Chapter 9 #3
Her eyes dart from my eyes to my lips. I don’t move. I can’t. I need to give her the space she just asked for.
“One second,” she says, her voice unsteady as her fingers curl into my shirt and she leans in.
“Take it,” I breathe back.
She does.
Just a breath.
Then she inches closer.
Another breath. One I feel against my lips.
Then her lips brush mine, barely there. It’s so soft it feels like a first kiss…the kind you spend your whole damn life waiting for.
Neither of us moves, terrified of breaking whatever this is.
But then Laura makes this tiny sound in the back of her throat, and everything inside me snaps.
My hand cups her cheek, and I tilt her mouth up to mine, deepening the kiss before I realize I’m doing it.
Her fingers clutch my shirt, yanking me closer.
When I trace my tongue along her bottom lip, she gasps—God, that sound—and parts her mouth for me.
So sweet. So fucking eager.
She melts against me, her body arching forward until she grazes against every inch of me that’s been starving for this.
My hand glides down to her hip, slipping under the hem of her satin pajama top. Her skin is warm and soft, and she shivers when I brush my thumb against her hip.
She moves, sliding her leg between mine and rubbing against the hard line of my cock.
I hold back my groan. Instead, I keep my mouth sealed to hers as I grip her hips and lift her onto my lap because I need her closer—need her everywhere.
Chest against chest, my heartbeat has no chance of catching up to how she feels. To this.
She rocks forward again, right over me, only the thin fabric of her shorts and my jeans keeping me from losing my mind. Fuck, I'm so hard it hurts, and the way she's moving—like she needs this as much as I do—is going to destroy me.
I kiss her deeper, harder, showing her just how many times I’ve thought about this. Too many. I’ve been wanting this since the fountain. That I’ll never stop wanting this.
This is it.
This is fucking it.
If I die tomorrow, bury me right here because nothing I do in my life will ever feel like this.
Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging hard enough to blur my vision at the edges. She’s panting now, her body grinding against mine with a rhythm that steals every coherent thought.
My hand skims higher beneath her shirt, my fingers curving around her ribs. My thumb brushes the underside of her breast—
“Scotty,” she breathes against my mouth, looking dazed and beautiful.
“Yeah?”
“The swing—”
Before she can finish the sentence, there's a loud CRACK.
We freeze.
“Did that sound—” I start.
CRACK. CRACK. Crrrreeeaaaak.
“Oh, shit.”
Laura shoots up, but the whole swing lurches sideways, and the metal chains creak in a way that definitely means death is imminent.
I jump off a half-second before it gives out, slamming into the porch with a loud rattle as the chains on the left side snap free.
BANG.
“Fuck,” I say low.
Standing opposite, we stare at the destroyed porch swing, then at each other.
I swear the universe is against me.
Laura starts to laugh—this helpless, gasping laughter that's absolutely contagious.
“We broke the porch swing,” she wheezes. “We made out so hard we broke my roommate’s porch swing.”
I'm laughing too. “In my defense, it was already pretty rickety.”
She whacks me lightly on the chest. “It was fine until you and your hockey player weight collapsed it!”
I take hold of her hand, pulling her closer to me. “My hockey player weight? Are you calling me fat?”
She's giggling so hard she can barely speak. “No, I'm calling you dense. There's a difference.”
“Dense?” I tug her even closer. “Princess, I’m built for impact. The porch swing was not.”
Her giggles slow, and the ruined swing lies beside us as her expression shifts. Still warm, but careful.
“Scotty?”
“Yeah?” My chest is still heaving from kissing and laughing and almost dying via porch furniture.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy in a way she never is when she’s in a tiara and sparkles and center stage for a room full of five-year-olds. “W-What is this?”
“Whatever you want it to be.”
I can’t help but sound desperately eager when she asks me a question like that.
She bites her bottom lip and steps back.
There it is.
She’s going to let me down gently, isn’t she?
