Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
NASH
Warring emotions swirl within me as I step under the hot spray of the shower. I wet my hair, then lather it with shampoo.
On one hand I’m pissed at myself for how I played tonight, on the other hand I’m infatuated by the sight of Wyatt in the stands. I forgot how spoiled I was when I had him at all my home games at U.W. Every year that passes, my fondness for our college memories increase.
After I rinse the shampoo, I run the conditioner through my hair.
I rinsed off in the locker room before we left, but I don’t like to wash my hair there.
I need my own toiletries. While the conditioner sits for a second, I look at all the products I’ve got lined up in the shower.
Just a month and a half of living here and it looks like Ulta exploded.
Razor, shaving cream, body oil, hair mask…
Wyatt’s body wash? I recognize the classic masculine five-in-one.
He’s been buying the same brand and scent since I met him in college.
It’s cool and clean and manly. I rinse out my hair, and the feeling of the conditioner running down my body has me reaching for my washcloth.
I grab my regular vanilla and lavender body wash, but right before turning it over on the cloth, I pause.
How nice would it be to go to bed smelling like him tonight?
To get cozy under the covers and be wrapped up in the overwhelming scent of Wyatt.
I wouldn’t even have to find an excuse to steal a hoodie from him. He wouldn’t suspect a thing.
I put my body wash down and pick his up.
The front shows a bear with its claws out like it’s taking a swipe at you in front of a snowy forest background.
Typical man shit. I pour some onto the washcloth in my palm and rub it to a lather.
I close my eyes as the fragrance mixes with the shower steam and coats my whole body.
With my eyes closed and his scent surrounding me, I can almost imagine that this might be what it feels like to share a shower with him.
If we were actually together, would we shower platonically?
Both of us washing our hair at the same time.
Taking turns standing under the spray. So comfortable with each other that we aren’t fazed by nudity.
It doesn’t turn sexual every time because there are so many other opportunities for sex, which we make good use of…
Well, this was a huge mistake.
Even though I’m freshly dressed and still stuffed from my burger and fries, I lie in my bed staring at the ceiling fan as it spins.
Every time I close my eyes, all I see is me arguing about the center line penetration again. I play it over and over, looking at it from every angle. I don’t know what that ref was smoking, but their foot obviously interfered with my play. I know I could have popped that ball back up.
Doesn’t matter in the States, though.
And I can’t change the past.
I roll over and hike my thigh up, trying to get comfortable.
I stare at the wall now.
My mind drifts toward Wyatt and the deal we just struck over burgers and fries.
The way all good deals are made. It’s crazy, isn’t it?
To think that not only could we pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend, but that it may be enough to bring this team the recognition that it deserves?
That Wyatt’s presence alone will magically fill a stadium with people who, as of right now, have no idea we exist. I guess I’m just lucky that he lied to his mom and needed my help just as much as I needed his.
Wyatt, who has never told me no.
Wyatt, who kicks his friends out of the front seat because he knows I like to ride shotgun.
Wyatt, who towers over me with his dirty blonde hair and corded muscles.
Wyatt, who…is sleeping twenty feet from me. Who technically owns the bed I’m lying in wearing just my panties right now…
I need a glass of water.
I kick off the comforter and reach for an oversized t-shirt to pull over my head.
The house is dark, but not pitch black. Light from the streetlamps seep in through all the big windows, bathing the house in a warm glow, illuminating my path to the fridge.
I grab a cup out of the cabinet to the right and start filling it with water from the little dispenser.
“Nash–”
I jump at the voice, spilling the water all over the floor as the plastic cup clatters against the hardwood. I whip around, expecting a murderer.
“Oh my God, Wyatt. You scared the shit out of me.” I grab the towel hanging from the oven handle and start mopping up the water.
“I’m sorry.” Wyatt coughs into his hand and I remember that I’m not wearing any pants. Just my high-waisted bikini panties with cherries all over them. I bolt upright, drop the towel, and finish mopping the water up with my foot. “What are you doing up?”
I set the cup on the counter and lean against it, still not looking at him. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“I never did understand how you could drink a coffee right before a seven PM game.”
I turn to face him, and my mind goes momentarily blank at the amount of skin I see.
Athletic shorts hang loose around his waist, the soft light of the fridge emphasizing a very muscular stomach.
“It’s not the caffeine,” I say finally. I could drink a gallon of coffee and go to bed no problem.
“It’s the game. I just keep replaying it in my head.
Every stupid mistake I made tonight.” I hold my hands up like I could grab a volleyball and start all over.
“Everyone has off nights.”
I snort sarcastically. “Maybe players on teams with built-in fans do.” I look right into his blue eyes knowing jealousy is plain as day on my face. He watches me right back. “But I don’t.”
“It’s not like if you don’t win the championship this year they’ll cut the team.”
“You don’t know that.” My voice rises. The restlessness that spurred me out of bed is at its peak right now.
“No one knows that,” I say again, quieter.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just stressed.
And tired–” Wyatt steps up and wraps his arms around me, hushing the negative thoughts rushing through my brain.
“Hey. The stadium was not empty. I was there.” He puts his hand on the back of my head, holding me to him.
“And I promise that I’ll never let a home game be empty.
I’ll be at every single one, and if there’s one I can’t make, I’ll send twenty Hurricanes in my place.
” I sniff against his bare chest. I think he’s already taking his fake boyfriend duties too seriously.
Or maybe that’s just him being my best friend.
“Thank you.” I lean back to look up at him. There’s not many people I have to physically look up to. I love how being wrapped up in him makes me feel small. My fingers move against his bare chest of their own accord…
Alarm bells ring in my head.
I step back. “Thank you,” I start, “For being there for me.” I put another step of space between us so I can breathe without feeling the warmth emanating from him.
“I’m so lucky to have you as my best friend.
” That is probably unnecessary to say, but I need to remind myself that we are faking it.
Because right now, under the cover of night, together in his kitchen, it would be too easy to convince myself that this is more.
I watch as he rolls his lips together. “You’re welcome.”
I start backing out of the kitchen. “I should try and get some sleep.”
His left hand holds onto the edge of his shorts in a tight grip. “Yeah, you should.”
I turn and head up the stairs. For some reason I worry about my pace.
I don’t want to go too slow because I’m still only panty clad, but I don’t want to make it look like I’m literally running away from him.
I’m not. I’m running away from the heat his huge hand on the back of my head stirred in my belly.
The whole walk of shame up the stairs I say over and over again: This is what’s best for the team. That’s all.