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“What’s this?”
“My therapist wanted me to write about the people who…uh, affect my life the most. In either a positive or negative way. So here you are. Look.” I tapped on the first paragraph below his name and description.
His eyes lowered to the page where I was pointing, and he slowly read aloud, “Influences me in a positive and negative way. Positive—makes me want to try harder and improve my skills so he doesn’t have a chance to lord it over me. Negative—he’s arrogant, haughty, aloof, cold. He thinks he’s better than me and has done ever since we first met. Not only for his football skills but in general. The upper-class bastard constantly gets under my skin, and I wish he’d be transferred to another team, preferably in a different league so I didn’t ever have to interact with him again.”
Hurt flashed in his gaze. “Is this what you really think of me?”
It was fucking insane that we were sitting here having this conversation at all, let alone that my first instinct was to reassure him. But here we were, and so I turned to him with a small shake of my head and then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It was. Before we started spending time together. Now…you know things have changed. We’ve both said and thought hurtful things about each other in the past, haven’t we? I mean, you really hurt me when you said all that shit to me that night when we left the club. I was drunk, but I remember it all.”
He rubbed his hand across his face. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t bring that up to make you feel bad. I’m…some of the things you said just brought my own insecurities to the surface, I guess. It’s something I’ve been working on with Dr. Weaver. Anyway, my point is, we thought those things about each other, and a lot of them aren’t really true, are they?”
Exhaling unsteadily, he clenched and unclenched his fist. “What would you say now?”
I’d begun this by allowing him to read the first entry, and I guessed it was only fair that he saw what I thought about him now. Even though it was going to be really fucking embarrassing for me. I had to, though. I couldn’t stand that hurt expression on his face anymore. “You can read the latest page I wrote.” I flipped to the latest entry in my notebook.
Theo Lewin
(my teammate)
Influences me in a positive and negative way.
Negative: he’s arrogant, but I can be too, so I can’t be mad at him for that. I worry that he still thinks that I’m shallow and there’s nothing more to me than football and showing off my body, even though we’re getting on better now. He’s annoyingly hot, and now I’ve noticed I can’t stop noticing. I need an off switch for this. He made me question my sexuality for the first time in my life. I can’t blame him for that but it’s fucked up.
Positive: He’s got a vulnerable side that I don’t think many people know about, and it makes me want to take care of him. He’s an AMAZING footballer. He’s hotter than the sun. His smirks make my dick hard and I like it when he calls me baby. He makes me feel safe. When he says something nice to me, something validating, it feels good.
Dr. Weaver says that my need for validation and acknowledgement stems from me always having to work for what I want while receiving little acknowledgement for it (or something along those lines). Not like I can complain about my childhood, but my dad wasn’t one for praising me. That’s just the way he is, he’s never known any different. BTW Rory—if you’re snooping here, this DOES NOT mean I have a praise kink. Apparently when I post selfies to my social media and get positive comments and likes, it gives me a little high. It trips something in my brain, and then I crave more. But I’ve been getting the same high from riling up Theo, and that’s fucked up, isn’t it? Who enjoys pissing someone off that much, unless they’re a sadist or something. Again, Rory, if you’re snooping, I am NOT a sadist.
Things have changed between us and now I enjoy riling him up in a fun way. I like it even more when it involves my dick. Or my mouth/his mouth. I like it when he lets me take care of him like I did with his nightmares and the massage, even though he ruined my bed with the oil. I like feeling him on top of me. Weird, because I was all about a girl’s curves before, but something about his body gets me going like nothing else. Is this just temporary insanity from being on the island? Will I still feel like this when I go home?
I think I like him.
I’m fucked.
My cheeks were flaming, and I buried my face in my hands so I didn’t have to see Theo’s expression as he read the words I’d written yesterday, sitting on my favourite flat rock on the beach. They’d come pouring out of me, and I’d meant everything I said. But to have my private thoughts and feelings spelled out for him in ink…I’d never felt so vulnerable in my life.
He was silent for a long time, and I was feeling more and more agitated as the time stretched. When he eventually cleared his throat, his voice was raspy. “Jordan. Look at me.”
Dragging my hands away from my face was so difficult when all I wanted to do was hide. But when I dared to meet his gaze, his expression was so soft, and his eyes were suspiciously shiny.
He closed the notebook, carefully placing it down on my side table, and then turned to me, his hand coming up to cup my jaw, his thumb rubbing over my stubble. With his other hand, he stroked over my eyelashes with the tip of his finger. “Your eyes are so beautiful. They change colour all the time, did you know that?”
“Well…uh, yeah, I mean, they’re grey eyes. That’s what they do. But yours are, uh, amazing. I love the—”
His fingers tightened on my jaw, and I immediately stopped speaking. “I haven’t finished yet. There’s a reason so many people like and comment on your selfies. It’s becauseyouare beautiful. I can say that with certainty, as a man that’s never looked at another man before and thought,I want him. Not until you. You know you’re gorgeous, and yes, that does manifest in your annoying tendency to pose all the fucking time, but that’s not a bad thing.” He slid his free hand into my hair. “How’s this for some validation? I don’t think you’re shallow. Not at all.”
My eyes widened. “Y-you don’t?”
“No. I think you—” He broke off with a harsh exhale. “Fuck, this is difficult to say to your face.”
“What if we both close our eyes?” I felt like my brain and my heart and my stomach were going to explode if he kept looking at me the way he was and saying these things to me.
“Okay.” A small smile curved over his lips. “Keep them closed until I’m finished.”
“I will.” My lids lowered, and my other senses were immediately heightened. I was even more aware of the places he was touching me, the heat from his body, his breath tickling my skin.
“I think you might be the person who knows me the best. It’s absolutely mind-blowing because it’s you and me, and our history hasn’t exactly been conducive to us growing closer. Dr. Ross told me that in situations like this, when we’re thrown together in an unfamiliar environment, people become closer far more quickly than they would in the outside world. A day here can be equivalent to a week outside, and maybe that’s why we’re here right now and I’m telling you this. You’ve seen some of my most vulnerable parts, and you’re the only person in the world who knows about my sleeping issues, other than Dr. Ross.” His lips skimmed over mine. “I don’t think you’re shallow. You’re kind, and caring, and utterly gorgeous. You try to make a difference in little ways that most people probably aren’t even aware of, like picking up that beach litter. You don’t do that for kudos; you do it because you believe it’s the right thing to do. You took the time to research how to help me with my nightmares, and I haveneverhad anyone who cared enough to do something like that for me before.”
