Chapter Seventeen - Mirabelle
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mirabelle
“SO WHAT DO you think?” I ask, sitting on my bed as I work on a proposal to help boost sales of Henry’s jersey that’s due in the morning while Emily looks through my recently acquired clothes from my online shopping to replace everything thrown out after the fire. It’s a good thing my credit card has no limit.
“Dude, if you were pretty much having sex with your clothes on, I’d say there’s a pretty good chance he likes you as well.” She grins over her shoulder, and even though it’s Emily, I’m still flustered. “Don’t even try to deny it, I saw how he watched you afterward and the pictures are everywhere online.”
My entire body ignites at the memory of Henry’s body pressed up against mine. It was incredible, and his mouth? It should be illegal for Henry to say things like “ you can touch me—feel what you do to me ” because I thought I might combust right there on the spot. And then I followed instructions, feeling what he was hiding in his pants, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind that if Henry and I ever got to that point . . . it might not fit. He’s certainly bigger than Reid was, and I’m feeling way out of my depth. Even kissing Henry is better than anything I imagined.
It was enough to make me forget fighting with my parents, everything with Bailey, the conversation I had with Chris, and whatever that was with Quinn at the stadium. Well, I guess I forgot until Henry’s mother called. Then reality came rushing back, and I ran.
“I know, but I keep asking myself how much of it was real, and how much was for the cameras?” I groan, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. As much as I wanted to kiss him in the club, I was there when Stacey warned us that people were starting to get skeptical about us dating. I know why he kissed me.
I checked online earlier to see if anyone had taken any pictures of us, and based on the comment sections, no one was questioning anything after seeing them.
My old teammates from the Olympics texted me to ask if Henry knocking me up was the real reason I wasn’t competing in the next Games, and I laughed before quickly denying it.
Stacey gave me a pat on the back at work today, which is as good of a compliment as I can expect from her.
“Shut up.” Emily scoffs, throwing a shirt at my face.
“What was that for?” I ask, laughing.
“Because you’re questioning something that is so obvious.”
Obvious. I still hate that word.
“It’s complicated,” I say, throwing the shirt back to her.
Emily crosses her arms over her chest, her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders. “Mirabelle, this pity party is not cute. You have Henry right where you want him. I’ve seen how he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching. Why don’t you ask him if this little fake arrangement you’re in can turn into a real, permanent one?”
“Em, I love you, but I think you’re imagining things.” I pull my phone out, checking to see if Bailey responded to the text I sent earlier, but there’s nothing there. I shoot JJ a quick message, asking if he’s had better luck hearing back from Bailey.
A different phone is shoved in my face, and I blink quickly, focusing on the screen. It’s a picture from last night, capturing the moment Henry snapped the strap of my corset against my skin. It was taken behind me, so my face isn’t visible, but the way Henry is staring at me in it sends shivers up my spine.
“Does this look like a man that is faking things? I’ve met Henry. He’s not this good at acting,” she exclaims, and Emily has a point, but it’s so much more complicated than she’s making it out to be.
If he says no, how am I supposed to face him after that? And with everything going on in my life with my parents and Bailey, should I even be focused on a guy right now?
Henry’s not some guy, though. He’s the guy.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, glancing at my computer screen before shutting it. I’m not getting any work done right now, but I should have enough time after my morning run to finish it then.
“You’re Mirabelle fucking Walker. I know Reid fucked with your self-confidence when it comes to dating, which is only one of the reasons I still think you should have let me take a baseball bat to his windshield, but you’re a catch. You’re smart, absolutely hilarious, and you have a heart of gold,” Emily says, sitting next to me on the bed.
“I’m all that, but not pretty?” I tease, and she rolls her dark eyes.
“You and I both know you stare at yourself enough in the mirror to know how beautiful you are, but if you need to hear me say it, you’re so freaking pretty that a picture of you should be hanging in the Louvre.”
“I love you,” I say, laughing quietly as I reach to squeeze her hand.
“Damn right you do,” Emily says, smiling. “You deserve a man who would hang the moon and the stars for you, and the way Henry’s looking at you in all of these photos, tells me that he would do that and more.”
