Chapter 4 #2
My eyes fall to her cheek, the football that Cameron no doubt painted on it staring back at me, the number thirteen written in dark-blue paint, golden glitter all around it. Frowning, I just keep staring at the number.
My number.
She’s got my number directly on her skin.
“Oh.” Her hand flies up, hiding my number from me, and my gaze lifts to hers.
“I’m sorry. Cam convinced me it would be fine because you didn’t seem to mind when I wore the shirt she made me last season with your number, and since Payton was wearing Mason’s, and Cam was wearing Brady’s, I just thought someone should…
I mean, that I would cheer for you and—”
I don’t realize I’ve reached out until the warmth of her hand meets the underside of my palm. My fingers wrap around hers, and her mouth snaps shut. I feel her gaze burning into me while mine goes back to her cheek. Slowly, I meet her eyes again.
“I like it,” I find myself admitting, realizing that I do. Maybe more than I should, considering her explanation.
Did she only wear it so I wouldn’t be left out?
Because it’s obvious, even to her, the technical outsider of our friend group being as she only met us all here at college, that they’re all coupled up and it’s just me now, on my own.
She’s on her own too, my man.
I tense at the thought.
But is she? I’ve never heard much about her dating, but what do I know?
She disappears a lot, has a lot of dinners and meetings she goes to. Maybe some of those are dates.
“Are you sure?” she asks in a low tone I almost can’t hear over the noise. “Because you glared at it for a whole thirty seconds when you saw it and you’re glaring again now.”
“Brady said you were wearing someone else’s number.” The words escape before I realize I’ve said them. I open my mouth to add some excuse, so I don’t sound so…I don’t know, foolish? Pleased? But Paige’s cheeks seem to turn a darker shade of pink and now I’m staring at them for a whole new reason.
A blush.
Heat, swift and satisfying and admittedly surprising, spreads through me.
“Uh.” I look down, realize I’m still holding her fingers, and quickly release them, running my hand through my still-damp, freshly showered hair.
She draws her hand to her lap, folding it together with her other one. “You played well tonight.”
Pride sweeps in at her words, but I quickly push it away. “Thank you.”
She nods, and an awkward silence falls over us. I wish I knew how to make it go away, but I don’t know what to say. This is all a little strange.
She glances behind me and I know she’s looking for an escape, so I move aside, giving her a pass to walk away.
“Seems like everyone is filing out. I think most are going to the football house to celebrate.”
She nods and grips the tailgate, scooting herself all the way to the edge. I can’t help but smile when she has to jump, her feet are so far from the ground, and my truck isn’t even lifted.
She catches my grin, and her eyes narrow a bit, but I think it’s playful and I can’t help but turn my body so it’s facing hers again.
“What?” she finally asks.
“Nothing, Shortcake.” I fail at fighting the chuckle that escapes.
Paige laughs lightly, her palms coming out to give me a little shove.
Apparently, my subconscious is in control tonight because the next thing I know, I’ve got both her wrists in my hands, and I’ve pulled her a bit closer.
She tips her head back, and I mean all the way back, to meet my eyes.
A little hair is stuck to her face paint, right over the top curve of the number three, hiding the proof that it’s me on her cheek and no one else. For some reason, I don’t like that.
I slide my pinkie along her temple and down the side of her face until the blond curl is freed. I stare at the spot, a sense of approval I don’t quite understand warming my blood.
“There.” My voice comes out lower, almost…husky?
No. Can’t be that.
My eyes move to hers and she just stares.
“You played well tonight,” she whispers.
My smile is slow. “So you said. Thank you…again.”
“Oh” is her knee-jerk response, and then she shakes her head, embarrassment coloring her skin. “Oh yeah. Sorry.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, a foreign feeling growing within me. “You better run, or Brady’s gonna leave you.”
She watches a few seconds longer and then she nods, backing away, but she doesn’t look away.
I do, moving straight for the cab of my truck. I’m tugging the door open when she calls my name.
“Hey, Chase.”
I turn in time to catch her tucking her hair behind her ear.
“See you at the party?”
My throat grows thick, but she doesn’t let me answer, turning and skipping over to Brady and Cam. For that, I’m grateful. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, and I don’t know how to navigate a friendship with a woman, not anymore.
The last time I had a friend that I started to look at a little, well, more, I hurt a lot of people. I don’t want to hurt her—or anyone, for that matter.
So I don’t go home, where the party is kicking off.
I drive around to the back of the stadium and park in the farthest corner of the lot. I stay there until the sun rises, and when I wake, it’s with an overbearing weight of helplessness because I might have woken on another day, yet I’m still trapped in a nightmare.