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Most of me loves that Beck is such a major part of the soccer world. That he shares the same competitive fire. That he gets what being an athlete is like entirely, without me having to explain anything. That he easily accepts what others have called me crazy for.
But it comes with one major downside. The attention one interview I mentioned his name during was overwhelming. I can’t imagine what it would be like on a larger scale. It’s what I’ll be known for. Any article about my career will include some reference to him. Dating Adler Beck would become my biggest accomplishment.
That’s a sacrifice for me, one I’m not sure I’m willing to make.
Instead of telling him any of that, I say, “A lot of women want you.”
“I want you.” Three short, simple words that say so much. That he flew over a thousand miles to tell me.
“Beck!”
I swear under my breath as Mackenzie jogs over to us. She has the worst timing.
“Your car is here,” she informs him.
Shocking, that she decided she needed to be the one to come tell Beck while we’re having a private conversation.
Beck nods, and I know that’s it. He has to go. He’s leaving, when I’ve barely registered he’s here in the first place, and I’m less certain of where we stand than before he arrived.
“I’ll let the driver know you’re coming,” Mackenzie says. “He’s worried about traffic.”
I snort as soon as I’m reasonably certain she’s out of earshot. “Unless there’s a moose crossing, you should be fine.”
When I glance at Beck, he’s smirking.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Sorry if you’re, you know, friends.”
His smile only grows. “She’s not my type. I prefer strikers.”
“She is a striker, Beck.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t know that. Should tell you everything you need to know.”
“Uh, fly safe.”
Beck reaches out and tugs the end of my ponytail. It’s an affectionate gesture, a little teasing. But the last time he pulled my hair, his dick was in my mouth.
Heat flares in his gaze as we stare at each other, and I’m pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing.
“Bye, Saylor.”
“Bye, Beck.”
He turns and strides away, leaving me standing alone. I watch him walk away, left with the paralyzing sensation of uncertainty. Wishing I said more. Wishing I cared less.
I like things to be black and white. Adler Beck is a whole lot of gray. Overwhelming, confusing gray.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
If I should do anything about it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The plane aisle finally clears. I hop up, eager to stretch my legs and breathe something other than recycled air for the first time in two hours.
