Chapter 3 Ian #2
I elbow his side. “I didn’t hear a question.”
“Fuck you,” he grins. “And I asked your parents. They both gave me their blessing.”
I groan, “You have mine as well, asshole.”
He taps his foot up and down, sighing.
“Are you nervous? She’ll say yes.”
He cranes his head, staring at the ceiling for long moments. “I want more of her, man.”
I get that. It’s written all over his face.
“I love Amelie more than I love the game, but then I feel fucking guilty because this sport made me who I am.” He looks down at his hands. “I wouldn’t even know who I was without a ball in my hand.”
I squeeze his shoulder. “Staying focused on what you have is what counts. You have the girl you’ve always wanted and are at the top of your career. Who knows what the future holds, so be happy.”
“I am.” He nudges my side. “I wish you were too.”
I purse my lips, telling him with my eyes not to go there. He doesn’t listen because best friends are the most annoying people possible. You can’t live without them either.
“So, Lilly?”
Her name unleashes a wave of agony, tearing at my composure, and I snap. “I have a Super Bowl to win. A best friend who thinks more about my sister than the game. Teammates whom I have to keep in check constantly. And you ask me about my personal life?”
He remains unfazed by my outburst, looking me firmly in the eyes. “You don’t have one. You had one relationship that was more toxic than good in high school, and some dates with women, who we both know didn’t mean much. When did you ever pursue a girl?”
“What has that to do with anything?” I grit out.
“Lilly. That’s who you wanted, and you went for it. Grab your chance. Don’t lose time like I did.”
“You’re making up for it,” I grit out.
It’s my fun moment reminding him about breaking the bro code, but knowing how much he loves Amelie, I will always be grateful for.
He shakes his head at me. “Stubborn ass.”
As there’s no chance to get him engaged in the video game, I shut it off and switch on the TV.
We watch a replay of a game from last year and Levi cocks his head. “These fuckers always tackle too hard. And we’re going to play against them for the season opener.”
“We have that game locked,” I say unperturbed. “The entire team is hungry to win.”
He stays for a while longer, and when he leaves, restlessness takes over.
Silence has never bothered me before. It was the few moments when I wouldn’t hear the coach drilling into me—a break from the constant pressure of not disappointing my teammates and fans if we lost. But now, Lilly infiltrates those rare peaceful moments.
What is with this woman having such a chokehold on me? My eyes wander to the door.
Torn between the need to see her and the necessity to stay away, I listen to my gut instinct just like then. She’s someone I can’t stay away from with sheer will. I have none when it comes to her. Don’t do this, but I fail. Something beyond my power pushes me.
My feet carry me toward her door. Breath caught in my throat, I knock and brace my hands against her door frame. Nerves skyrocket my pulse, deafening me. I count each second until she relieves me from this hellish limbo.
When she opens the door, my eyes travel down her shorts and tank top, her hair pulled up in two buns—all cute and feminine, igniting this urge in me to keep her safe and worship every inch of her from the outside in. This woman unravels me by doing nothing but being too damn adorable. I’m screwed.
“Why?” My tone is low as if not to conjure the ghost of my past.
“Do you want to come inside?” she asks, making room for me.
“Why?” I ask with more force. The question has haunted me for so damn long.
She leaves the door open as she backpedals inside, and asks me over her shoulder, “You want to do this now?”
My chest pants, heavy with frustration. “Yes, because I need a clear head and guess what? I’m thinking too much about you, replaying our night and all these fucking what-ifs.”
She sighs, the sound ringing with sadness, but there’s something more I can’t pinpoint.
“It was supposed to be a one-night stand.”
Closing the door behind me, I lean against it, needing to leave some space between us for this conversation.
“I told you I wanted more. I’ll leave and won’t bother you again if you tell me it meant nothing.” Her answer might butcher me. But I need an explanation, fucking closure. Not knowing has been driving me insane, but her reason might fuck me up either way.
“This is crazy. Freaking magnetism,” she mumbles more to herself.
“Answer the question. Why?” I demand.
She crosses her arms over her chest, jerking her chin in challenge. “And then what?”
“We’ll see.”
“I found out who you were.” She says it as if she found out something despicable.
I wrack my brain to find out what could have possibly turned her off, but I come up empty. “And that would be?”
She bites her lip, appearing unsure. “A football player.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. Is she fucking kidding me right now?
“Because I’m a football player?”
“Yes, and I don’t date football players. Period,” she says, voice cracking at the end.
While I am still trapped in incredulity, she adds quickly, “I don’t have to justify myself.” She sticks the tip of her nose in the air, trying to appear more in control than she actually is.
I slump against the door, not fucking knowing what to do or say—my head is a jumbled mess. I am incapable of forming my thoughts into a coherent sentence.
“Ian, that night was the most special night of my life, but it was just that. I wanted an adventure, and you gave it to me.” There’s a fleeting look of regret crossing her face, but it’s gone just as quickly, making me wonder if I imagined it.
A self-deprecating laugh bursts out of me. Turning, I grip the door handle. “The girl who mesmerized me was an illusion. Because you’re a coward.”
“I’m not a coward,” she cries out. “I was there for a weekend getaway with my best friend. I wasn’t there to hook up or to find a guy.”
Inhaling deeply, I yank the door open, saying over my shoulder, “Next time we meet, have the decency not to look at me like you want me.”
I slam the door behind me, but not before I hear her deep sigh.
Women have wanted me for my status, for my looks, for my money. It’s better if they come to me. It spares me the fucking headache and heartache of wanting a woman who left simply because I am who I am.
My crime: playing football and loving the game.
There are two types of athletes. Those who get lost in fame, money, and women, and those who stay focused and determined.
I am in the second category. Lilly would have found that out if she were brave enough.
Instead, she labeled me a hazard, and that sucks.
She’s not interested in me. Like she said, it was a one-night stand.
She was meant to be the one that got away.
Fine. I can now stop searching for her, seeing her face in every woman, and picturing introducing her as my girlfriend to everyone.