Chapter 11 Lilly #2
He plays more with his food than eats it. It’s the same for me. Giving up, we push away the half-eaten plates.
“Would you stay with me today?” he asks in an almost inaudible whisper.
I am about to confirm when he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I am sure you have better things to do than—”
I place my finger on his lips. The small contact has my body tingling all over.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” I murmur.
He nods, his lips teasing a smile. “Strange.”
“What is strange?” I ask, my voice reaching a high pitched tone.
My anxiety triples my heartbeats. He eyes me with a serious expression. “You’re my other best friend.” There’s something else in his gaze, but it’s fleeting, and I can’t pinpoint it.
I gulp nervously. “I am.”
“You showing up for me taught me how precious that is… and here I was about to jeopardize it.”
My heart takes a full dive in the pit of my stomach, splattering my hopes away.
I school my facial expression into neutral, finishing my glass of water in two long gulps, and place it down with shaky fingers.
Something changed, and I realize I can’t undo it. Our timing sucks. Wouldn’t be the first time. Or maybe I am cursed to live off what-ifs, waiting for something to happen like a bystander in my own life. The knowledge twists my heart, and I palm my chest to soothe the fragile organ.
We hole ourselves up for the rest of the day in his loft, ignoring the world outside, but time always wins.
I glance out the window. The moon has replaced the sun, blanketing the sky in dark blue, instinctively drawing a yawn from me.
“Come on, flower girl. Let’s go to bed.”
He stretches out his hand, and I take it, bringing me to his bedroom. It’s neat, like the rest of his loft—big and luxurious with all the high-end amenities and a king-sized bed.
Lying down on the softest bed possible, he pulls me to him, my back pressed to his front.
He flicks through the channels, settling on a show I usually enjoy watching about people surviving in the jungle. He drifts off to sleep first, and I follow suit, finding comfort in his embrace despite today not going as planned.
When I wake up the next morning, the spot beside to me is empty, but I hear the shower running.
I move to the kitchen, feeling nervous. We slept together and even that felt better than anything I experienced with someone else.
I prepare breakfast as he rounds the corner. Offering him an orange juice, I try not to stare at his chiseled torso, yet I count the eight-pack through his T-shirt. I could get used to waking up to that porn inducing visual.
He chuckles. “I see my kitchen still stands.”
I roll my eyes at him playfully. “Very funny, Ian.”
I might not be a good cook, but I can prepare an omelet. I think so anyway.
He rushes past me and flips the pan. The eggs are a bit burned.
He arches a brow. “You were saying?”
I place my hand on my chest in faux admiration. “You’re my hero. What would I do without you?”
“Order takeout,” he deadpans.
Giggling, I grab a towel and snap it across his chest, enjoying the light atmosphere. That ends when his phone rings. His mood shifts and mine sinks as well—in sync like that. I’d take away whatever bothers him if I could.
While I plate the omelet, I hear Amelie crying on the phone.
“I’m on my way. Give me a few.” Hanging up, he sighs. “I have to go.”
I peer at the untouched omelet, and he takes a few bites. “It tastes good.”
I try to imbue some cheer by pouting. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
A shadow of a smile crosses his lips. He kisses my forehead and says softly, “Thank you for everything.”
Reaching the door, he adds over his shoulder, “Stay as long as you like. The spare key is inside the bowl on the hall table.”
He leaves, and I take a few bites, spitting it right out. Who doesn’t know how to make an omelet? I am hopeless when it comes to cooking.
After I rinse the plates and make the bed, I pick the other set of keys from the counter by the entry, remembering I didn’t give him his gift—a keychain with Champion engraved on it. I place it next to the bowl, hoping to put a smile on his face when he finds it.
On my way to the store, I call Kat, telling her everything.
The drive passes in a blur.
Parking, she waits for me with a cup of coffee and a muffin. Thank god for best friends.
“The poor guy, I’m so sorry for him,” she sighs as we walk inside.
Everyone looks at me expectantly and I say, “Go back to work, people.”
They return to their tasks, and I busy myself in the back, preparing the juicers and looking at the orders for today.
Throughout the day, my thoughts fly to Ian, and I check my phone a hundred times. There is no message from him, worrying me to no end.
Not knowing how to cheer him up, I send a pic of me holding his favorite shot, but he leaves my text unread. A pang of sadness spears my chest, leaving my heart battered. His pain kills me slowly.
