by Mignon Mykel
“Listen, you seeing each other is not a problem. I heard her talking to her dad the other day, and he’s certainly not bothered by it, so call her up. Tell her you’re on your way to get her, and we’ll see you there.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it will work out that way tonight but give me a rain check. I’ll bring her with me the next time, for sure.”
“You got it. Get out of here then,” Wild says, raising his hand to shoo me away.
I adjust my bag and give a wave over my shoulder before heading out. Jairo is parked near the front, waiting for me to exit. Cars are scarce in the lot since most of the team has already left for the night.
Jairo must notice I’m not in the mood to talk, or maybe he isn’t either. The drive back to the apartment is dull. I scroll through my newsfeed, reading articles speculating over upcoming trades as preseason comes to an end.
It’s after seven by the time we make it back to my apartment. I wave to Antonio in the lobby as I make a beeline for the elevator. Just as I’m about to push the button for the fourteenth floor, a hand shoots out between the doors, pushing them back open.
I quickly hit the button to open the doors, coming face-to-face with the woman who’s been on my mind for the past week. Sydney runs into the elevator, collapsing against the wall on the opposite side, holding a hand against her chest as she takes a deep breath.
“Hi,” she says. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wait for the elevator to come back down, so I thought I’d try to catch it. I didn’t realize—” She pauses when she sees me.
She hadn’t realized it was me in the elevator. If she had, she probably would’ve waited for the next lift.
“No problem,” I say, punching the button to our floor.
The long ride up is spent in total silence, but as each second ticks by, my thoughts eat at me. I’m consumed wondering if she plans to continue to dodge me or if she’ll finally let me talk to her.
I’m sick of this cat and mouse game. I want us to sit down and talk about this, like two grown adults. No more running. No more hiding from what we are thinking or feeling.
As soon as we reach our floor, I stand back and let her walk out. The urge to stop her and ask her to talk to me is simmering below the surface, except I’m sick of being the one to initiate the conversations.
I follow behind her as she walks toward her door. Knowing my opportunity is now, my footsteps slow as soon as she reaches her door. My chance to finally talk has arrived. Isn’t this why I declined plans to head to the bar to meet up with my teammates?
I sense her hesitation when she holds her key near the lock, ready to enter before she stops.
“Colson,” she sighs, halting my footsteps just as I shoulder past her.
Stopping, I turn slightly to glance at her over my shoulder.
“You have plans tonight?”
I consider telling her I did, that I was planning on going out and meeting up with the guys. It would sound totally pathetic to admit I was planning on staying home alone.
Also, in the back of my mind is the thought that if she knew I had plans, she’d let it go entirely, not wanting to inconvenience me in any way. I decide to see what she’ll say and roll with it.
“Thought about ordering some takeout and maybe watch some football, but that’s about it.”
“Oh, um…” She pauses, running her teeth over her lower lip, contemplating.
“What’s on your mind, Syd?”
“Well, if you want, maybe you could stop over, and we could order takeout together? You know, talk. I wouldn’t mind watching some football, too.”
This is a big moment for her, for us. I get the feeling Sydney doesn’t let her walls down and show her vulnerability with just anyone. The fact she’s taking the initiative now, with me, means we are finally getting somewhere.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” I smile, taking the few steps that separate us to join her. “How about Chinese? There’s this place I know, apparently, they have the best Chinese in town.”
“I think I’ve heard of the place.” She smiles, remembering our first night together.
The smile curving the edge of her lips doesn’t escape my notice when she turns back to unlock her door. She lets out a slow but heavy breath as if the weight of the question finally eases some of the tension we have both been feeling.
I shed my bag near the entrance, while we both toe off our shoes. Following behind her into her living room, I wrap my hands around her hips, stopping her before she takes a seat on her couch.
Pulling her to turn and face me, I wrap my arms around her waist, guiding her into my arms. This time, she comes easily, and I can’t help but feel like something has shifted in her.
She is letting her walls down with me now as she runs her hands up my arms and around my neck.
“I missed you,” I murmur against her ear.
“I know,” she sighs, pausing for a moment before she continues. “I missed you, too.”
Pressing my hand against the side of her face, I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes. This time I don’t stop or wait. I kiss her with so much passion and intensity, all of the frustration and emotions from the past few days rain down around us. She hooks her arms around my neck, yanking me closer to her. Running my hands down her sides, gripping her hips, I kiss her like I’ll never get the chance to kiss her again.
The thought crosses my mind how I don’t want this to be about the physical part of our relationship. From the moment we first met, we’ve had it down pat. We need to sort through the rest of it, but I can’t stop myself from kissing her.
Gripping her thighs in my hands, she hitches her leg over my hip. I rub my thigh over the front of her pussy. Just hearing her moan has me nearly coming out of my pants, but when she reaches her hand down between us, rubbing over where my dick begs to be set free, all of my worries and hesitations are washed away.
“Rush,” she groans, tilting her head back.
