Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
WYATT
I laid awake a long time last night, images of Nash in just my t-shirt and her panties danced in my head relentlessly. Something else tugged on my mind that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something that was different.
This morning, I’m more in the mindset of kicking myself in the butt for agreeing to let her move in with me.
Even though it’s not permanent and we’re best friends—it’s torture.
Seeing her like she was last night, or how she is right now as she comes down the stairs to the kitchen—with pants on this time, thank fuck—all sleep rumpled and yawning.
I’m sure she didn’t sleep well either given how worked up she was over their game.
“Good morning,” I say, and she jumps like she didn’t even know I was there. Stealth is not an easy feat at my size.
“Oh, good morning.”
“Did you sleep well?” In response, she just takes a coffee mug out of the cabinet and picks the biggest coffee pod off the little rack. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Now that she’s just on the other side of the counter from me, I’m reminded of the thing that was different about her last night that I couldn’t quite place.
We sit in silence as the coffee machine whirs to life and fills her cup.
Without her miles of long legs on display, I can finally think about what it was about her last night and this morning that’s different.
The smell of coffee mingles with something else, and then it hits me. “Why do you smell like me?”
She goes ramrod straight. “What do you mean,” she asks, but she’s looking at her coffee.
“You smell like my body wash. I just figured it out.”
She turns to me, clutching the mug like it’s her lifeline. Her eyes meet mine, then the floor, then her mug, then me again, before she says, “Uhhh…”
“I just thought there was something different about you and I couldn’t put my finger on it until you walked past me just now.”
“I, uh–needed it.” She nods like she’s agreeing with herself. “I ran out of mine, and I didn’t realize it. You have a spare one of yours in my bathroom, so I just used it. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” It feels good as fuck to smell myself on her even though it’s disappointing that I didn’t have anything to do with it, and she didn’t get it from sharing a shower with me. “That’s what it’s there for?”
Nash’s nose scrunches a little at my response. “You have a lot of women showering in there?”
I nearly hop off my barstool. “No!” I settle myself back down. “I mean, no. I don’t. But it’s the guest room, so there should be extra supplies in there for any guest who might need it.” Why am I always putting my foot in my mouth around her? I used to know how to be a normal person.
She snorts into her mug like she finds my distress amusing. “Well, mystery solved. I’m going to get dressed now.”
Thank God Nash is out of the house most of the rest of the weekend with Temi because I spend the entire time barely paying attention to anything. My mind completely on my new deal with Nash.
So I’m going to fake date a woman I really have a thing for to bring attention to her professional volleyball team, which she loves more than anything. What could possibly go wrong?
Actually, scratch that. Half my mind is on my new arrangement with Nash.
The other half is using all its might to not picture Nash in my kitchen in my t-shirt and her panties.
Maybe I was wrong about living together.
Maybe I can’t do it, and it won’t be like it was when she just stayed a long weekend.
At least then there was an end to our arrangement.
Even if that’s true, what am I supposed to do now? Kick her out?
I sit at my eat-in breakfast bar, thankful Nash already left for practice, and scroll through my phone while I polish off the last of my protein shake.
It tastes like shit today. I miss the cafeteria at the Hurricanes compound.
I miss Ma’s cooking, too. I would kill for a tater tot casserole on a wintery day like today.
My eyes refocus from my food-induced daydream when they catch Jared Clark’s name in the headline of an ESPN article.
I skim it, my empty shake in the other hand.
CLARK: I wasn’t my best, but a bad season for me is a good season for most quarterbacks.
I snort at his comment. What a dick.
I don’t like to talk about why I left Green Bay…
Nash is the only one who knows the truth.
The day it got physical between us, I knew I had to tell her because I couldn’t stand to play under Clark for a second longer.
He’s three-hundred percent competitive. He’s a damn drama queen prone to playing hero ball.
He chokes in the NFC championship game every year.
He’s the opposite of everything I believe myself to be as a football player—steady, centered, humble, and unflappable.
All of that led to a shoving match in the locker room at the end of my last season.
He shoved me first, but of course it doesn’t matter.
He’s QB1 and I’m just a defensive lineman.
I’m lucky the rest of the team separated us before a punch could be thrown.
I love Wisconsin, but the entire state is dedicated to the Butchers.
I’m not sure if it’s just state pride or if it’s because they’re the only “fan-owned” team in the league, but everywhere you go people talk about that week’s game.
The majority of them keep their singular share of the team over their fireplace mantel like a prized family heirloom.
He can do no wrong in their minds. He’s the family patriarch.
He’s a hero. Who was I? A young kid from a farm in the middle of nowhere.
To say that I didn’t think his football skills made up for his shitty personality?
The last thing I wanted to do was kick the hornets’ nest on my rookie contract.
Had I said one negative thing about Jared Clark, I very well might not have played another season in the NFL.
So I kept my mouth shut. I looked the other way when Jared wanted to practice his own hand signals with the receivers instead of the ones Coach came up with.
I ignored the way he blamed the entire offense when a play didn’t go the way he thought it should.
I never said anything to him on the sidelines when he would come and pout during games we lost. I didn’t judge him for his lone wolf mentality.
Even though I think he’s the reason we haven’t been to another Super Bowl—I still said nothing.
I simply let him be, while quietly trying to soothe the disappointed child inside me who had his poster hung on the wall and dressed up as him six Halloweens in a row.
When Coach called me into his office and told me to pack my bags for Texas, I didn’t argue, I didn’t fight.
I took my ticket out of there and didn’t tell a soul about what had really happened.
Some days I feel strong, and I think I can shoulder this weight like Atlas holding up the heavens for all eternity, but sometimes I look around and realize no one else understands.
No one understands why a farm boy from Wisconsin left his dream team without a fight.
I think what it boiled down to was that I would rather everyone continue living their dreams than shatter them with what is most likely just my opinion.
I close the app on my phone and roll my eyes. The dude has an ego the size of Texas. I don’t need to see anything else.
Shit. I jump up when I see the time. I’m already late to meet Noah and Jaden at the gym. I shove Clark into my mental box with all the other shit and lock it down tight.
Hm, that thing is probably getting pretty full.