My eyes begin to water, and I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stop it.
“Besides, Mira, worst case scenario, if Henry doesn’t like you, it’s his loss, and then you should go out with Quinn.”
Oh god. I can’t even imagine that.
“Let’s not even speak that into existence,” I say, dragging my hands over my face. I feel bad, but I’ve definitely been avoiding Quinn since he told me he had feelings for me. It didn’t seem like he was too bummed about it last night at the club based on how far his tongue was stuck down that girl’s throat.
“So are you going to go talk to Henry?” she asks, and it sounds like a truly awful idea.
“Do I have a choice?” I ask, despite already knowing what Emily’s answer is going to be.
She grins and shakes her head. “Nope, but if you want your ego stroked, you should take off that sweatshirt and let him see how good your boobs look in what you’re wearing underneath.”
I look at her like she’s dumb. “Em, I’m literally not wearing anything underneath.”
“Exactly,” she says, awfully pleased with herself, and I shake my head in disbelief.
“I can’t believe you.”
“Go get the man of your dreams while I help myself to the closet of my dreams. Do you think your insurance will notice if you purchase some clothes in my size?” Emily asks, making her way back to my closet. She studied business at Duke to help her run her online boutique that she wants to eventually bring to a physical space.
“You have fun with that. My goal is to not pass out while confessing my feelings,” I grumble, exhaling a shaky breath. The short walk to Henry’s room feels like a death march. My stomach actually hurts right now. This is a terrible idea.
I knock softly on the door, forcing myself not to run back to my room for shelter. What is taking him so long? Should I have taken off the sweatshirt? Actually, no—that’s an awful idea. I absolutely need to keep my clothes on. Why would Emily even suggest that? That is some truly horrible advice. I tap my foot anxiously as I wait for it to open so I can ruin my entire life, and I’ll never be able to show my face again. At least there’s a pool in the backyard I can drown myself in after he rejects me. I go to knock again so I can tell Emily I did try to talk to him, he just didn’t answer, but right before I can, the door opens, and my knuckles make contact with Henry’s dripping, tattooed muscular chest.
“Fuck me,” I whisper as my jaw hits the fucking floor. This actually is from one of my dreams.
Henry’s standing in the doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist, rivulets of water still making their way down his body. My brain nearly explodes at the sight of his ink in all its glory, twisting up his arm onto his shoulder and left pec where my knuckles are currently resting happily.
“What?” he asks, tilting his head, causing droplets of water to fall from his wet hair in the process.
I snatch my hand back quickly, forcing an awkward laugh. “What?”
“I didn’t hear what you said?” Henry questions, and I’m having a very hard time looking him in the eye. “Mira?”
I clear my throat, tearing my eyes away from all his spectacular muscles to look at the fan rotating in the background above Henry’s shoulder. It’s like right by his face, so there’s no way he’ll know I’m not actually looking at him. “Hi,” I try to say, but my voice squeaks instead.
Yeah, my next move is to go in the pool.
“Hi,” he says, adjusting his grip on the towel around his waist.
Don’t look down. Remember your words. Fuck, what were my words? I blink and do my best to maintain my focus on the fan, but I definitely should have picked something over the other shoulder because that damn tattoo . . . I want to touch it. Henry told me last night I didn’t have to ask if I could touch him, but I still feel like I need to hear explicit consent before touching him again. Yes. That seems more important than why I came here— oh fuck! I’m here for a reason.
“Hi,” I say quickly, sounding at least a little more like a human than a mouse this time.
Henry’s eyebrow is raised. “You already said that.”
“Did I? I don’t think I did,” I ramble, and this is absolutely when I should be making my retreat. I’ve fucked this up enough, and it’s all because he answered the door shirtless.
“Is everything okay?” Henry asks, and I nod.
“Yep, totally perfect,” I say, shifting my weight.
“So did you need something?” he asks, and I blink in surprise.
“Yes.”
Henry looks at me expectantly, and I’m not sure what to say.
