Chapter 7 #3
I huff a quiet breath. “Except that I get paid millions to play a game,” I say softly.
I’m beginning to see why she was ranting about professional sports the first night I saw her.
She wasn’t just complaining to complain.
She sees the underprivileged life. She works with them and for them.
Her heart is massive and that…hell, that makes me feel a certain way.
She turns abruptly, a blush crawling up her chilled cheeks. “I’m sorry, Shepherd, I wasn’t trying to—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt with a brief shake of my head. “Like I said that first night I saw you, you’re not wrong.”
“It’s just frustrating,” she says, looking away. “I see people struggling every day while others have so much.”
“I get that.” I hesitate, then decide to ask, “Is that why you were so hard on me when we first met? Because of what I represent?”
She walks a few steps in silence, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far.
“Partly,” she admits finally. “But also, because most people with money and status…they don’t see the rest of us. Not really. They look through us, or they see what we can do for them.”
Her words hit me in the chest. I’ve seen it happen, teammates who forget where they came from, who start treating service workers like they’re invisible.
“For what it’s worth,” I tell her, “I try really hard not to be that guy.”
She glances at me, her expression softening. “I’m starting to believe that.”
We’ve reached the edge of the park now, where the path splits in different directions. She stops, and I realize our time might be running short. I’m not ready for it to end but this being our first semi-date, I don’t want to push too much either.
“Which way is home for you?” I ask.
She smiles and points to a group of apartment buildings on the other side of the street. “Actually, I’m right there.”
A mix of disappointment and curiosity washes over me.
We’re at her place already?
“This is you?” I ask, looking up at the older brick building. It’s not in terrible shape but it definitely needs some maintenance. The fire escape zigzags down the side like an afterthought, and several windows have makeshift curtains that look more like bedsheets.
“Yeah,” she says, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. “Not quite what you’re used to, I’m sure.”
I shake my head. “Actually, I grew up in a place not much different than this. Until we moved to a small house in middle school we were four boys in a three-bedroom apartment with paper-thin walls and neighbors who fought at two in the morning.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Really?”
“Really.” I smile, remembering. “My mom worked two jobs. Dad was a high school basketball coach. We didn’t have much, but we had enough.
If nothing else, we had each other.” Glimpses of memories swim through my head at the mention of those years.
The moments after we moved into a house where my parents couldn’t afford heat, or the few times our electricity was turned off.
She studies me like she’s trying to reconcile this information with whatever image she had of me. “I didn’t know that.”
“Why would you? It’s not exactly the story they tell in those player profiles.”
A chilly breeze sweeps through, and Sutton shivers slightly. This time I don’t hesitate. I shrug out of my sweatshirt before she can protest.
“Before you refuse,” I say quickly, holding it out, “I’m not trying to be chivalrous. I actually run hot. Football player metabolism or something.”
She eyes the sweatshirt suspiciously, but the wind gusts again, and I can see the goosebumps forming on her arms.
“Fine,” she relents, taking it from me. “But only because I’m actually cold now.”
She slips it on, and something shifts in my chest watching her disappear into the fabric that swallows her whole. The sleeves hang past her fingertips, and she pushes them up with a small huff. The moss green looks good against her skin, making her eyes seem even darker.
“Better?” I ask, trying not to sound
too pleased with myself.
“It’s warm,” she admits grudgingly. Then she wraps her arms around herself and adds, “Thanks.”
We stand there for a minute, neither of us quite ready to say goodnight.
“So,” she says, rocking back on her heels. “This is me.”
“This is you,” I echo, suddenly aware of how much I don’t want to leave. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight.”
“Thanks for the ice cream,” she says. “And for not being as insufferable as I initially thought.”
I laugh, feeling warmth spread through my chest despite the cool air. “High praise indeed.”
“The highest,” she agrees with a small smile.
We’re stuck in that awkward dance of not knowing how to end the night.
Do I kiss her?
Not kiss her?
I mean, I want to kiss her but I have a strong feeling she might punch me in the face if I try.
“I had fun,” I tell her honestly. “More fun than I’ve had in a long time.”
“With food trucks and normal ice cream? I find that hard to believe.”
“It wasn’t the food,” I say, my voice dropping. “It was the company.”
She looks at me and I want to kiss her—God, I want to kiss her—but I also don’t want to push too fast. Whatever this is between us feels fragile, new, like a bird that might fly away if I move too suddenly. I’m usually the guy who knows exactly what to do, but right now? I’m out of my comfort zone.
Does she want me to kiss her?
Would I look like a horny asshole if I tried?
I don’t want to be that guy.
“I should probably go up,” she says softly, eyes darting to my lips for just a fraction of a second.
I nod, my throat instantly dry. “Yeah, of course.”
Her eyes grow and she tugs at my sweatshirt currently hugging her body. “Your sweatshirt.”
“Keep it,” I say, stopping her. “Then you’ll have it if you need it or you can bring it next time.”
“Next time?” One eyebrow arches up. “That’s presumptuous.”
The confidence drains from me like air from a punctured football.
Oh shit.
“I didn’t mean— I just thought— I wasn’t trying to—”
Her lips curve upward. “Relax Haynes. I think I could be open to a next time.”
My chest expands with a rush that feels like breaking through the defensive line. “Yeah? Okay.” I nod—undoubtedly way more than I should. “Okay. Good.”
The streetlight flickers above us while I debate asking for her number, but before I can summon the courage, Sutton pulls her phone from her back pocket.
“I should probably get your number,” she says, surprising me.
“Right. Absolutely.” Relief floods through me as the words come out quickly. I recite my number as she types it in, then she sends me a quick text. My phone immediately buzzes in my hand with her phone number.
“Now you have mine too,” she says, slipping her phone back into her pocket.
“Good,” I can’t control the grin spreading across my face for the life of me. “Thanks.”
Oh my God, I have her number!
Fuck me. How old am I?
Fifteen?
Then she takes a deep breath and steps closer to me. My pulse quickens as she rises slightly on her toes and places the gentlest kiss on my cheek.
“Goodnight, Shepherd Haynes,” she whispers, her breath warm against my skin.
Then she’s gone, disappearing through the building’s entrance with one last glance and wave over her shoulder.
“Goodnight, Sutton Price.”