Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Leighton
My stomach riots at the idea of telling Hayes the truth, but I have to be honest with him.
“What don’t I know?” He straightens in his seat, abandoning the Twizzlers, popcorn, and water.
“I’m a bad person.”
He huffs. “I doubt that, Leighton. You’re the nicest person I know.”
I stare at him for a moment. “Thank you for sharing all that with me. I was an outsider, seeing what your family went through last year. I tried to comfort Callie, and I would go visit your mom during some of her treatments at the hospital during my lunch break. You didn’t have to tell me all that for me to know you aren’t really the guy you were a year ago.
I know how close you all are and how hard it had to be on you.
And I understood it”—my head lobs back and forth—“to an extent, but I wish you’d had someone to lean on. ”
Me particularly, but we’re not going to go there.
“You never had to worry about what I thought of you, but I guess this is good. Like a cleanse before we embark on a fake relationship. It will make us closer. Which is why I’m going to confide in you…”
His eyebrows raise.
“I’m not an admirable person, Hayes. When I ran away from you the night of our kiss, it wasn’t because I thought you would hurt me. In truth, I hadn’t processed that thought at that point, but it’s probably the conclusion I would’ve come up with.”
“Knife lodged and twisted.”
I break the distance and sit in the chair next to him. “Don’t. It’s a me thing. I mean, I actually have a list of…” I wave my hand. “Forget that… That night at the party, I um… I had a boyfriend.”
He stares blankly at me. So much that I wave my hand in front of his face.
Hayes blinks. “I’m just shocked. You kissed me when you had a boyfriend?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yes. God, hearing you say that out loud feels like you have your finger on a bruise that is my guilt.”
“It’s just… all these years, I thought it was me. Was I drunker than I thought or was I a bad kisser. I mean, I didn’t really believe that last one, but if I was wasted and didn’t realize it, that might have made sense…” Now he’s the one rambling, and somehow, it’s endearing.
I’m just going to put it all on the table. Then there’s nothing between us. No secrets. “I had been dating this guy, Colby, and he’d already cheated on me once before freshman year, but I forgave him because we were technically broken up for a few hours. Anyway, we promised to make it work—”
“You used me to get back at him?”
“No!” I practically shout and look around, but we’re alone of course. “I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. But after the kiss…”
“The amazing kiss, you mean?”
I roll my eyes. “After the amazing kiss—or during, I guess—something jarred me, and I felt so dirty and gross.”
“This conversation is a real self-esteem booster. Tell me more about how my lips on yours made you feel,” Hayes deadpans.
I chuckle, unable to hold back.
“I was my dad.” I shake my head, hating the feeling that saying those words out loud gives me. “I did to someone what my dad did to my mom, and even though I really enjoyed it—well, that’s why I ran.”
“Please feel free to continue to tell me how much you enjoyed the kiss.” There’s a cocky grin on his face now.
I swear I could still feel his lips on mine if I close my eyes and replay it in my head.
“It was like seeing a side of myself I never thought I would,” I say. “I swore for so many years I’d never do that to someone. Never. Not after I saw the effect it had on my mom. On me.”
His head rocks back, finally understanding why I ran.
“I gave in to temptation. I made a shitty decision that was going to hurt people. Callie, Colby, and you, although Callie said you found my replacement pretty quick that night.”
He tilts his head and studies me, frowning. “What?”
“Callie came home the next morning and said how mad she was because she saw you making out with a girl and apologized on your behalf for abandoning me.”
His eyebrows raise. “And did the girl in question have strawberry-blonde hair?”
I shake my head. “No.” I narrow my eyes. “It was a blonde. Because there were two girls you made out with, and I’m strawberry-blonde.”
I don’t blame him for moving on after I left, but it still stung to hear about it.
“So, Callie saw me making out with someone with blonde hair in a dark room with a strobe light going?” He picks up his bucket of popcorn and leans back in the seat as if a movie is about to start.
“Are you insinuating it was me she saw you with?”
“Well, since after you left the party, I went to look for you and then just sat by the bonfire, yeah. There were no other girls who had their lips on mine that night.”
“Oh.” How did that never occur to me? I thought Callie was upstairs with that all-star pitcher who’d just been drafted. “Are you sure?”
He nods. “I wasn’t that drunk, Leighton.”
“Really? All these years, I thought you just moved on.”
“All these years, I wondered what made you run. You could’ve stayed, and we could’ve talked about it and cleared it up. We might have been a couple by now.”
“That would have been a very mature decision for a girl my age who’d just kissed her best friend’s older brother.” I smile, unable to imagine me being that grown-up then.
“I guess.” He shrugs.
We both sit facing forward and staring at the field, deep in our own thoughts.
“I have one more thing to tell you.” I want to put everything out there.
To be the grown-up version I should’ve been back then.
Maybe the truth will set us on the right track, so we both understand there’s no option for us to be together, regardless of if we’re attracted to each other or not.
“I can’t be your reason for not doing well this season. ”
His forehead wrinkles. “Why would you be?”
I turn to him, and he’s so casual, leaning back as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. My confession doesn’t seem to even have fazed him.
“Because you’ve been drawn into all my drama. You’re going to pretend to date me so I can win custody, and that means all your free time will be taken up with me. I’m sure you would’ve used it to work out or train or whatever you need to do to get that Gold Glove.”
