Halfway through the movie, conked out on Aleve and exhaustion, he pulled me down to lie next to him. I thought he might kiss me again—I wanted him to—but he tossed a muscular arm around me then promptly fell asleep. For an hour, I lay there, enjoying the feel of his body, his rhythmic breaths, the scent of his skin. Finally, around midnight, I got him a quilt and a pillow and headed to bed.
“Serena,” he murmurs. “Come here.”
I start, not sure he’s fully awake. Walking over to him, I sit lightly on the edge of the coffee table. “You feel better?”
“Mmmm, had a nightmare. The Titanic was sinking, and we were on it. I tried to save you, but Freddy and Bonnie showed up to eat me. So weird…” His eyes flutter open then close. His chest rises, his full lips parting.
“Good to know,” I muse, “that I’m part of your nightmare.”
I tug the quilt up, my fingers grazing his hand as a sigh comes from me. He’s so heartbreakingly beautiful. With one last look, I stand up and force myself to walk away, trying to remember that beautiful things are hazardous to my heart…
17
Tomorrow is game day, and I’m tense. This is our first big game against a ranked team.
“Morning, boys!” the quarterback coach calls out as Sawyer, Troy, and I pile out of the Escalade at the private airfield a few miles from campus.
“Holy fuck, that’s a big plane,” Sinclair mumbles as we walk up. He’s got a queasy look on his face. “I’ve never flown before.”
“Not even when you came to school?” I ask.
“Bus brought me.” He rolls his shoulders, hitching up his duffle. “And before you ask, I’m not scared. You?”
“I figure since my bio dad and grandparents crashed in a jet, the odds of me dying on a plane are low.”
He pales. “I forgot about that.”
I get in line as the ramp comes down for us. Everyone is dressed in slacks and button-up shirts, belts, and dress shoes. Coach likes a clean-cut image when we waltz into our hotel in enemy territory.
“Put your earphones in and meditate. You’ll be fine. Good paintball this week.”
He gives me a wary look. “Yeah, thanks for including me.”
“Just waiting till you love me like everyone else.”
“You are such an asshole.”
I’m not listening to him as I hear Serena’s voice behind me. The last time I saw her was when I woke up on her couch, peeked in her room, then left for my run. I wrote her a note thanking her for our date. Ha. We’ve texted on and off, but with the game looming, I crashed last night.
I turn and see her with Neil. I’m cool. Not gonna punch him. She said he’s just a friend. Don’t even know what we are… Just taking it slow. She needs baby steps.
I take my seat and dig out my headphones, waiting for her to walk past, jonesing to see her face.
An exhalation slides through my lips when she approaches, tension easing. She’s wearing one of those tight little pencil skirts, black heels, and an orange Tigers shirt. My eyes snag on a navy ribbon around her neck that leads to something hidden under her blouse. Her hair is up in a high ponytail.
“Ballbuster!” Sawyer calls out to her.
“Everybody cover!” Troy chimes in. “Cod Killer is on the plane!” He slaps her on the arm, then reddens in embarrassment. “Uh, ‘cod’ is slang for a certain male appendage, you know, in case you didn’t get it.”
She smirks. “I got it, Troy.”
“Hey,” I say when she gets to my seat.
“Hey.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
We gaze at each other, and my blood hums.
“You look nice,” she says.
“What’s under your shirt?”
“My skin.”
“Uh-huh. What else?”
“My bra.”
“Come on. Is there a certain, um, charm under your shirt?”
“Please keep the line moving,” comes from one of the assistants at the head of the plane.
She looks back at a scowling Neil then back to me. “Gotta go. I’m causing everyone to wait.”
“Later.” As soon as she’s gone, I blow out a breath.
I mutter under my breath. Lame, fucking lame. Why did I ask about the charm?
“Who you talking to?” Sawyer asks, giving me side eye from the seat next to me.
“No one.”
“Himself,” Troy says from the seat across the aisle. “Get your head in the game, QB1. Your challenge can wait.”
“Shut up and mind your own fucking business, Texas,” I mutter, frowning.
The challenge isn’t real to me, she is.
By the time we land and get to the Double Tree Hotel, it’s after two, and we immediately change and head to the field for a scheduled practice. When we get back, we’re sweaty, worn out, and ready for dinner in the hotel. After that, we’ll have a few hours to ourselves, but curfew is at ten. Coach runs a tight ship, and I’m expected to be a role model, which means I tell some of the younger guys Hell no when they plan to hit a bar down the street, maybe a strip club. In my younger years, yeah, I would have been all over that, but now…my game starts at one tomorrow, and it’s televised.
My dad is coming.
He’s been on my mind this week and we’ve spoken a few times, working out a plan to see each
