Chapter 8 Ian #2
“What are your plans for the week?” I ask as we walk along the sidewalk.
“On Tuesdays, I volunteer at the homeless shelter with my dad. His foundation funds the shelter and we spend the morning passing out meals and performing other needed activities. It’ll be just me this week. My dad messaged me earlier that he couldn’t make it this week.”
“I could come with you if you want me to. Tuesday is my typical ‘off’ day.”
“You would?” There’s so much hope flickering in those deep green eyes with strands of gold that pull me into their depths. I can’t form words, so I nod.
Her eyes spark brighter than any precious gem. “I love our friendship. I never had one with a man.”
A bucket of ice drops over me, dampening any romantic notions. I’ve just been pushed deeper into the friend zone. Fucking great.
“Me neither,” I groan. Not that I don’t cherish our friendship. I just want everything else with her too.
“Is it strange for you? I mean we… and then we…” She’s so cute, all nervous.
“And now we’re friends.” The word tastes bitter.
“Have you ever thought about what you’ll do after football?” she asks, quickly changing the subject as if sensing my mood plummeting.
“No.”
Her eyes widen, blinking in incredulity. “No? Like not even once?”
I shrug. “If I am too busy thinking about the future, I’ll miss out on the present.”
A pensive expression crosses her features. “That was deep.”
I arch a brow at her. “I’m more than looks.”
“You’re so cocky.” She giggles, a flirty smile playing with the corners of her mouth.
I am all for the flirting that comes so naturally with her. “Am I? Never heard that before.”
She slaps her hand playfully on my arm. It rests there for a while, stirring heat under my skin.
“Tell me more about yourself,” I demand, needing to know everything about her. Needing to be the one who knows her best.
As we walk, we exchange stories about our childhoods, discovering more about the other—there’s no pressure, just amicable conversation, but I catch the longing there for stability.
No wonder she is the relationship type. When she called me lucky for growing up in a stable household, I never thought about it like that.
The things you’re used to become a matter of fact.
We move to things we like and dislike next.
“I can’t believe you don’t like watermelon. Are you even real?” I say, messing with her.
Her cute nose crinkles. “It’s always messy eating them.”
Oh, how I’d like to make a mess out of her—the trembling, writhing kind, crying out my name as I have my way with her, kind. Tone it down!
The night passes by too quickly for my liking. When I am with her, the world slips away. It’s only her and me and our “friendship.” Every needy fiber of my body demands to make this woman mine. The timing sucks, but I refuse to let her go for a second time.
As we head back home, she smiles at me with her whole face. “I will need a new vase if you keep having lilies delivered to me.”
I know what my next order will include.
“No one’s brought me flowers before. Actually, no one has given me as much as you have.”
I don’t know who the fuck those two guys were.
If I come across one, I’ll have to resist the urge to punch them and instead thank them for moving the fuck along so I can take over.
I haven’t even started yet. She is my woman to take care of and spoil, even if she isn’t ready to admit that yet. And I treat my woman right.
“I’ve been single for a while now.”
“Do you want to date?” My heart sputters like an old engine on its last roll.
She cuddles up to my side, easing my nerves. “No, I’m quite content like this.”
When we reach the apartment building, she lifts on her toes, whispering, “Can I tell you something?”
Every second with her is sweet torture. “You can tell me anything.”
“Number three will be the right one.”
Strong emotions hit me square in the chest, only thinking that there might be someone else in her life.
“And how will you know he’s the right one?” The word scrapes at my dry throat, coming out gruffly.
“Because I will feel it. A love and passion so big it’s overwhelming yet familiar.”
Eyes locked, mine tells her that’s me, Lilly, while hers say, I know and it’s scary.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she sighs and pushes the door open.
I slide my hands in my pants not to touch her and show her we’re unstoppable. A tinge of frustration laces my words. “Like what?”
“You know exactly like what… and we established… we…,” she stammers.
We were fucking made for each other. Resolution blasts through my insides while we get in the elevator, wishing she would accept that irrefutable fact as well.
Her shoulders droop. Eyes downcast, she whispers, “Don’t be like this. Some things are just not meant to be.”
Oh, I’ll make us meant to be.
I accompany her to her door, and when she enters, she says over her shoulder, “I was thinking I could ease my father into our friendship. We’re going to remain friends, right?” Her fear is so clear in her voice, it knocks me off my feet.
“Of course, Lilly,” I assure her.
She needs stability, and I am not going anywhere.
Turning to close the door, she seeks my eyes. “I need you in my life, but I don’t know… At some point, you’re going to leave, be signed by another team… and I don’t want to cause you problems.” And then she says stuff like this, resurrecting my drowning hope.
Incapable of continuing to see her distressed, I cup her face.
Eye to eye, I say, “You, this friendship is important to me. I will deal with whatever consequences. It’s your decision, Lilly, and I will support you.”
I take a step back, afraid I will forget all my good intentions.
She says through the small crack, “My father always said to make more friends. Well, at least who I make friends with is my choice. Let’s see how it goes first.”
She has no trust, and that must be the foundation in every relationship. I am going to show her, I am here to stay. For good. Forever.