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“I can already think of two things that will make her even happier.”
I can’t help the chuckle leaving me as I take the bag from the lady and step outside. “What?” I ask as soon as we’re both standing on the sidewalk. “You and me?” I give him a knowing look, which makes Seth’s face flush bright red. Since when was he a prude?
“No,” he says while jutting out his chin. “Coffee and chocolate.”
I roll my eyes. “I think my answer was better.”
“Of course you do.”
Seth proceeds to stalk toward the hotel, now only about five minutes away. I can’t help but smile as I watch him. He’s so amusing to observe. His eyes light up when he sees something interesting in the shop windows. His fingers touch his new Puma bag lightly, as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. I even notice the beads of sweat glistening on his neck.
What the hell is wrong with me?I wonder with a frown.
Seth’s eyes brighten as we come upon an ice cream stand and I wait as he orders two cones of strawberry, handing one to me without a single word.
“How do you know I like strawberry?” I ask while he licks his cone, already beginning to melt in this simmering heat. “What if I wanted vanilla?”
Seth shrugs. “I figure you like everything, and if you don’t, then I get two ice creams without coming off as an asshole.”
He has a point,I think while licking my ice cream, enjoying the sweet taste of strawberry exploding on my tongue. It’s been so long since I’ve had ice cream. This past summer I have been sticking to a strict diet of chicken and brown rice with the occasional beer. Now, even the sight of grilled chicken makes me want to gag. I’ve been trying to eat as healthy as possible, but healthy doesn’t always mean fun. I can already hear Coach yelling at me to drop the cone, but he’s not here, and I’m a grown man. I can eat whatever I want, reasonably.
“Oh,” Seth says, his gaze narrowing on something.
I turn around, wondering what he could possibly be looking at. “What is it?” I ask when I see no one I recognize standing behind me.
I face Seth, who’s leaning toward me, his finger reaching and swiping something off my cheek. My eyes widen at the strawberry cream on his finger, looking more like liquid. He pops his finger into his mouth, sucking on it lightly. I clench my jaw, not liking the heat rising in me as I watch those lips.
Seriously, what is wrong with me? This is Seth we’re talking about. Irritating, frustrating Seth, who is known for being an absolute dick.No matter what I tell myself, I can’t tear my gaze away from his mouth.How is it suddenly hotter?I press my free hand against my cheek, trying to cool it down, but of course nothing is working. It must be the summer heat. That’s the only thing that can explain this… this… whatever this is.
“Are you going to eat that?” Seth asks while nodding toward my cone.
Somehow, between my staring at his mouth and trying to calm whatever it is I’m feeling right now, Seth has finished eating his ice cream and is now hungrily eyeing mine. Definitely a huge change compared to a few months ago. I should be happy, but instead, I feel confused.
“Here,” I say while handing him my cone.
I tear my gaze away from him and stare at the hotel, refusing to watch him eat the ice cream while I try to calm the heat pooling in my core. The hotel is just across the street. The crosswalk turns green and I don’t know why, but I have this urge to tease Seth, to make him frustrated, to make him yell at me and call me an asshole. I don’t know why I get urges like this. I enjoy seeing his face flushed, his eyes on me, his hands fisting at his sides. I’ve always enjoyed it.
“Race you back to the hotel,” I say tauntingly while rushing forward, pumping my arms up and down and leaving him behind with his cone.
“Hey!” Seth shouts after me. “That’s not fair! You fucking asshole!”
I laugh, not bothering to turn around as I cross the street. As soon as I reach the other side, the crosswalk goes red and I continue on toward the hotel. Seth shouts after me, cursing my name while I can’t seem to stop laughing.
Chapter 3
HUNTER
Icrouchlow,staringat my teammates in front of me. The football rests on the ground. My muscles are pulled taut, ready to tackle when needed. Tomorrow we will be playing the Colts. Not quite our nemesis, but close enough. I don’t think fans have ever let go of Super Bowl XLI, which took place in 2007. Especially since most of Indianapolis used to be Chicago Bears football fans before the Colts moved from Baltimore in 1984. The state has kinda been split ever since, with fans constantly casting rude remarks to one another. Sure, the Cheeseheads suck, but the Colts can be arrogant little bitches. It’ll definitely be an interesting game.
The ball is grabbed and I surge forward, slamming my body into Brody. I groan, trying desperately to shove him back. My cleats dig into the dirt. The guy is pretty much all muscle. It feels like I’ve slammed into a wall. Somehow, I have finally met someone taller than me, stronger than me. I gasp, my body being tossed back, and land on my back with a hard thump. Brody pushes himself off me, swiping the grass stains off his pads. His green eyes narrow on me, having the ability to look smug despite the helmet covering most of his face. And then, in a split second, he’s gone, leaving me scrambling to stand.
My lungs hurt. I know my back is bruised. I should be better than this, but I’m not. These guys have been playing in the NFL for years. I probably should cut myself a break, but I can’t. If I don’t play well, I’ll be traded around like a baseball card that no one wants. No one wants that life. I need to do well in my rookie year or else I will be passed over by someone better.
The whistle shrieks through the air, making me wince and turn toward Coach, standing at the line near the benches. “Hit the showers!” he shouts.
I swipe the grass and mud off my pants, walking slowly toward the entrance to the lockers. The guys nudge each other, laughing amongst themselves while shooting the shit. And here I am, feeling like the odd man out. It’s been difficult making friends with this group, especially since I don’t drink. They all go to the bars, while I go to the gym and train harder, or go home where I get to enjoy the silence and the loneliness.
I miss Rachel,I think dismally while taking off my helmet and resting it in front of my locker. I open the door and grab my towel, trying to ignore the laughing and chatter around me. It’s my fault I’m on the outside of all the social gatherings. I still don’t trust myself around alcohol. The need is growing inside me; the feeling I need to fit in, I need to have fun, I need to party it up. It’s good I choose not to go to the bars with the guys, but it’s also lonely.
