The Relationship Pact: Kings of Football

by Locke, Adriana

  Ten

  Larissa

  The evening sky is inky with bright silver stars sparkling overhead. Hollis and I roll quietly through the outskirts of Savannah on our way back to my house.

  I settle into my seat and try to relax.

  Hollis turned on the radio as soon as we got into the car. Besides an occasional glance my way—a movement coupled with a smile that’s unmistakably softer than what I’m used to from him—he’s been focused on the road ahead.

  In turn, I stare at his profile and try to figure out the man sitting beside me.

  He’s a conundrum, a complexity that I can’t entirely unravel. I equivocate him with confidence and fun, but watching him tonight with the Landrys exposed another side of him different from his quick-witted levity.

  His jaw is tense. The corners of his eyes crinkle as if the thoughts going through his head aren’t exactly welcome. His wild hair makes a show of just how many times he’s run his hands through it since we climbed in the car just a few minutes ago.

  My thoughts are interrupted when he reaches up and turns down the music.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  A gentleness touches the severity of his features as he searches my eyes. I fight the urge to reach out and touch the side of his face.

  I can’t do that. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate, but I’m positive it’s unwanted.

  “I’m good,” I tell him. “Are you okay?”

  He lets his gaze linger on me for a moment. Long enough to tell me he’s not totally okay.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” His tone is clipped. It’s not angry or frustrated, but the words are coated with a finality that doesn’t sit well with me.

  It’s a lie—a white one, maybe. But he knows I suspect something is amiss with him.

  What do I do? Pretend I don’t see it and just let it go? Wouldn’t that make me a jerk?

  “I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” I say carefully, “but you don’t seem fine.”

  He regrips the steering wheel. “And I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but you don’t seem to know how to stop asking questions.” He looks at me over his shoulder, a small grin playing against his lips. “Stop pressing me, and I will be fine.”

  I grin back at him. “You obviously don’t know me well enough to know that pressing is my forte.”

  He drags his eyes away from mine and settles them ahead once again. “I guess that’s a good thing about our situation then, huh?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that we don’t have to know each other well enough for anything.”

  He’s doing to me what he did to the Landrys. He’s giving me enough of an answer to feel like he was a participant in this conversation when, in reality, he’s just changing the subject.

  I reach up and turn the radio completely off. “No, I suppose we don’t have to know each other at all. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know things about you.”

  He half-laughs, half-snorts. “Why?”

  “Why what?” I ask, my feathers getting ruffled.

  “Why do you want to know things about me? Like, I get why you wanna know my name and that I’m not a serial killer. And if you are curious about my bill of health—I’m clean.”

  The cocky little grin he casts me is supposed to make me think about something other than interrogating him.

  It works.

  Lucky for me, I’m strong enough to stay somewhat focused on the task at hand. Only a small part of my brain watches Hollis’s fingers tap the steering wheel and wonders what they would feel like on my bare skin.

  “Wow. If you’d given me your birthday, you would’ve shared almost as much as a prisoner of war.”

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. He’s amused, though he’s trying desperately not to show it. “Why do you need to know anything else about me?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, trying to ignore the way his lips look fuller, more kissable, in the shadowiness of the car. “Isn’t that what friends do?”

  “We’re friends now?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hollis.”

  He turns to me with a megawatt smile.

  I roll my eyes. “Are we not friends? Did we not agree to help each other out of our current predicaments as friends? Because I’d like to think I’m taking a friend around my family tomorrow night and not some random dude who doesn’t care if I live or die.”

  “Wow. Okay. You just took this to the next level.” He laughs. “Live or die? Larissa, really?”

  “Again, I wouldn’t know. It wasn’t included in the three things you shared with me.”

  “I don’t want you to die,” he says, humoring me. “And my birthday is April fifth.”

  I grin smugly. “That’s a start.”

  His shoulders relax, and his grip eases on the steering wheel. I bet it’s because he thinks I’m distracted from the original topic. But as he silently revels in his assumed victory, I plot my pivot.

  “But we still aren’t friends?” I ask, easing my way back in.

  “All right. Fine,” he says as though it pains him. “We’re friends. Does that make you happy?”

  I shrug. “I was happy before. Our friendship status has no bearing on my happiness.”

  “Then why are you so dramatic about all this?” he asks with a laugh.

  “I’m not.”

  “Oh, my god.” His mouth falls open, and his head hangs forward in exasperation.

  It’s my turn to laugh. “I was just trying to get to know my new friend like a normal person.”