“I like you, Scotty. I really do.”
“But?” I ask with a raised brow. It’s killing me to even say, but I have to keep my cool when it comes to her.
“Can we… keep this between us for now?”
“Like a secret?”
She rushes on before I can react.
“It’s not because I don’t—” She stops, rewinds, steadies herself.
“I just want to be able to stand on my own before the world sees me next to you. I don’t want them reducing me to ‘the girl who distracts Scotty Hendricks.’” Her voice dips.
“I need to know I’m not stepping into someone else’s spotlight.
I want to earn my own first. Does that make sense? ”
Of course it does.
She’s not asking to hide me. She’s asking not to disappear.
I swallow, nod slowly. “Yeah. It makes sense.”
Relief softens her shoulders, but I step a little closer anyway, hands in my pockets so I don’t reach for her again.
“You want to build your thing without me overshadowing it,” I say evenly. “I get that. I don’t want to be the reason you feel small in your own story.”
Her breath catches, like that hit something deep.
“So… you’re okay with it?”
I shrug once, not casual, just honest. “We keep this ours for now. No cameras. No teammates. No commentary from the internet. Just you and me.”
She exhales like someone just gave her back air she didn’t know she’d been holding.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
Her lips twitch like she wants to kiss me again, but instead she nudges my arm with hers.
“You should go before Lyss wakes up and thinks I’m having a midnight porch fight with a linebacker.”
“Rude. I am a graceful athlete.”
“You are a walking dent to outdoor furniture.”
I huff a laugh. “Fair.”
She hesitates. “Will you… text me when you get home?”
“You going to give me your number?”
She bites her lip, then reaches into my pocket—slowly, her eyes holding mine—and pulls out my phone. I groan at the brief contact, my dick still half-hard from kissing her.
“Unlock it,” she instructs.
I do. She takes the phone from me and types her number in before giving it back to me.
I smile when I see she's saved her name as 'Princess <3'.
“Goodnight, Scotty.”
“Night, Laura.” I step off the porch. “And for what it’s worth? I’m proud of you already. Spotlight or not.”
She freezes like the words rooted her. Then she whispers, “Thanks.”
I barely make it off the porch and into my truck before the door opens.
“Laura? Why are you outside?” Lyss gasps. “What happened to Nana Lou's swing?”
“I was reading, and it just collapsed. I'll fix it. Or… buy a new one.”
I sneak back to my truck, my heart still pounding—from the kiss, from nearly getting caught, from the whiplash of having Laura and then having to hide it, but I’m so fucking happy about it.
When I’m back at my dorm, I sit in silence, not wanting to see my teammates just yet. Instead, I close my eyes and replay the kiss and the swing cracking beneath us.
What I wouldn’t give to go back there again.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, ready to text Laura when I see a message from my dad.
Dad: Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you much after the game. Erik mentioned you had an assignment you were working on. So proud of you, Scotty! You're not only a great player, you're a great kid, and dedicated to everything you do. I can't wait to see where your future takes you.
I stare at the message for a long moment, Laura's words echoing in my head.
Scotty: Thanks, Dad. We need to talk properly soon.
It's not much, but it's a start.
My phone buzzes again almost immediately.
Dad: Of course! Anything you need. I'm here for you.
External forces.
Romeo and Juliet didn’t fall because they were foolish. They fell because the world around them was louder. Family names. Expectations they never asked for. Their stories were written before they had a chance to speak.
We’re not them.
Laura wants to build her own stage before anyone shoves her onto mine. And I want to step out from under a shadow I never agreed to live in. Maybe that isn’t tragic at all.
Maybe that’s just two people refusing to let everyone else script their lives.
I quickly send a message to her.
Scotty: I’m home safe. Thank you for talking to me tonight. I keep thinking about what you said about Romeo and Juliet…external forces only win if we let them. I’m not going to let that happen.
For the first time in months, the weight on my chest feels manageable.