Chapter 10 Ian
TEN
IAN
January
Being just her friend is agonizing, especially when we lean into each other over our takeout or when we cuddle on the sofa watching a movie.
It’s been weeks, and one season has gone by. Winter replaced fall, not that it means much in San Diego. Shorter days and longer nights extend an unofficial invitation to more snuggles and sultry moments.
My longing hasn’t subsided, but I’ve learned to push through this hunger ravaging my being.
The time I spend with her is overflowing with a familiarity and intimacy I have never experienced before.
Even my game has improved, which I didn’t even think was possible. I am hyper-focused, channeling all my frustration into playing. The praise from my coach and my teammates validates that. Only Levi eyes me knowingly, as if aware of the reason, but I’m thankful he has stopped giving me shit.
Saturday is the AFC Championship, and there’s a nervous energy buzzing under my skin.
I am pacing around the living room, waiting for that knock on my door. The rap finally echoes, and I have a pep in my step as I open the door to welcome her, wishing she’d never leave my place, my life, my bed. Everything else ceases to matter. She smiles from ear to ear, showing me a brown bag.
She looks out of this world beautiful that I forget myself. Inviting her in, her sweet smell infuses the space, chipping at my control with unparalleled dexterity.
“How was your day?” we ask at the same time.
“Good,” she says.
“Better now,” I reply.
As she tells me more about her day, I perch my back against the wall. I watch as she places the brown bag on the coffee table, the aromatic smell of Chinese food wafting around.
She scrunches her nose whenever she comes to a point when something didn’t go according to plan. I know all her tics by now. She fascinates me, consumes my thoughts like nothing else.
“I am excited, but so bummed I won’t be at your game. My mom planned this girls’ weekend trip to a spa in Arizona months ago. There’s no way I can cancel it. I wanted to be there for you.”
Sadness flickers in her eyes, tugging at my heartstrings. I wanted her at my game too, but spending time with her mom is important.
“You’ll be at the Super Bowl,” I offer, wanting to erase her distress.
She regales me with a radiant smile. “I promise.”
I love this woman. There’s no point denying it. She progressed from the girl who stole a piece of my heart to the woman who owns every beat.
Not being together fucking sucks, but I am brainstorming daily for a solution.
I am bound by a contract, and I can’t break it just because I want to be with her.
Then what? I might end up playing for another team, but her shop, her friends, her life are here.
So, I suck it up and take whatever I can get. For now.
As she takes the food out, I pour sparkling water into our glasses. She has a chicken and rice bowl while I have some plain rice, steak, and grilled vegetables.
As we sit on the sofa, our legs brush together. At the beginning, we just inched away. Now, it’s like we need this bit of physical contact to make it bearable. Or that is what I tell myself. Anything to feed my starved heart and appease my goal-setting mind.
She moans around a forkful and my cock stirs.
I have fucking blisters on my hand from jerking off to thoughts of her.
My lust takes over and I relive the memory of her sweet moans filling my ears as I slipped inside of her.
The memory alone makes me cum harder than any reality with someone else, not to say imagining how it would feel to have her again.
I would make her cry out so loud that she’ll never think of teasing me with her moaning for something else.
I adjust my sweatpants, and she chokes on a strip of chicken. Slapping her back, I offer her a napkin. To manage this friendship, we reached a silent agreement. We help each other through these weak moments. She has them too.
“You should go to sleep early tonight. We should cut this short,” she murmurs.
“No, I’ll be fine,” I say, voice thick with all the things I’m trying to contain. That our togetherness gives me a modicum of comfort while riding this wave of unease, I tread like an amateur surfer.
“I have an early flight,” she says, but places her cheek on my arm.
The universe must really hate me, and I have no fucking clue why.
I switch my position, taking her down with me. Grabbing the blanket, I slide it over her, tucking us in.
The movie rolls on the TV, but I can’t focus on anything except the woman I hold in my arms. Closing my eyes, I feel her finger grazing my chest.
I open them to find her watching me with doe eyes. “Are you nervous?”
“No, just going mentally through the game.”
She tilts her head, a twinkle flickering in her gaze. “How many touchdowns will be for me?”
I tap the tip of her nose, shaking my head at her, keeping the atmosphere playful. “Greedy girl.”
She slaps my chest playfully, and I nip at her fingertip.
