“Are you still planning to go to Aspen for Thanksgiving, after your big game on Friday?”
He nods. “That depends. Are you still planning on going home?”
“Yes.” Once again, an invitation lingers on my tongue. My mom would lose her mind—in a good way—if I brought Christian home, but I can’t let her think I’m involved with him. This is so not a relationship and she’d jump to conclusions.
“They call that the big turkey dump.” he says and having no idea what he’s talking about, I lift my head and frown. He grins. “You know when someone leaves home for college, leaving their boyfriend or girlfriend behind, and starts a new exciting life. Then they go back home at Thanksgiving and end up dumping the one they were with. It’s the big turkey dump.”
I burst out laughing. “How do you know that?”
“I don’t know, and with the way you’re looking at me, I’m kind of embarrassed that I do.” He eyes me. “You don’t have anyone at home waiting for you do you. Like Ryan?”
“No, what about you?”
“Nope. No former, present or future girlfriends,” he says.
“Why is that, Christian?”
15
Christian
I don’t answer her. Instead, I stare at the television and pretend I didn’t hear. Honestly, I don’t mean to be a rude prick. This girl just opened up to me sexually and handed herself over, but I don’t want to get into my past, or my demons. I’m not about to drag her into my fucked-up world, although there is some weird needy part of me that wants to open up to her, but what’s the point? She’s not going to be in my life much longer. She basically said so herself, and I should be okay with that.
Why the hell aren’t I? Maybe I don’t want to examine that too closely.
She falls quiet, and turns away, aware that I’ve gone silent, that it’s a subject I’m not ready to delve into. We snuggle, and watch the movie until the end, until the house quiets down, and when the credits roll, I glance down at her, figuring she’d fallen asleep, but no, she smiles up at me and my heart wobbles in my too-tight chest as I gaze back. Jesus, she’s so sweet, innocent and beautiful. I don’t think she’s been told enough how special she really is.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “Want to go get something to eat?”
“Yes, I’m starving.”
I slide from the bed and grab a pair of sweatpants and a big sweatshirt. “These are big, but should be okay.”
As she dresses and puts her boot back on, I tug on my jeans, and grab a clean T-shirt. I move the chair from the door, still pissed that Channing broke the lock, and glance up and down the hall.
“Coast is clear,” I say and hold my hand out. She slides her small palm into mine and I can’t help but think the fit is perfect, that her hand might just be made for mine, and mine alone, but as that thought moves around my brain, I’m worried that I might have to cash in my man card. Laughing quietly to myself, we head downstairs and I’m seconds from scooping her up, when she shakes her head.
“It’s okay. I can walk.”
In the kitchen, I take two glasses from the cupboard, and find her heading to the fridge. She pulls out the water jug, and I swallow against a dry throat, not because I’m thirsty, but because seeing her in my clothes fucks me over just a tiny bit.
“So just you and your mom huh?” I ask, and while I’d love for her to stay here over the holidays or come to Aspen with me, family is important to her and I’d never want to come between their tight relationship.
I like the smile on her mouth when she says, “Yeah.”
“Do you mind if I ask about your dad? Is he in the picture?”
She shakes her head, and fills our glasses with water. “No, he was a cheater, and left when I was young. Gone, never to be heard from again.”
“He didn’t take care of you guys?” I ask, wanting to know more, everything, about her, even though I ignored her personal question.
“No.”
“What a prick.”
She smiles. “Why don’t you tell me what you really think?”
What I really think is she’s had it rough, and probably has some deep-rooted trust issues with men that began very early on in life. Pulling my pants down in the closet, that really doesn’t seem like something she’d do, but I guess people will go to extremes to fit in.
“Just did.”
She comes from behind and wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her chest to my back and while I’m used to physical contact being about sex, this isn’t. She’s touching me with tender hands, this embrace is the furthest thing from sex, and probably the nicest hug I’ve ever felt. I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and put my hands on hers as she links them over my stomach. Her skin is so soft to the touch, so warm, and like her, does the weirdest thing to me, makes me want to spill all my secrets, and open up to her in a way I never have to another. What the hell is going on with me?
“I’m sorry for not answering your question earlier,” I say.
“I never should have asked it. It’s not my business and I’m sorry.”
I turn to her, lean against the kitchen counter, and widen my legs to position her in between. She puts her hands around my neck and smiles at me, asking nothing from me. She never has, actually, and I’m not really used to that. Everyone wants something from the quarterback.
“Sex should never be used to trap anyone.”
Her eyes go saucer wide and she tries to inch back. “Christian…I…never…”
“No, no, no that didn’t come out right,” I say quickly. “You’re the last person who’d ever use anyone for anything, Maize.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
I tug on my hair.