He shakes his head. “Newsflash, professional athletes do have lives. They have wives, kids, families. Sure, it’s more challenging during the season, but not completely impossible.”
My shoulders fall. “I know, but—”
“Listen.” His feet hit the floor, and he ditches the popcorn, taking my hands.
“We’re in this together. Don’t worry about me.
So far, I’m already worlds ahead of where I was last year.
And seeing you through this matters to me.
I don’t really know why, other than I want you to have those kids.
I’m sure if I dug down far enough, it would probably be because I wasn’t here last year when my mom needed me the most. And I want you to be there for those kids when they need you most. Maybe not. But you do need to know something.”
“I’m starting to think we should pitch in for our own personal therapist.”
He squeezes my hands. “I know it’s the wrong time and all that, but I’m sorry to tell you that I like you, Leighton.”
My hands go limp in his. This is not the way I thought he’d ever confess his feelings for me. To apologize as if it’s a horrible thing.
“But I’m going to respect your wishes.”
What wishes were those?
Oh yeah, for nothing to happen between us. I have too much going on, and neither of us is in a place to start something.
“Oh… yeah… thanks.” I play it off, even if I want to ditch the holding hands and go right to lip-smacking.
“I’ll keep my distance until you say go.”
Would he think less of me if I said go right now? Yes, because he needs to win the Gold Glove, and I need to win custody, and if we try to start something and we fail, then both of our lives will be upended.
I’m a jumble of emotions, and it’s hard to make sense of any of them. I’m ecstatic that Hayes likes me in that way, but full of disappointment because it doesn’t change anything.
“I should go.” I stand, sliding my hands from his.
Thankfully, he doesn’t fight me on it. “I’ll walk you out.”
And that’s that, I suppose. He confesses he likes me and is willing to start something as soon as I say so, then I just run away again.
“Can I ask you something before you go?” Hayes asks as we reach the bar area on the roof. His voice sounds pained.
“Um, sure.”
“Can I have a hug?” His smile is sheepish and endearing. I could never say no. “You know, therapy and all that. I’m feeling vulnerable, and hugs release oxytocin.” He opens his arms wide.
“This is such a bad idea,” I mumble, but I step into his arms anyway.
He wraps them around my waist, palms flat against my back, pulling me flush against him. His chest is broad and solid, but he holds me as if I’m the prized teddy bear he won at the fair.
His chin angles down, nuzzling into my hair.
The sensation is dizzying and unreal. I’ve spent years avoiding Hayes, and now he holds me as though he understands me and the trials I’m facing.
I don’t know if and when I’ll get this again, so I try to memorize the feel of him.
The scent of him. But this is a terrible idea, and if I ever have any hopes of moving on from him, I can’t let it continue. So, I pull away, but he clings tighter.
“Twenty seconds.” His breath warms my neck.
“That’s a very specific number,” I whisper, fully engulfed in his intoxicating bubble.
“Google it,” he whispers back. “That’s how long it takes for the oxytocin to kick in.”
His fingers stroke up and down my spine in a soothing, repetitive motion.
The rhythm is so hypnotic, I sink into his arms a little deeper.
He buries his face in my neck, inhaling, exhaling, as though he’s trying to calm himself but failing.
Because when my hand weaves between us and I lay it over his heart, it’s practically beating out of his chest.
“Leighton.”
I’ve never heard my name spoken with such reverence. The one word like a plea.
“Hayes,” I answer with a similar tone, but more of a surrender. My tongue wets my lower lip, a subconscious acquiescence.
We’re like a snagged ribbon, both our consciences fraying the longer we’re entwined.
His cheek brushes mine once, then twice, and our lips find each other’s. A soft, tentative press that lingers. Neither of us pulls away, so we continue tempting fate until a collision of hunger erupts that’s years in the making.
His mouth is on mine—hot and demanding, salty from the popcorn, and his tongue slides against mine with an urgency that ignites a moan low in my throat.
Hayes’s hands are everywhere—roaming up my sides, trailing down to my hips, cupping my face with a gentleness at odds with the bruising intensity of his kiss. I clutch his shirt, pulling him closer even though there’s no space left between us.
At some point, we stumble against the wall, my back thudding into the cold brick. He pins me there, hips flush to mine, and the friction is electric. One of his hands tangles in my hair, angling my head so he can kiss me even deeper, and the other grips my thigh, urging it up around his waist.
We’re both gasping, the sound obscene in the empty bar. I lose all sense of time. There is only this—his body, my body, and the red-hot spark of what we’ve never allowed ourselves.
He breaks away first, resting his forehead against mine, his eyes dark and wild and searching, breath ragged. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, though he doesn’t move away. “I shouldn’t have—”
I lift on my tiptoes and press my lips to his again. He wastes no time taking control of the kiss, and I grind my center along his hard length, forgetting every reason we said this is a bad idea.
Screw rules and lists and all the shit I worry too much about.
My hands wedge between us, and I flick open the button of his pants. I am lust personified. My fingers grab the top of his zipper. I’m going to take this for myself.
The sound of a door slamming shut reverberates through the small space. We both strip our mouths off one another and turn our heads.
Hayes groans. “Impeccable timing as always, Kodiak.”