Falling for the Football Player (Clearview Falls University Book 3)

Prologue

Kelsie - December in Paris

Me: Hey, baby, are you on your way?

Me: I’m waiting for you at our spot in front of La Sacré-C?ur. In case you forgot where we said we’d meet.

Me: Where are you? It’s getting cold and late.

Me: Are you okay???

The texts on my phone have become more urgent over the past fifteen minutes while I’m sitting on the steps in front of the famous Montmartre cathedral. I’ve been waiting for Hayes to meet me here like we planned and discussed yesterday.

The longer I’ve been out in the cold and dark—and the fact that he hasn’t responded to any of my texts—has made me very grumpy and more than a little pissed at him right now.

I lift my head and glance around at all the people milling about, checking to see if he’s anywhere to be found, and recall our conversation from just last night while lying in bed together.

“Do you mind if we stop at the Christmas market before we go to Aunt Desiree’s?” I’d asked, sliding my fingers through his long, wavy hair. Falling in soft waves over his shoulders, it was the first thing I noticed about him the day we met. “I want to pick up some flowers and wine to bring with us.”

We agreed that we’d meet here at 4 p.m. today before stopping by the market. From there, we’d head to my aunt’s place a block from the market for Christmas Eve dinner and our gift exchange.

But Hayes is nowhere to be seen.

Where the hell is he?

My mind goes through a number of scenarios and reasons why he hasn’t shown up yet. Maybe he got sick and is lying in bed with a fever?

Or was he mugged on the way here and left for dead?

Neither of these horrible possibilities makes me feel any better as I pace around at the bottom of the steps pondering the only other alternative.

That Hayes would stand me up on Christmas Eve.

I can’t even fathom that one because why would he do that when just the other night he told me he loved me?

We’d just finished dinner and wine, and we were enjoying a walk along the banks of the Seine River. The moon glittered off the water as the twinkling lights from the Eiffel Tower gleamed like diamonds before us as we strolled hand in hand and stopped over the bridge to enjoy the view. That’s when he turned to me, framed my face in his hands, and said, “Mon amour, je t”aime. Tu es si belle. I’m so lucky to have met you.”

He was always telling me how beautiful I am, but this was the first time he said he loves me. Then he kissed me so thoroughly, my toes curled inside my shoes from the sheer pleasure of his touch.

I didn’t return the sentiment but I know I feel it too. Meeting Hayes here in Paris was like fate. What I feel for him is something I’ve never felt before.

The funny thing is that Hayes was only meant to be a fun and quick fling.

When I saw him sitting alone outside that Paris café the day before my classes started, I couldn’t resist asking him out. I’d half expected that we’d spend the day together checking out the touristy sites, have some dinner and drinks, and then go back to my place to fuck. Then, voilá, he’d be on his way and I’d never see him again.

That was four months ago and all the days I’ve spent with him have been the best days of my life. As luck would have it, he is a U.S. student also studying abroad in the same International Business program as me.

See? It was fate.

Just yesterday, over a video call with my best friends Grace and Lucy, I spilled the tea and told them about Hayes and how I think I’m in love. They were both shocked over my revelation, but excited for my newfound relationship. The three of us laughed just like old times and made plans for when I return to school in January.

Grumbling now over not wanting to waste any more precious time, I brush off the wet snow that’s begun to fall and has accumulated on the lapels of my peacoat with a sigh. I check my phone one more time on the off chance he’s responded to my texts. Then I consider another possibility for his absence. Maybe he got confused and thought he was meeting me at my Auntie D’s flat and he’s already there having a Christmas drink.

I dial her number, the frustration that’s been brewing now turning into something like worry because this is so unlike Hayes.

My aunt picks up on the second ring. I can envision her now, a frothy drink in hand, wearing some gorgeous handmade necklace around her neck as she floats around the old wooden floors of her apartment.

“Allo?”

“DD, it’s me. Is Hayes there?” My words come out in a rush.

There’s a pause and then she clicks her tongue. “No, not here. Only Alfie and me for now until others arrive,” she says, referring to her tiny mutt who looks more like a rat than a dog. “I thought you and Hayes were coming together?”

I do a quick scan of my surroundings, tugging at the scarf I bought earlier this week at the Marché de No?l des Abbesses Christmas market. The breeze has picked up bringing a cold shiver down my back.

Or it could be from the dread that’s suddenly infiltrated my mind as I wonder where the hell Hayes is at.

“Yeah, we were…that was the plan. But he hasn’t shown up yet. Maybe I should run to his dorm and check on him.” I say this more to myself than my aunt. “I’m sorry for the delay. You don’t have to wait on us.”

“Oui, d’accord. I’ll ply everyone with drinks and we’ll sing songs while we wait. It’ll be grand.”

This thought makes me giggle, even though I’m not feeling very festive at the moment. My aunt is a famous artist and has loads of friends in Paris. Tonight was supposed to be an intimate holiday dinner with just the three of us and a few of her close friends.

“Au revoir. Be there soon.”

I hang up and press a hand into my belly, now more than a little fucking worried that something awful has happened to him. Since we met this past summer, Hayes has never once been late and is always good about replying to my messages.

I know something’s wrong.

The panic rises in my throat and I swallow it down like a bitter pill as I turn down the street, ready to head in the direction of Hayes’s dormitory where he’s lived this semester.

Just as I pass the Carrousel de Saint-Pierre on my way toward the Square Louise Michel, my phone chimes with an incoming message.

“Thank God,” I mutter, lifting the phone in my hand to read the text.

My feet stall and my head spins like I was just shaken in a snow globe when I read the message he sent.

Hayes: I’m sorry, Kels. I’m not coming.

I’m about to call him to see if he’s sick or something. If so, I can bring him some meds and soup and hot tea.

But then his final text squashes those sentiments in a heartbeat.

Hayes: I’m not in Paris anymore. I left this morning. I’m going home. I’m sorry.

Hayes: Goodbye, Kels.

My breath shudders and I clutch at my chest. Is that the sound of icicles falling to the ground and breaking?

No.

It’s just my heart shattering into a million little pieces and being scattered and strewn across the Square at the base of the Fontaine des innocents.

My first love has left me and broken my heart.

Now I’ll return home to the U.S. having learned an invaluable–if not, difficult—lesson.

I will never love or trust another guy ever again.