“Yes, what?” he prods, and it dawns on me that maybe Emily and I should have role-played this scenario before I showed up here without a damn clue about what I’m supposed to say. The only thing coming to mind is, Can I have your babies please and thank you?
I’m setting back the feminist movement decades right now.
“Um . . . I just came to thank you for last night. Yep, that’s why I’m here. I came to thank you for last night, the kissing, and yeah. It made me feel pretty good about myself, and I’m sorry if I wasn’t any good—”
“You don’t need to thank me. I should be thanking you.” Henry steps closer, and his amused expression fades into one of suspicion as he narrows his hazel eyes. “Why would you think you weren’t any good?”
Reid.
“No reason,” I say quickly, taking a step back, but Henry anticipates this, caging me against the wall with both arms on either side of me. I can smell his body wash, and I think he should have his team look into making some kind of deal with them, because if people knew this is what he smelled like, I’m sure it would fly off the shelves.
“Mirabelle, tell me.”
I open my mouth to tell him to back up, but instead my eyes drift down to his impressive abdomen and the goddamn white towel that’s slipped a little to show the V lines on his pelvis.
“ Mon c?ur, tell me why the hell you would think you weren’t any good at kissing?”
I am so out of my depth here. I make the fatal mistake of finally looking Henry in the eyes, and instead of whatever I thought I’d see, he only looks worried.
“You’re only wearing a towel,” I whisper.
“Then I guess you better talk faster before I flash you.”
Yes, please.
I chew my lip, tucking my hands into the sleeves of Henry’s sweatshirt so I don’t reach out and do anything I’ll regret. You’d think I’ve never been around him shirtless before based on the way I’m acting. I have, and it gets better and better each time.
“My ex-boyfriend. He . . . I haven’t dated a whole lot. I spent too much time focused on gymnastics to care much about it. I’ve kissed people, but relationships . . .” I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s the truth, but only half the story. None of the guys I was around ever measured up to Henry, so it didn’t feel worth it to try with any of them. Reid was my first attempt at giving someone a real chance without comparing them to Henry the entire time, and it blew up in my face. I was nervous about my lack of experience prior to dating Reid, but after him, I’m fucking terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing with Henry. I know I shouldn’t let a guy I dated for a few months get in my head like this, but I haven’t been able to brush off the shit Reid said to me, leaving me worse off than I was before him. The last thing I want to do is blow my chance with Henry because I have no idea what I’m doing. “One of the reasons he said he broke up with me was because kissing me was like kissing a piece of cardboard and—” I shut my mouth quickly because I’m definitely not going to say the next part.
Henry’s entire body has coiled with tension, and it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. “And what?” he asks, his voice hoarse as if the little restraint he has is about to snap.
“I made him feel like less of a man because he couldn’t make me orgasm.” Holy shit. I didn’t actually admit that, right?
“You’re joking,” Henry says, and a low chuckle sounds from his chest. “He’s not a man, Mirabelle. He’s a fucking boy . No man worth anything would ever make a woman feel like it was her fault she couldn’t come from five seconds of foreplay, which is giving him the benefit of the doubt that he even attempted foreplay. Never in a million years would I compare kissing you to kissing a piece of fucking cardboard. Never .”
“Okay,” I say softly, overwhelmed by all of this right now. Henry’s lack of clothing, the topic of conversation, and Henry’s lack of clothing.
His gaze falls slowly to my mouth, and then he looks further down as if noticing the sweatshirt he told me to keep. “You look better in that than I ever did.”
My brain is melting.
“In case I wasn’t clear last night, I really enjoyed kissing you. Thank you for helping me.” Henry presses a sweet kiss to the top of my head.
My heart is still racing when I walk into my room, and Emily is holding a red blouse up to her body. “Did you tell him?” she asks, and I shake my head slowly.
“No, but I think I’m ready to drown myself in the pool.”
“Not an option, but continue.”
I groan, flopping onto the bed. “He was only wearing a towel, and I forgot how to use my words with him standing there looking like some Greek god.”
Emily rubs my back reassuringly. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“It was.”
By the time I explain the conversation to her, we’re on the same page agreeing, it actually was that bad.