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“I’m sorry, Mr. Baseball-Guy.”
“Soccer.” I chuckled.
“I agree, we’re a really good sexual fit.”
“Uh-huh.” The lump in my throat grew bigger with every word she spoke. She was right, we were an amazing sexual fit, but that didn’t mean anything. Not in the long run.
“But you’re also really cute and I suspect very sweet. So even if I was interested in a just sex thing, I know myself well enough to know how that’d go.” Leah pulled her legs out from under the covers and flung them over the edge of the bed.
“How would it go?”
Half bent over with her clothes in her hands, she looked over her shoulder at me. For a second, she looked irritated with me, which was fair. But she must’ve seen in my eyes that I hadn’t asked to get her back in bed or as some sort of come on, because the scowl shifted to a smile.
“It’s pretty simple, honestly. The more we fuck, the more we hang out, the more likely I am to catch feelings.”
“Would that be so bad?” I should be able to answer that question on my own. Yes, yes it’d be horrible to have feelings for someone and, even if they were reciprocated, for things not to work out because of outside factors.
“Oh yeah,” Leah said, throwing her head back to laugh. “Feelings scare the shit out of me and I will ghost you the minute I realize I could get hurt.”
Leah slipped off the bed to start changing out of the clothes I gave her. But I leaned over to grab her arm.
“I would never hurt you,” I reassured and again she cocked her head with that sad smile.
“Not what I said, Mr. Basketball.”
“Soccer,” I corrected as she slipped from my grip.
“Hmm, those balls are closer though, right?” she asked as my boxers slid down her waist. I should’ve looked away, it’d be the polite thing to do. But also, I’d already seen her ass, marked it with little bruises while having the best meal i'll ever have.
Still … my gaze lingered on her shoulders.
“Leah?”
“Uh-huh?” she said absently as she bent over, shuffling in place.
“Can I … watch you get dressed?”
“Hmmm.” My eyes were still trained straight ahead, but I could still feel that smile of hers. “All right, one more little game. But you’ve got to say the magic word.”
“Please.” The word was sticky in my mouth.
“Good boy. Enjoy the view, Mr. Soccer Player.” She winked at me before continuing to change. Something about the moment made me ache. And as I watched her, clocked the tiny marks and the way she shimmied up her leggings, I realized this is what she meant, the fear of catching feelings, the desire to run from it.
It made perfect sense.
“Well …” she drew out the word, turning to me, now fully dressed, and held out a hand. “I guess this is goodbye?”
Laughing, I took her hand and shook it.
“Goodbye, Leah. I hope your kids … I dunno, are well-behaved this year.”
“Ha! Fat chance.” She laughed, head falling back. “But thanks. I hope you win your Super Bowl equivalent.”
The Razzing
Niall
“Hey Coach, can I borrow Christenson for a minute?” Brooker asked, poking his head into Sharma’s office.