“They’re all for you, flower girl,” I say it solemnly, like a vow I intend to keep.
A contented smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, and she places her face in the crook of my neck, inhaling me—pure torture wrapped in euphoric dreams.
“I like being in your arms,” she whispers.
My arms tighten around her, urging her to say the words and end my misery. There must be a solution to our problem if we put our heads into it.
“I like you in my arms too,” I confess.
“It’s hard at times, but I wouldn’t risk what we have.”
She voices what has become my greatest fear. A deep sigh vibrates in my throat. I’m afraid she’ll get used to us being friends, leaving me permanently thirsty with water just out of reach. So be it.
She kisses my cheek and stands up. “Good luck in the game.”
At the door, she grasps the handle, breathing raggedly, but not glancing back. It’s not the first time she has confessed her feelings and then promptly left, almost as if she were punishing herself for the bout of weakness.
I can’t allow her to do this. Fuck this shit. I am no coward.
“Somewhere in the future, I will come home to you.” My words crash between us with resounding assurance.
Her shoulders droop. “Ian…”
“And I will call you mine, Lilly. You will be mine. So whatever excuse you keep telling yourself, stop it. I can do this for as long as it takes. My determination is unwavering. Your submission is inevitable. Ultimately, you’ll belong to me.”
She slips through the door as silent as a shadow, and I rub a hand down my face. Fuck. What if she retreats? I am so in my head, thinking this will preoccupy me to the point of losing my damn mind when my phone pings with a message.
I don’t even have your jersey.
Hope emerges from the ashes, making me feel like a damn phoenix. This woman’s power over me is astounding.
Pumped up with determination, I stride inside my walk-in closet and pick one. Only imagining her in my jersey, wearing my name, makes me feel possessive. Folding the jersey, I place it in a box and put it on her doorstep.
You have a delivery.
Minutes pass as I wait for her reply, and when she sends me a picture of herself, my heart bursts, wreaking havoc in my chest.
She’s in my jersey, wearing nothing else, looking like a sultry fantasy and my dream woman in one. I can see the line of her cleavage. I groan, trailing my finger over the cold screen and get lost in the rapture of her.
Opening my door, I pick up and drink my juice cup, and drive to the stadium, revved up to win.
When I park at the stadium, I shoot Lilly a text and stride toward the locker room.
My teammates congregate inside, ranging from those who focus by being on their own with closed eyes and music blasting from their headphones to those who chat animatedly and some goofing around. Each has their pre-game routine.
I slide beside Levi, but he’s preoccupied with the post-game event. He’s going to ask my sister to marry him. His feet bounce up and down, and he constantly checks the clock.
I elbow him in his ribs. “Time will not pass sooner.”
He rubs a hand down his face, shaking his head. “Not even when I played my first Super Bowl was I this nervous.”
“She could say no.”
“Asshole.” He smirks. “She will say yes.”
He’s too cocky. Must be good to be so assured in the love of your partner.
I squeeze his shoulder. “It’s going to be great.”
He nods pensively. “Is Lilly going to be here?”
“No, she’s on a girls’ trip with her mom.”
“So, this is why you’re sulking.”
I look straight ahead, mumbling, “I am not sulking. I’m focused.”
“Yes, gave up on that quickly. My definition of focus is thinking of Amelie only a few times during a game.”
He doesn’t even try to hide his grin. “Sucks to be in your position when you can’t be with the girl you want.”
“For fuck’s sake, I get it, but I am fine.” I snap.
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Maybe it will work out.”
When Coach comes inside, everyone directs their attention to him. As we go through tonight’s game plan, the desire to win takes the reins.
By the time the game comes around, I finish doing some light arm exercises.
Shouts explode as we storm the field. Jets fly overhead; the anthem is being played as we salute the flag. My feet anchor in the grass, adrenaline coursing through my veins, pumping me up to rule the field. I stare down the quarterback of the opposite team and smirk. This is my win.
We take our positions, and the game begins.
The stronger you start, the better the chances are of keeping the advantage. My arm and eye focus on Levi, who jumps as I throw the ball, and we soon achieve a big advantage.
Football demands you keep a levelheaded mind, but frustration can jeopardize that like nothing else when the score difference dwindles. It makes you rash. One moment, I watch the ball cutting through the air, the next I freeze when Levi gets rammed by two opponents while holding the ball.