Track 32 Down Bad
AUDREY
Days later, I stopped outside The Plaza, peering through the glass in hopes of spotting the new Bears banner that was supposed to feature Taylor.
Instead, my heart caught somewhere between one beat and the next.
He was inside—talking to a woman. A tall, leggy blonde with a camera around her neck and a laugh that carried even through the glass. She wasn’t just some fan; she was one of them. The type who followed players from event to event, all bright smiles and soft promises.
She touched his arm when she laughed, leaning in close like they were sharing a secret.
His smile—that smile—lit up the space between them, easy and familiar.
She held up her phone for a selfie, but instead of just leaning in, he reached out and adjusted the strap of her camera, his fingers brushing the inside of her wrist like it was second nature.
When she whispered something in his ear, he grinned wider, teeth and dimples, and she brushed invisible lint from his shoulder before walking away. He watched her go.
My stomach twisted.
I told myself I was fine. That it wasn’t jealousy—it was logic. This is who he is. This is what comes with him.
But the longer I stood there, the harder it was to breathe.
My reflection in the glass looked ridiculous—wide eyes, trembling fingers clutching my coffee cup like I could squeeze away the ache.
Because what did I honestly think was going to happen when the season started?
That we’d keep our quiet bubble of late nights, whispered jokes, and stolen mornings?
That he’d trade stadium lights for a girl who lived behind a stack of essays and half-finished coffee cups?
I pressed my hand to the cool glass, forcing a breath. You knew better, Audrey.
Still, the sight of him leaning in, smiling like that, burned.
By the time he came outside, my resolve was gone.
“Hey, Audrey.”
“Hey?” My laugh cracked on the word. “That’s all you’ve got?”
His brow lifted, calm as ever. “What else should I say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe start with why you were practically flirting your way through The Plaza?”
“You being completely incapable of not flirting with every woman who laughs at something you say—or touches your arm—or looks like she’s dying to follow you home.” My pulse pounded. “Looked like you were seconds away from inviting her back to our apartment for sex, so—”
My sentence ended against his mouth.
He kissed me until the words dissolved, until my thoughts blurred into the taste of him and the hard press of brick at my back.
When he finally pulled away, his breath was rough against my cheek. “I was asking the manager how much she’d charge to shut the place down for the two of us tomorrow night,” he said softly. “Just for a couple hours. Since you once mentioned wanting that with your boyfriend one day.”
Heat flooded my face. “I’m sure the guy who will eventually become my boyfriend years from now will handle that.”
My sarcasm earned another kiss—slow, aching.
“I’m trying to show you that I’m serious about this,” he said, cupping my face in his hands. His eyes searched mine. “Please let me.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just thought…”
“I know what you thought.” His thumb brushed the corner of my lip. “But I’m not interested in anyone but you, Audrey. Just you.”
For a moment, I believed him completely.