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“You don’t root for me anywhere else.”
Ava’s quiet. And I know what that means. She’s trying to come up with something to say. Guess I stumped her.
&nb
sp; Always used to love it when I did that.
“I heard about the NFL thing,” she finally says, bracing her hands on the bathroom counter in front of her. “Congratulations.”
A thousand things want to fall off my tongue.
Can you fucking believe it?
I have a real chance, babe. A solid chance of being drafted.
All of my secret dreams are coming true.
I couldn’t do any of this without you.
I say none of that. What’s funny is she’s the reason why I’ve had such a fantastic season. Losing her helped me focus.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice scratchy. I clear my throat, not wanting to seem vulnerable to this girl, who could say a couple of choice words and completely devastate me.
Being in this tiny bathroom with her right now was a bad enough choice. I should probably get the hell out of here.
But I don’t. Instead, I settle my hands on her slender shoulders and she does the craziest thing.
Her eyes fall closed and she hangs her head, her hair sliding forward. She doesn’t shrug me off or tell me to stop touching her. Swear to fucking God, it feels like she leans toward me, her head swinging my way, though her neck is still bent.
She’s not looking at me. Which is good because she’d see shock and pleasure written all over my face, at the same time.
With shaky fingers, I brush the hair away from her face. Drift my fingers across her neck, my gaze snagging on her face. She presses her lips together, just before she turns around and lifts her gaze to mine, those big green eyes taking me in, telling me everything she’s feeling without her having to say a damn word.
My mind blanks and my gaze zeros in on her mouth. Those plump pink lips I still want to kiss despite everything we’ve gone through together.
Big mistake, my brain tells me. Don’t do it. Don’t do it!
Leaning in, I mentally tell my thoughts to fuck right off.
Fourteen
Ava
I realize mere seconds before his mouth finds mine that Eli is going to kiss me. And like the weak, pathetic creature I am for him, I don’t protest. I don’t tell him to stop and I don’t push him away.
Nope.
Instead, I pull him in, my arms circling around his neck, my hands sinking into his soft, thick hair. His mouth moves over mine, tasting of beer and harder liquor, though I can’t decipher what type exactly. He kisses me in that mind-numbing, body-humming way of his, and I light up like a Christmas tree, eager for more.
I’m so predictable, it’s painful.
He doesn’t pull away either. I think he’s enjoying the kiss as much as I am, and I throw myself into it, pressing my body fully against him, my tongue matching the same rhythm as his. I show a little aggression and he becomes even fiercer, a growl leaving him just before he kisses me like he really means it. He backs me up against the counter, somehow lifting me so my butt is sitting on the edge, my legs falling open as he steps right in between them as if he belongs there.
Eli does belong there. Here. With me. Why do we keep fighting this? Yes, I’m still upset and frustrated with him, but I can’t deny my feelings.
And my feelings are screaming that I’m still in love with this man.
The kiss goes on and on, his hand settling on my hip, keeping me in place, as if he’s afraid I’m going to run away. I kiss him hungrily, trying to communicate through my lips that I’m not going anywhere. I’m already exactly where I want to be.
