him right there.
“Just sayin’.” He shrugs.
I roll my eyes. “I can put your clothes in the dryer, if you’d like. If not, don’t sit on my couch until you’re dry.” I walk over and plop down on the plush sofa.
“You’re tougher than nails, Lemon.” He shrugs off his sweatshirt, then peals his T-shirt off right in the middle of the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” My mouth actually goes dry. Holy Roll Tide. College football does a body good.
“Talking my wet clothes off so I can sit down.”
“I didn’t ask for a strip show. Use the bathroom!” I point.
“Sorry. Didn’t think it would be a big deal. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” He turns toward the bathroom door, his back muscles rippling as he walks. I sink into the cushion. Good lord. I actually fan myself. It’s been nearly four years and the man still has a panty-melting effect.
Dangerous, emotional, heated door that warns Enter At Your Own Risk.
Kam comes out of the bathroom wearing nothing but the towel I gave him. “Where’s the dryer?”
I motion to a set of doors off the kitchen. I think I have lost the ability to speak. Kam, naked, in my apartment. How did we suddenly get here?
He pops his clothes into the dryer with a tight grip on the towel. Once they’re tumbling, he takes a quiet seat next to me on the couch. It isn’t very big, but it’s comfortable. With his head hanging low and elbows resting on his knees, he looks over at me. And that’s when I see it. The devastation. He may have been playing around before, but he can’t suppress what he’s truly feeling.
“You okay?” I ask considerately.
He shakes his head, and a few renegade droplets fall from the ends of his disheveled hair.
“Did you assault that girl?” I have to ask, even though I already know the answer. I just have to hear it from his own mouth.
“No,” he asserts. “I don’t even think I know her.”
“Then why would she accuse you of such a thing?”
Kam shrugs. “A payout, maybe? I wouldn’t be the first athlete it’s happened to.”
“Despicable.”
“Whatever the reason, it’s destroying my reputation.” He scrubs his face with his hands. “Which, in turn, is destroying my career.”
“Her accusation doesn’t affect the way you play football,” I argue.
“No, but reputation is everything when you’re being drafted. No one wants to recruit a bad seed.”
“Anyone who knows you knows that you would never hurt or disrespect a woman. And if you don’t get drafted because some stupid girl looking for attention cried rape, the NFL needs to seriously re-examine itself.”
Kam smiles wearily. “Thanks, Laney.” He puts his hand on my bare knee and heat races across my skin. “How is it every time my career is in jeopardy, you always know the right thing to say?”
“I’m a genius.” I laugh nervously.
Kam laughs, too, pushing my knee playfully. He’s so cute when he’s just Kam. Not Mr. All-Star or Mr. Popularity. Just Kam. We stare quietly at each other for a long while. The energy in the room heavy, suppressive almost.
Dangerous, emotional, heated door that warns Enter At Your Own Risk.
“It’s getting late. You should probably get some rest.” I move to stand, but he snatches my wrist.
“Can you stay with me?”
I crease my eyebrows. “Kam, I don’t think—”
“Come on, Laney. This is probably the worst day of my life. I don’t want to be alone.” He looks at me with raw emotion.
I know it took a lot for Kam to admit that. And he must really be hurting if his defenses are down.
“Okay.” I give in. How can I say no to such a bleeding plea? “Lie down.”
Kam situates himself on the three-cushioned couch so I can slide up next to him. I rest my head on his chest as he wraps both arms around me. He smells like rain. We’re scrunched pretty tightly, but somehow we make it work. We lie there just listening to the storm. Thunder cracking and lightning brightening the room every now and again.
After a while, I start to drift off, warm and secure in Kam’s embrace.
“Hey, Lemon,” Kam says just before I fall asleep.
“Yeah?” I murmur.
“Nice shirt.”