I’m shaking my head and smiling at the idiot when someone behind us shouts,“Whoa! It’s Corner-Kick Croix!”
And because our relationship is a little weird, I still forget how famous he is half the time.
Corner-Kick Croix.
He earned the nickname for his freakish ability to bend direct free kicks from impossible angles. I only know this because it was written in an article once, and he recites that quote to me at least once a week. It’s his signature move.
I’ve never been into sports. Don’t do social media. And thanks to our bizarre little dating arrangement, where whatever this is, stays out of the public eye. I haven’t been to a match or met a single one of his teammates. According to him, that only happens when things are “serious-serious.”
And even though it’s been six months, I wouldn’t exactly call us serious. Seriously comfortable with each other in a way that would make actual couples squirm? Yes. But serious enough to meet each other’s family or friends—or even have sex?
Not even in the neighborhood.
We’ve hit every base exceptthebase. We’ve made out like reckless teenagers in the front seat of his car after late-night dinners, but since he has roommates who are teammates, I’ve never been to his place. And because I have some non-negotiable sexual boundaries, he’s never made it past the living room of mine. I won’t even let him come into my office at work.
Not because I don’t want him there. It’s because he keeps joking about bending me over my desk for, “a proper midday meeting.” And, morals be damned, I’d let him.
Call me old-fashioned, or maybe just a hopeless romantic, but sex is sacred to me. I’m not a prude. I know exactly what I like and I’m not afraid to ask for it. I’ve just never been the type to indulge in the casual or the meaningless just because it feels good in the moment. For me, intimacy is for the kind of love that hits like a lightning strike. Bone-deep.
And as much as I care about Croix—love him, even—we’re missing that spark.
Electric and undeniable.
Even still, Croix has been nothing but patient.
“How’s your day been?” he asks, leading me to a quiet table in the far corner of the cafeteria, tucked away from the main foot traffic.
Fortunately, this hospital sees enough high-profile patients that the staff is used to public figures, so people don’t bother us. They generally give us our space while we eat. But every now and then, a wide-eyed kid still manages to sneak over. Just like the little redhead currently clutching a Sharpie and staring up at Croix as if he’s a superhero.
Croix bends down to his level, observing his blue cast on his left arm. “You’ve got red hair just like me, lad,” he says, voice smooth with that lilting Irish accent. It’s one that turns every woman in a ten-foot radius into instant mush. Including the boy’s mom, who’s now blushing like she’s fifteen again.
“How’d you break that arm?” Croix asks.
“Kyle Flannigan tackled me during football practice last week!”
“Well that Kyle Flannigan’s a real a—”
“Ahem!” I caution him, reminding him that he should not be teaching the little lad how to say lewd things.
I shake my head and smile, walking to a corner booth.
This is what Croix does. He lights up every room. Every person. Every heart. Including mine. Even if I’m not sure what to do with it.
Once Croix wraps up with the little boy, signing his t-shirt and crouching down for a selfie, he heads back over to me, slipping into the seat across from mine. He pushes the pizza box toward me with a smirk.
He opens it and the smell is heavenly. “Crust & Commons. Pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms and olives.”
My favorite.
“You always know how to brighten up a girl’s day,” I say, grabbing a slice.
He leans back, arms crossed, watching me take the first bite. “That’s the goal, isn’t it?”
I smile, but something about the look in his eyes shifts.
“Which you always manage to do without even trying. But why does your face look like you’re about to do the exact opposite?”
His expression changes again and he almost seems agitated. “So…I, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve gotta head out for a bit.”