I’m like a starved man, desperate to ravage every inch of her gorgeous body. I love watching how Sydney’s body reacts to me, the way her cheeks turn rosy, her fair skin and freckles highlighting every nip and mark I leave on her.
Each nip has her digging her fingers into my chest, clutching onto my forearms as she grinds her pussy against me, desperately holding onto me.
“I need to feel you right now.”
Running my hand underneath her shirt, I find her skin warm from her arousal. Her body trembles as my fingers skate across the edge of her pants, dipping down beneath the waistband, gripping her ass in my hand.
“Please,” she moans, her movements growing more frantic with need.
“You want me to touch you?”
“Please.” This time the word resembles more of a sigh.
Yanking my hand from her pants, I turn her at the hips, pressing her back firmly against my front. She tilts her head against my shoulder, her slender frame molding to me like we are made for one another.
Without bothering to unbutton her pants, I slip my hand beneath her underwear, rubbing over the front of her pussy. The move sends her ass grinding against me, her eyes squeeze shut as she wraps her hand around my forearm, desperately searching for something to hold onto.
“Tell me this is what you want,” I groan. “Tell me you’re mine.”
She blinks her eyes open, her stare locking with mine. I wait, watching for any sign of what she’s about to say. My finger on her clit, I halt my movement, ready to pull back.
This is it. The moment where we draw the lines, and I hate I’ve asked her this question with my hand down her pants, but if this is all she wants from me, then this will be it.
My breath is caught in my throat, waiting for her to say something. Anything. It feels like an eternity as every second ticks slowly by.
Her eyes flick from mine, down to my mouth. She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip, lost in thought, before peering back up to look me in the eye.
“I’m yours,” she says matte
r-of-factly. A smirk plays on the corners of her mouth, and she adds, “Now make sure I never forget it.”
13
Sydney
Flicking the light off in the bathroom, I’m careful not to make any noise as my feet pad across the hardwood floor. Colson’s body takes up nearly every inch of my bed, stretching from the headboard to where his feet are precariously close to dangling off the end.
I stare at his sleeping form, the way his arm is curled under his head, the white sheet draped over his waist. For a moment, my mind drifts to what happened earlier tonight. The thought has me biting my lower lip, contemplating all the ways I could wake him up.
“You’re staring…” he murmurs, my eyes darting up to his face. His eyes are closed, but his breathtaking grin stretches across his face.
The alarm clock just past him flashes the time. It’s nearly four in the morning, and like usual, I’m unable to sleep. Growing up in and out of different homes, I was conditioned not to sleep for more than three hours at a time. Depending on where I stayed, there were some places I didn’t sleep for more than an hour without waking up. I also learned never to sleep with your back facing the door.
I guess you could say I’ve had one too many unwanted visitors to let myself be so vulnerable. The fact Colson is here, asleep in my bed, says a lot about how much I trust him.
He rubs his hand over the empty space next to him, where I was lying before. My mind flashes back to the conversation with my father earlier today when he stopped by my office just as I was about to leave.
“You heading out for the day?” My dad asked as I was shutting the door to my office behind me.
I hadn’t seen him right away, which said a lot. He towered over me, standing nearly six-and-a-half feet tall. He wasn’t easy to hide, but he had a habit of coming up behind me when I least expected him.
“Yeah, I thought I’d head home early for the day. I got everything done, so I thought I’d take the rest of the day off.”
“Why’s that?”
I hadn’t really thought through how I was going to explain this to him. What was I supposed to say? Sorry, Dad. I’ve been seeing one of your players, and now I’m trying to avoid him.
“Is this about Colson?”
Shit.
Deciding to play coy, I avoided answering it directly, trying to feel out what exactly he knew.
“He stopped by to talk to me the other day…” he said, his voice trailing off.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah…” His mouth curled up on the edge, smiling. “You didn’t want to tell me? You just wanted to let me find out for myself?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sydney, do you really think I have no idea what’s going on?” He chuckled, shaking his head.
“I don’t have any idea what you are talking about.” I continued to play clueless.
“Yeah, Colson thought you might say that, too. He wasn’t expecting me to bring it up to him either, but I called him out. Unlike you, he didn’t continue to pretend like I was blind or oblivious.”
“Okay,” I replied, nodding my head slowly.
“Listen, come here,” he said, reaching past me to grab for the door handle to my office before I had a chance to lock it.
He pushed it open, pressing his hand against my back to urge me to join him as we took a seat in the two chairs facing my desk.
“How long have I been in your life now? Wow, I guess we’re going on ten years, huh?” A smile stretched across his face. Warmth filled my chest, seeing how happy he was at the thought.
I was so incredibly lucky to have him and my mom in my life. I didn’t want to think about where I’d be without them.
“When we first met, I remember it took you nearly a week before you came around to talking to me. You warmed up to your mom much quicker than you did me, but I understood. I knew I had to earn your trust, and I was okay with you taking your time.”
He moved the chair slightly so he was facing me. His penetrating gaze left me feeling like there was nowhere for me to turn.