I hear the gasps and ohs and awes, and I speed walk to the front of the store.
There he is in all his magnetic, magnificent glory. Ignoring the stares, I grab his hand, putting myself in front of him like a protective shield and bring him back to a more secluded area.
Sadness laces his voice. “I’d take that drink now.”
I open the fridge, eager to ease him, and hand him one.
He drinks it in one go before placing it on the counter.
“How was it?” I ask, sounding as tender as I feel.
He cups his neck, eyes downcast. “My best friend can be a stubborn idiot, and I am afraid he’ll do something stupid.”
His brows draw together, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “That’s why I preferred them not to get involved in the first place…”
I offer a small smile. “Ian, it’s their relationship and you can’t protect someone from heartbreak. It’s not up to you.”
Kat comes from the office, and she halts when she sees him, the papers in her hand discarded.
“Hi, Ian,” she says in a gentle tone.
“Hi, Kat.” As if wanting the attention off him, he asks, “How goes the wedding planning?”
She sighs. “Stressful.”
I pluck the papers from her hand and go through them, signing where needed.
“I’m meeting with Theo for lunch,” she says before leaving.
“I need to get going too. Practice will be over around six. Are we meeting later at my place or yours?” he asks, the expectancy ringing crystal clear, prompting my reply.
“Yours.”
There’s more of him there.
Ian plucks something from his jeans pocket, grinning. He dangles the keychain in front of me, eyes brimming with emotions. “I’ve never had this… thank you for believing in me even when I don’t.”
I lift on my toes and cup his cheek, infusing unwavering determination as I say, “Always.”
Leaning into my touch, he kisses my cheek, lingering there for a moment longer that edges on sweet torture.
He’s about to leave when I say, “And I haven’t had this either.”
The smile he flashes as he looks at me over his shoulder melts my insides into a puddle.
Finishing work, I close the shop and head home.
After I take a shower, I notice his jersey lies discarded on my chair. I wear that over my top and shorts and visit him.
Opening the door, his eyes sweep over me. His gaze blasts heat that makes me hot all over. No relief in sight for me. Ugh, so I guess I must learn to navigate an intense sexual frustration that might cause insanity.
He drags his bottom lip through his teeth and that is so sexual it’s a wonder I don’t combust.
“I like you in my jersey. You look…” He clears his throat.
“Like what?” I ask breathlessly.
Opening and closing his mouth, he leaves me desperate to hear what he thought about, but his next words douse icy water over my excitement.
“Too good for being just my friend.”
Tonight, he doesn’t have to ask if I’ll stay over. I just do, and as the hours darken the sky in shades of midnight blue, we lie on the couch, face to face, his finger grazing my arm.
His cheek rests on his palm while we share a big, soft pillow.
“What’s your biggest fear?” I ask, delving deeper into my quest to know him better than anyone else.
A shadow crosses his face. “Not playing.”
“You’re more than a professional athlete.” I remind him, brushing my hand over his cheek and his features soften.
“Yes, but that is the biggest part of my identity. The money and the fame entice, but I burn to be on the field… I wouldn’t know what to do if I weren’t playing.” He gulps. “What about you?”
Where to start?
“Afraid to miss out on opportunities. Not seizing what was right in my face because of fear.”
He casts an intent look my way. “Maybe fear is good. It prevents us from doing something stupid.”
“I can’t believe you said that, reckless boy,” I say, forcing some levity in my tone.
The sigh rocking his chest rings with destitution. “Maybe if I knew what fear was, I wouldn’t.”
I place my finger on his mouth, eyeing him seriously. “No. Not on my watch.”
He cocks a brow. “Aren’t friends supposed to take you as you are?”
I shake my head but never break eye contact. “This is not you. This is you being guilt-ridden and talking nonsense.”
He leans back, scrubbing a hand down his face. “My hand trembled on the ball today.”
I swallow the unease, turning in my belly. “And what did you do?”
“I held it longer than needed, waiting to get better and screwed up a touchdown.” He curls his hand into a fist on his chest, and I place mine on his in a testament of my support and desire to soothe him. And it works because he relaxes his hand. Flattening it, he intertwines our fingers.
“Give yourself some grace. You focus on doing the best you can. Day in and day out until you’ll play again without fear.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sure you were sent to me to keep me afloat. Help me through my darkest time.”