Why had I done that?

Eight years. Eight perfectly fine years, I’d gone without an utterance of his name. It had been at least three since I’d stopped picturing his face at least once a day. I was good, I was stable.

And then I had to go and be a masochist, sharing a meal with him and melting when he talked. I could feel myself slipping, right there in between our entrees and dessert. That’s why I had to put him in his place, to put my head back on straight.

Because what I’d said was true. I had studied him, catalogued every piece of information he’d been willing to give me. I knew him inside out. And he hadn’t known me, not one bit.

He’d been the reason I couldn’t fall in love with anyone else, not when I’d been so rejected for so long by the one man I’d loved blindly. Even when someone had loved me faithfully, with all of my flaws, I couldn’t give enough to make it work.

I thought about Zachary … something I hadn’t done in a while. four years ago, when my meddling yenta of a mother couldn’t stand me not bringing someone to Hanukkah anymore, my parents set me up with the son of a woman from their synagogue.

He was Jewish, tall, dark and handsome, he had a good job in the restaurant sector. Zach was charming and attentive, just the kind of guy I needed. He opened doors, made dinner, sent me flowers to the office.

So, when he popped the question a year into us dating, I’d said yes. Even though I hadn’t felt it with my full heart, my head knew that this was good for me. That he’d make a good husband, that I didn’t have to be madly in love to be content.

Only … when my mother had come over two weeks later armed with wedding magazines, veil samples and the number for the best bakery in town … I knew it would never work. My walls were still up, I still couldn’t feel a thing. And I wasn’t as horrible of a person as Paxton Shaw, I would never bind someone to me forever who I couldn’t love equally. I knew what a horrible fate that was.

So why had I gone to dinner with Paxton last night? I knew what kind of person he was, and yet I was still under his spell, all these years later.

We were nothing more than a flash in the pan. A few hot hours of mind-bending sex and some pillow talk. He made me shake like no one else could, or ever had. But that’s the thing about the guy who makes you feel the best kind of high possible; he’s never the committing type. You don’t fall in love with the boy who makes you feel like your throat is the new Sahara Desert, or the one who has you sneaking out at all hours of the night. No, you settle down with the calm, respectable, man. The one who knows a thing or two about priorities and building a life. That’s who you promise yourself to in the long run.

But I’d had stable, and I’d thrown it away. Apparently, no matter how hard I denied it, my heart wanted insanity.

It’s why I was sitting in this goddamn box, high up in the Cheetahs stadium, pretending I wasn’t trying to sneak a glance at him down on the field.

“Try the coconut shrimp, they’re delicious.” Gina comes over with a plate stacked high with finger foods.

“You’re a bottomless pit. If I ate that, I’d have to go to like, ten cycling classes.” Farrah rolls her eyes and sips the glass of Chardonnay in her hand.

Farrah was a workout fiend. While I enjoyed a good run here and there, she spent every single morning in the most intense workout classes the city offered. And then there was Gina, who was ninety pounds soaking wet and could scarf down whatever she wanted.

I was somewhere in the middle.

I’m still not sure why I agreed to come to this game, although it would have been rude to refuse tickets that the Cheetahs general manager had sent personally after all of the good press we brought to the team from Ryan Gunter’s wish.

And I wanted to prove to myself that having my ex-fling, because he never let me call him boyfriend, in my city was not going to limit where I could go inside of it.

The Cheetahs were winning fourteen to three in the third quarter, and I had spent the game alternating from sipping glasses of the delicious Cabernet they had at the free bar and trying to seem disinterested on what was happening down on the field.

But it was difficult. Watching Paxton on the field was something akin to a work of art. Although … he wasn’t as graceful in his movements as he once was. How funny, it had been years since I’d seen him on the football field, and yet I still noticed that something was off. Don’t get me wrong, he was still very talented … but some of that dazzle that he used to bring was burnt out.

“I’m surprised he is even playing this year. He’s so old, and after tearing his MCL, everyone said he wouldn’t come back.” Gina is so blunt as she sits down next to me with a new plate.

“He tore his MCL?” Like I said, I’d avoided following his career whatsoever.

Farrah tilts her head to the side. “It was only like, the biggest story in sports last season.”

I shrug, trying to feign ignorance. “You guys know I’m not big into sports. I think the last time I turned on ESPN, it was to watch Tim Tebow run shirtless through training camp.”

“God, he was so sexy. Pretty dense, but so sexy.” Farrah sighs.

“You’re a football snob. Branch out, discover the world of Bryce Harper’s nude photos for the Body Issue.” Gina scoffs at our raven-haired coworker.

“Hey, nudity is nudity, and I’m A-OK with all of it.” Farrah clinks her glass to mine, even though I’m not a part of this ridiculous discussion.

“But anyways, yeah, tore it right in two. He had to be carted off the field, crying. Only other time the fans have seen him that emotional is when he scored that touchdown the day after his parents died in that accident. It was horrible, but he played his best game the next day.” Gina shakes her head, sadness in her eyes.

“What?” Shock paralyzes me. “His parents died?”

Farrah nods. “Oh, it was awful, I remember the photos from the funeral on ESPN. They died on their sailboat in an unexpected storm near their home. They died on a Saturday, and there was so much speculation whether Paxton would play the next day … especially since the game had playoff implications. But he did. Ended up scoring three touchdowns. After the game, he refused media interviews but was seen kneeling, crying, in the end zone when everyone went into the locker room.

Goose bumps break out all over my skin. How had I not known that his parents had died? Sure, he’d never let me meet them, but I’d seen pictures, heard him talk about them on occasion. Hell, we were involved for two years, I knew about his family. Immediately, I felt like a horrible person.

I swallow the lump of bile in my throat and try to remain neutral. “How long ago was that?”

Gina considers it, putting a finger to her chin. “About five years? Yeah, must have been, because I watched the game with some jackass fraternity brother who ended up asking if we could have a threesome that night.”

Farrah chuckles. “Ah, such a prude. You should have taken him up on it. Three is better than two.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sex Addict.” Gina rolls her eyes. “But yeah, he’s never really been the same since. People say he’s a better athlete, but he’s like a machine. No more passion in him.”

For the rest of the game, I ruminate over what Gina has said. I’ve spent the past eight years changing, but maybe so has Paxton. I never considered that events happened in his life to make him a different person, like he’d said when he asked me to dinner.

Someone in the Cheetahs front office asks if we want to go down on the field for the end of the game, and the girls squeal their excited yeses. I follow, still in a trance about Paxton’s parents. I should have sent flowers or something. Sent a card at least. Perhaps I could let him know now how sorry I was.

The game ends with a victorious win for the home team, and we watch as the players high five and slap asses. I spot Paxton across the field, pulling off his helmet and revealing his sweaty, golden hair. How is it possible that even after more than two hours of fighting tooth and nail for a win, he looks edible?

But now I consider him in a different light. I know what it’s like to lose one of the closest people to you, how your world turns on its axis and you’re never quite the same. What must it have been like to lose two people, especially the ones who brought you into this world?

I’m about to walk over, show him some kind of friendliness after I was so cold to him.

Except, when I’m about three feet away, a reporter walks up to him with a tape recorder and notebook. Blonde, big chested, in a tight red dress that looks so out of place in this venue. She’s batting her lashes and throwing her hair over her shoulder.

And Paxton is smiling back at her, their body language flirty.

They say that an amputee can still feel phantom pain, even after their limb is gone.

That’s what it’s like watching Paxton talk to this reporter, her hand on his arm. It sends me flashing back to one of the most miserable times in my life. When despair and dejection were my two best friends.