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All the reasons I had told myself I wouldn’t give into my feelings for Reed went right out the window the second I walked into the locker room and saw him sitting there. I had seen him walk off the field and, damn it, I knew something had been wrong. The worry that hit me had surprised me, robbing me of my breath, especially given how our conversation in the elevator at that hotel in Miami had gone. But Reed had looked to be in pain, and my legs had a mind of their own as they carried me to the locker room.
And the tension just… snapped. I didn’t even find out why he had pulled himself out of the rest of the game.
All I can think of now is how it had felt to be with him. My body is imprinted with the sensation of his lips and hands, skin burning where he had touched and kissed me. I don’t know if I can move on from what happened—I don’t know if I even want to. Reed and I together, well, let’s just say it had been electric. All of the hard parts of him pressing into the soft parts of me, my legs trembling after we were done and lips tingling from his kisses. How am I supposed to pretend it never happened? How am I supposed to act like I don’t want it to happen again and again? Like my body hasn’t been craving his since I first had him?
Fuck—what was Ithinking? I did exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t do. If it somehow got out that I slept with an NFL player—one that I work with occasionally—then that’s all I will be known for. People will see me as one of the many women who slept with Reed Maxwell, not as a reporter in my own right. Another notch in his belt. Because, of course, he will be seen as the bachelor who got laid, and I will be seen as the one taking advantage of my position and getting with someone who is way out of my league. And none of it would be Reed’s fault, honestly. It’s just how this world works.
Yet, none of that stops me from wanting him again, even if it should. Even though I know better.
“Will? Willow!”
I snap out of my thoughts with a quiet gasp, eyes widening as my gaze swings over to Clare and Vick, both of whom are looking at me in concern. “You good?” Vick asks, eyebrows furrowing together. “We called your name a couple of times.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, sorry,” I assure them with a quick laugh, accepting the champagne Vick is offering me. “Sorry, I just got lost in my head.”
“What’s going on?” Clare asks. “Everything okay at work?”
I sip the champagne, choking it down through my tightened throat. “Mhm,” I hum in affirmation. “Everything’s good.”
Vick narrows her eyes at me. “You’re lying,” she states confidently, and Clare arches a brow at me, clearly not believing me either. “Spill. What’s going on?”
I know better than to hide things from them, but the thought of diving into my issues on a day that’s about Clare’s wedding doesn’t settle right with me. So, I shake my head and say, “No, nothing. I don’t wanna get into it right now. Today’s about your day,” I add to Clare.
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t use my wedding as an excuse.” When I open my mouth to protest, she cuts me off. “Fine. If today is about me, thenI wantyou to tell me what’s going on.”
Vick snickers as Clare shoots me a smirk, and I down the rest of my drink with a shake of my head. “I can’t tell you here,” I tell them quietly. There are other people around us, and I very much don’t want to have this conversation in public where anyone could hear.
My words have both of my best friends looking at me with both curiosity and anticipation. Since Vick and I have tried on our dresses and they fit perfectly, we finish up at the boutique, change, and purchase the dresses. Once the staff puts them each in covers, Vick and I carry our respective gowns out to Clare’s car and carefully put them inside before I slide into the passenger seat.
My stomach is in knots as Clare begins driving and Vick pops up from the backseat in between me and Clare. “Okay. Spill. What the fuck happened?”
I stare out the window, watching the city beyond the car as I chew on my lower lip. I know my friends won’t judge me for what I’m about to tell them, but uttering the words out loud would make it seem so real. Which is stupid, because itisreal and itdidhappen, but talking about it with other people feels so… concrete.
I can feel their expectant gazes on me, the tension in the car mounting, and I finally burst out, “I hooked up with Reed.”
“What?!” both of them screech—to the point where Clare nearly swerves the car. An expected reaction, honestly.
I sink down into my seat, squeezing my eyes shut as the two of them rapidly start talking over one another, firing one question after the other at me as I cover my face with my hands. But, of course, that isn’t an easy escape.
“Okay, Will, wait—what? How the fuck did you go from not wanting to speak to him tosleepingwith him?” Clare demands as she drives.
In between us, Vick asks, “Was it good?”
That gets a weary laugh out of me, even though I know the question is genuine. Instead of answering Clare’s question, which, though it sounded simple, was far more complicated, I answer Vick’s. “It was better than good,” I admit, throwing my head back against the seat. “And it wasn’t just sleeping together, you know? It was—”
“Pure fucking,” Vick supplies with a feline grin, pride and excitement glimmering in her eyes. “My best friend fucked an NFL star. I’m so proud of you!” she exclaims, giving my shoulders a shake from behind me. It gets a smile from me; trust Vick to make things feel lighter when the weight on my shoulders feel too heavy.
Still, I say, “Don’t be so encouraging. I took a big risk with my job. Anyone could’ve walked in on us and I would have been done.”
Clare blows out a breath as she shakes her head, eyes wide. “So, what, was it a one-time thing?”
I press my lips together, not entirely sure how to answer that. When I glance at Vick, her own eyes widen as she realizes out loud, “You don’t want it to be.”
“That’s insane, right?” I burst out, turning so I can look at both of them, my back resting against the door. “I mean, of all the men I want, why does it have to be him? If people found out about us, I would be a joke in the media, and I’d definitely get fired.”
“I mean, not necessarily,” Clare says with a frown as she brings us to a stop at a red light. “Hell, look at that Spanish queen. I forget her name. But she was a news anchor for years and now she’s the Queen Consort of Spain,” my best friend explains helpfully.
“Yeah, and you got with someone who’s basically NFL royalty. It’s the same thing,” Vick adds on dismissively.
