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We’re together all the time and if we spend any time apart, we text constantly. When we’re not practicing together, we’re talking, chilling with our friends, watching movies or having sex.
There’s lots of sex.
Like the practices he designs for me, he’s very inventive with the ways and places he fucks me. He’s greedy and worshipful of my body, sometimes spending hours just kissing and biting his way up and down my curves, going down on me and then fucking me senselessly.
His most attractive quality though, other than his voice, his smile, and the way he calls me ‘love’ or ‘Silver’, is his loyalty.
It’s been the most surprising thing about him.
When we’re in class, I’ll notice his study partners batting their eyelashes and giggling more frequently and inanely when they work in duos with him. He seems oblivious to it, his eyes usually on me and throwing me a wink when he notices me watch him.
When we’re at a party, girls will flock to him the moment he goes to get a drink alone. He’ll answer politely as he pours himself a refill, his eyes finding me on the dancefloor and a conspiratorial smile curling the corners of his lips.
His unwitting reassurances only serve to fan the flames of my feelings for him, which have unfortunately gotten out of control over the past couple of weeks.
I really don’t think it’s my fault.
In fact, it’s definitely his fault.
He’s the one who’s so considerate and attentive in his actions that of course my heart is getting involved.
He takes hours out of his day, rain or shine, to make me a better athlete. He’s come to all of my games and texts me his thoughts on the game so I can read them as I get changed. He’ll spend a weekend showing me around Geneva and Aubonne, teaching me what he knows about the history of this place.
He’s even had tacos overnighted from my favorite place in Chicago simply because I was craving them. An assistant walked into the kitchen one day carrying a box of carnitas tacos with such care and attention you’d have thought they were the Crown Jewels.
And then there’s the permanent reminder of me he keeps on him in the form of my fluffy, pink hair tie. It’s been wrapped around his wrist every day without fail since I first noticed he had it.
And I’m supposed tonotfall in love with him?
Mission failed.
I’ve lost the ultimate battle against myself. The competitive side of me is absolutely mortified at taking this L but there’s nothing I can do about it now.
There being no labels in our relationship means that I don’t know where we stand on the ‘love’ front. Is he still categorically against the idea, our time together having done nothing to soften his resolve at all?
Or is he maybe, hopefully, at least slightly more open to the idea of us being together longer term, so the looming threat of us breaking off soon can be put to rest?
I don’t know and it’s eating at me now that I have strong feelings involved.
“Are you ready, love?” Rhys asks from behind me, walking into the bedroom as I’m finishing applying mascara in front of his mirror.
He walks up to me, his hands finding my waist as he buries his head in the crook of my neck and sucks in a breath.
“Do you put drugs on your skin or something? Maybe some type of dark magic? If I go too long without a hit of your scent, I start craving it again.” He purrs, inhaling a deep breath against my neck and holding it as if to savor the smell. “I’ve only been downstairs ten minutes, Silver, this is getting embarrassing.”
“Do you want to see other people?” I ask bluntly, the need to pull back and protect myself from this situation that could really hurt me kicking in.
I need to know where I stand.
He recoils like I’ve just shot him and twists me around so fast that I lose my footing. For a moment, his strong hands are the only thing that keep me upright.
“What the fuck did you just say?” He asks, his voice vibrating with barely concealed anger.
“I asked if you wanted to see other people.” I repeat, my heartbeat thrashing in my veins.
“I have you wrapped in my arms, telling you I miss you when we spend as little as ten minutes apart, and you ask me if I want to… what exactly? Date someone else?Fucksomeone else?” he says, using his bruising grip on my upper arm to shake me. I flinch when he mentions fucking another girl, hating even the words on his lips. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Yes,” I say, wanting to goad him into having this conversation because I’m too much of a coward to have it any other way.
