45. Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-three
Leo
I can't meet Alex's eyes.
I was doing okay with the guilt of what I'd done, justifying it to myself just fine, until I saw the hundreds of calls and messages on my phone this morning.
He'd heard us.
He had literally heard me railing his little sister—or more aptly, his little sister railing me.
Then, as soon as I'd arrived at practice this morning, he'd cornered me in the locker room and goaded me for details. And by details, I mean that he wanted to know everything . Positions, foreplay, the tightness of her pussy, etc., etc. Not that I gave them to him, which he took as a sign that I really like the woman, because never in the history of our friendship have I refused to tell him everything he wanted.
And I do. Really like the woman, I mean.
But that doesn't take away from the fact that, the whole time, we were talking about Brynn. Not some random woman I'd met at a bar or on a dating app, but the one girl he'd made me swear to never touch.
I am a terrible, terrible person.
"Well, you've got yourself into quite the pickle, eh?"
Wind whips at my cheeks as I spin around to find Roman staring at me with a mixture of amusement and concern in his eyes.
"I don't know what you mean," I reply, the guilt in my voice as clear as the damn day.
"Hmm." He rubs his jaw conspiratorially, throwing his gaze across the grass to where Alex is doing kick-ups with Arun, Theo, and Harley. "So, it wasn't Brynn in your bed last night? Actually, no, don't tell me. I need to maintain plausible deniability."
"Shit." My head drops, my conscience heavy on my shoulders. "Shit, he's going to kill me."
"Yep." Roman nods his head, slapping me on the back in a way that says, You're a dickhead, but I'll be sad when you die . "He really is."
Digging the toe of my cleats into the ground, I kick at the semi-frozen turf. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
He nods again. "You're so screwed."
"You could be slightly more sympathetic about my impending demise, you know?" I frown at him.
"What do you want sympathy for? If you'd kept your dick in your pants, you wouldn't be in this situation."
The asshole looks so smug right now in his training tee, arms folded across his chest as the breeze whistles around us. I both want to punch the arrogance off his face and beg him to hold me until the situation somehow resolves itself.
I could really use my mom right now. She would have known what to do, and if she didn't, she would have wrapped me in her arms, dropped a kiss to the top of my head and told me to "follow my heart." Because that's who she was. Warm, supportive, encouraging.
I've never needed her so much as I have this past year.
And now, the only person I have to talk about this with is the six-foot-whatever idiot in front of me who, sure, is one of my best friends, but who also lacks the emotional intelligence needed to help me in this situation.
"It's not even like that." I pause, shaking my head as I cast a glimpse at Alex on the far side of the field. "I like her, man. I like her a lot."
Roman snorts a derisive laugh. "You're confusing lust with feelings, bro. What do you even like about her? Her tits don't count." His chest rumbles with a silent chuckle, clearly finding himself far funnier than I do.
My fists clench at my sides. "Her tits are none of your business. In fact, forget she has them."
"Jesus," he sighs. "Sorry, it's just hard to believe since you couldn't even stand her, like, a month ago."
"Yeah, well things change."
"What changed? Because you won't fucking tell me."
"I don't know, okay?" I half yell it, frustration clawing at me. "But something did. She has nightmares, did you know that? Real fucking crazy nightmares with, like, vegetables and fish bowls and shit. But they kind of make sense because they're always some kind of moral dilemma or a deep-rooted fear that just manifests itself in the weirdest of dreams. Like, the one about Indiana Jones, he'd lost his lasso, but if she helped him find it, then she wouldn't make her meeting with Elton John. And it sounds wild, I know, but it's all because she doesn't trust herself to make the right decisions. Her self-doubt, you know what I mean?"
Roman blinks. "I really, really don't."
"Okay, the dream about the fish bowl, then. It's because she feels trapped in her life somehow. By expectation from her job, or maybe even the limitations Alex puts on her. Or possibly, she feels trapped by the mask she wears every day. She doesn't want people to see who she really is, but for whatever reason, she seems comfortable enough with me to put it down sometimes. She comes to me when she has a nightmare now to comfort her. I've seen her cry—because I almost killed her cat, but still. And she told me about her upbringing. She doesn't tell anyone about that. It's deeper than just sex. It's—"
"Ah, fuck," Roman cuts me off.
"What?"
"You love her."
"No, I don't."
At least, I don't think I do. Not yet, anyway. But I'm heading in that direction, for sure. Not that I'll admit that to Roman.
"Let's be clear about something. I didn't understand a goddamn word of what you just said." He pauses to blow air into his cold hands. "But I've never heard you talk like this about a woman before, even if it was pure fucking nonsense."
I shrug because I don't know what to say to that. He's right. I've never talked about a woman like this before, because I've never felt this way about a woman before. And maybe it's not love yet. But whatever it is, it is terrifying and, frankly—given the complication that is her overprotective big brother, among other things—highly inconvenient.
"You've gotta tell him." He says it simply and with more compassion than he's exhibited during the entire conversation. "You know that, right?"
"I know."
But I don't have to tell him right now, do I? Not when I'm still riding the high of finally sleeping with Brynn. Not when I can still feel the softness of her skin in my hands or taste the sweetness of her kiss on my tongue.
No. I don't have to tell him right now.
But soon.
Roman's brow furrows as he studies my expression, seemingly reading the thoughts displayed all over my face.
"Like, now, dude. Before things with her go any further."
"You're still not using her name."
"Plausible deniability, remember?"
I shake my head at his ridiculousness. "I'll tell him soon."
"Soon is a pretty ambiguous word. Look, I know you're scared, but maybe he'll go easier on you since you're in love with her."
"I'm not in love with her."
He laughs, catching the eye of our coach glaring daggers in our direction. "Sure, man. Whatever you say."