“I know it’s hard for you to trust people, to open up and let them in. I saw it in you when we first met, and I recognize what you’re doing with Colson now. You’re pushing him away; you’re testing him because you’re waiting for the moment when he decides it’s not what he wants, and he walks away. Sydney, sweetheart, Colson is one of the good ones. I’ve seen it from the first time I saw you together. I can see it in the way he talks about you and how you look at each other. I knew something was going on before dinner, but when I saw you together, I knew my suspicions were right.”
My mind flashed back to the night we went out to dinner for my mom’s birthday, replaying every detail.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do or how to feel. You’re smart and talented; you know what you want for your future and what the right decision is. Just promise me one thing, will you?”
“What’s that?” I asked, still trying to take in everything he’d just said to me.
“Promise me you’ll give him a chance. Talk to him, let him get to know the real you. You deserve to be happy, and I think Colson could make you very happy.”
“How do you know that, though?”
“He promised me he’d fight for you. Trust me, only a man who knows what he’s losing would fight to keep it.”
Here we are, I am promising to give him a chance, and he is promising to fight for me.
He rolls over onto his side, pulling the sheets back enough to invite me in. Smiling back at him, I climb in next to him, curling my arm under my pillow to face him.
“We didn’t get a chance to talk earlier like we had hoped,” I whisper.
From the moment we first met, it’s been easy to forget everything else and focus on the way Colson makes me feel when he’s around me.
“I think I should start off by saying I’m sorry,” he sighs. Reaching over, folding his hand against the side of my face, he presses a soft but quick kiss against my lips. Pulling back, he continues, “I remember the first time I realized Coach was your dad, I remembered thinking to myself how different you looked.”
“Yeah, I guess that could’ve given it away.” I giggle.
“I feel like an asshole for making assumptions about how your life was.” He exhales. “I’m the last person who should be judging you for your life. I’ve listened to people criticize me as if I’ve somehow forgotten where I came from or what I’ve been through growing up. Being in the public eye, I’ve experienced firsthand how people are so quick to talk about you on social media and make up lies about what they think of you. I hate to think I’ve done the same to you. I don’t know what your life was like before you met your parents, but I know you deserve to have a family. You deserve to have people who care about you in your life. I just wish you wouldn’t push me away.”
I nod, tears filling the brim of my eyes, brushing my finger beneath my eye to catch a tear before it slides down my face.
“I don’t know where to start,” I whisper.
I’ve never opened up to anyone about what my life was like before I was adopted. There’s a lot even my parents don’t know.
“Start from the beginning,” he murmurs, slipping his hand down, wrapping it around my wrist before tangling our fingers together. Something about his hold on me makes me feel anchored to him, like no matter what I say or do, he will be here with me, and he’ll never let me go.
“Well, my biological mom passed away when I was six. She had heart disease. I hate to admit it, but there’s a lot I don’t remember from back then except how my biological dad didn’t handle it well. He wasn’t really in the picture when my mom was alive, so you can imagine his surprise when he found out I was his responsibility.
“He struggled with addiction. Alcohol at first, but later turned to drugs. Heroin. He was arrested a lot. There were nights he wouldn’t come home. I was around eight or nine at the time. I grew up taking care of myself, so I had to grow up fast.”<
br />
It was then I started to learn I could only rely on myself. It was a painful reminder that continued to resurface each and every time I would bounce from foster home to foster home.
“Eventually, things got to be really bad, and he wouldn’t come home for days at a time. Those were the days I didn’t even bother going to school. Of course, they started to ask questions. One day a police officer showed up at my door. I guess they were looking for my mom; I’m not sure. They were looking for his family. Come to find out they were attempting to contact his family to report his death.”
Even I can hear the void of emotion in every word. Somehow over time, I started to disassociate myself and my emotions to the situation. I know addiction is a disease, but he was all I had left, and even he left me.
“I’m so sorry,” Colson whispers.
I don’t have any more words. I simply nod as he moves closer, wrapping his arms around my body, pressing our foreheads together. He must sense I am done talking about it now.
Drudging up all these memories are painful. He knows all he needs to know about my past, enough to understand why I continue to keep him at arms-length, why I have focused so hard on my education, and why I am now putting my career above all else. No one has cared enough to be there for me or about my future more than I do.
“I had been in and out of foster homes for a long time before I ended up with my parents. I think my mom once told me it was something like thirty-two or thirty-three foster homes before I found them.”
His eyes widen, his mouth falling slack like he can’t believe it either.
“I remember sitting at their dining room table eating breakfast, and I asked her how much longer I’d be with them, fully expecting it would be a couple of months, if that.”
“What did she say?”
“Well, she’s pretty stubborn.” I laugh, remembering the day. I can still see the look on her face when I asked her. The heartbreak in her eyes as she dropped the whisk into the bowl, in the middle of making pancakes. “She told me she’d put up a fight before she’d let me go anywhere.”
