“You okay?” I ask, and step up to her. She nods and unable to help myself I press a soft kiss to her mouth.
“What was that for?” she asks when I break it.
“You’re irresistible.”
She laughs like she’s not sure if she believes me and takes a seat at the long oaken table, dented and bruised from one too many kitchen parties. She covers her mouth as she yawns.
“Keeping you up, am I?” I ask as I grab eggs, milk and vanilla from the fridge.
“I don’t mind. I can sleep in for a bit tomorrow, and then I have study group.”
I set the ingredients on the counter. “Are you sure I can’t help?”
“Positive.”
She falls quiet as I go about making us some French toast. Nothing fancy tonight, because we’re both tired. “Want to go out to dinner tomorrow night?” I wait for her to answer and when none comes, I turn to her, and find her nibbling on her bottom lip. “What?”
“We usually just eat in.”
“I thought it might be fun to do something else. You must be feeling a bit cooped up in my bedroom.”
“Not really.”
“Still, let’s go out. I know this great little place over in Barrington.”
She laughs. “Do you have something against the food around here?”
I stir the eggs and dip the bread in. “Nothing against the food. Just something against everyone knowing me wherever I go.”
“You’re a private guy, aren’t you?”
I arch a brow and take in the astonishment in her eyes. “You say that like you’re surprised.”
“I am, actually.” She rubs her arms like she might have a chill. “You’re a football star, Christian. Everyone is always screaming your name, yet deep inside, you don’t really like it.” Her voice is soft, incredulous, like she just had a huge epiphany.
“You’re right, I don’t like it. I love football. I love the game, the plays, the comraderie and the competitiveness, but I don’t need everyone chanting my name. I don’t like everyone in my business. When I was young, I was always forced to go to Dad’s functions, and behave like the perfect little boy. I was always on display, my every move scrutinized.”
“It still is,” she says.
“Yeah, you’re right. I have to keep on the straight and narrow or it could be detrimental to my father’s career. That’s why I take my private time very seriously. I don’t like anyone knowing my business. Football is one thing, but what I do behind closed doors—”
“Is pretty fantastic,” she says with a smile. She stands, comes up behind me and puts her arms around me as I toss the bread into the hot pan. “But I get it. I really do. I’m private too, and yet I’m a track star with thousands of eyes on me at every race.”
I touch her hand, rub it with my thumb, and she rests her cheek on the back of my shoulder. My heart thumps just a little harder, everything about the way she’s touching me is doing the weirdest things to my insides.
“What do you want to do after football, Christian?”
“I’d like to teach, maybe become a high school gym teacher.”
She makes a sound, like she’s impressed. “I think you’d be a good teacher.”
“Do you now?”
She chuckles. “I know things.”
“Have you always wanted to be a lawyer?”
“For as long as I can remember.” I tap her hands to move her, so she doesn’t get burned as I plate the food. She steps back, and is about to sit when I place her food on the counter, in front of the stool next to me. I want her close. She folds her arms, and there is a small smile on her face as I divvy up the breakfast. “I have this thing for the underdog.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured that, and you know what, you’ll be a great lawyer because I know things too. You’ll get into Harvard, Maize. I know it.”
“Still working on my essay.”
“I’m sure you’ll blow them away.” I wink at her. “Maybe I’ll drop your name if I see Dean Saunders in Aspen.”
“Don’t you dare.” She gives me a warning glare and I like that she’s a girl who wants to make it on her own, but hell, we all need a little help once in a while. Right?
I grab silverware and syrup and we sit close at the counter. “You see this,” I say as I hold up a piece of French toast. She arches her brow as she chews. “This, my friend, is simply a mechanism for transporting syrup.”
She laughs, and we fall into an easy quiet as we eat. Once we’re done, we tidy up, and we head back upstairs, and the second she falls into my bed, I know in an instant, the cot in my room is no longer needed.
“Can you take me again, Maize?” I ask as my cock thickens.
She crooks her finger, and widens her long, silky legs as she gestures me closer. “Let’s find out.”
16
Maize
I close my textbook and press my fingers to my eyeballs. My God, I’ve been studying so hard, for so long, my brain is a blur. Here it is the Thursday before Thanksgiving, and the break can’t come quick enough. I’m about to lay my head on my books, and steal a nap right here in the library—Christian has been keeping me up late at night—when my best friend waves to me, and comes walking over.
“Hey, have you seen my former best friend around?” she asks and plunks down across from me. “Her name is Maize Malone.”
I cringe. All my time has gone to my studies, or to Christian. I’m a terrible friend and it’s no wonder she’s mad at me. “I know, I know. I’m