  “People know too much about each other. There’s no mystery anymore.”

  “I disagree. I think knowing things about other people helps you connect.”

  He glances at me, eyeing me suspiciously. “Maybe some people don’t want to connect.”

  Sitting up, I look at him like he’s crazy. The sudden movement causes him to flinch.

  “Why would someone not want to connect with other people?” I say, holding my hands out. “That’s … lonely, cold, and a terrible way to live.”

  “Maybe for you.”

  He can’t really think that. That can’t be his actual truth.

  I rest my head on the seat again and wait for him to continue, to finish off the thought that feels incredibly incomplete. Much to my surprise, he simply reaches over and turns the radio back on.

  I reach up and snap it off.

  “Dammit, Hollis,” I say, frustration thick in my voice.

  He looks at me in disbelief. “Did you just turn off my radio?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Talk to me,” I plead.

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” he says, mocking the whine in my voice.

  I narrow my eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to talk to you now either, asshole.”

  He laughs, and his easy way about him has returned. “Yes, you do,” he teases.

  “Oh. You want me to want to talk to you. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” I say, only half-kidding.

  I felt the way his body relaxed when I touched his leg at the Landry’s. His entire body sort of stilled. It was remarkable. I realized at that moment that he might not want that sort of invasion of his privacy—because I’m pretty sure that’s how he’ll see it if prompted—but maybe he needs it. Perhaps it’s good for him.

  He shakes his head at my theory.

  “Not everyone wants to be an open book, you know?” he asks as we swerve around a pothole.

  “No. I don’t know. I am an open book.”

  “I gathered,” he mumbles.

  The lights along the highway bounce inside the cab. Hollis shifts in his seat and rests his left elbow next to the window, toying with his bottom lip.

  The wrinkle is back around his eyes, but he’s not frowning anymore. I take that as a good sign.

  Finally, he looks at me again. His eyes are warm but still guarded.

  “I think you’re a nice person,”
he says.

  “You think?”

  “Yeah, I think,” he says.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “What?” He laughs. “That’s more credit than I give most people. I usually shut down women well before it even makes it to this stage of the game.”

  “Someone really burned you, didn’t they?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

  He narrows his back at me. He pauses before pulling his attention back to the road. “Yes. They did.”

  “You know, last night, I’d basically lumped all men—all athletes, no less—into one group. And after spending time with Lincoln tonight, and you, I guess,” I say, rushing over the last part, “I feel as though that lens prescription isn’t totally accurate. Maybe you’ve lumped women into a similar kind of box.” I force a swallow. “That’s not fair—to them or you.”

  I flop back against my seat and stare through the windshield.

  We drive along the highway until we get to my exit. When his GPS instructs him to, he takes the off-ramp. The sound of the automated voice is the only thing that breaks the silence.

  The car rides smoothly onto the side street, the rumble of the muffler hypnotic. I think about what tomorrow’s conversation might sound like after Hollis meets my mom and Jack.

  Instead of Hollis being the commonality amongst the group like tonight, it will be me tomorrow. He will be the one hearing things and learning things; he will be the one with questions.

  If he wants to know more about me but, right now, I’m not convinced he does.

  Which is fine. It’s fine, Riss. Cut him some slack.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” I tell him, “there will be less time for me to ask you questions tomorrow night. It’s going to be so loud and so chaotic.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Really?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I’ll get to give you the inquisition on the way home.”

  My cheeks split into a smile.

  “That’s the difference between us. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” I tell him. “I’m an open book. I want you to be sure you’re on a fake date with a nice person.”

  “You don’t think I’m nice?” he jokes.

  “You’ll do.”

  He chuckles as we pull onto my street. He pulls up in front of my house and kills the engine like he’s done it a million times before.

  “Wait,” he says as I reach for the handle.

  I stop and turn to see him watching me.

  “You’re right,” he says. “It’s not fair to lump you in with everyone else. Not all the way, anyway.”

  I smile. “Thank you. I shouldn’t have to pay the price for some other woman’s sins,” I say politely. “Can I ask you a question now?”

  “No.”

  I pout.

  He laughs as he climbs out of the car.

  I noticed at the Landry’s that Hollis was irritated that I didn’t let him open my door. I’m not used to that kind of thing from guys, so it didn’t even cross my mind. But now I sit and wait for him to jog around the front of the Mustang and do me the honors.

  “Thank you,” I tell him as I get out.

  “You’re very welcome.” He shuts the door. “Thank you for going with me tonight.”

  “You’re very welcome. It almost feels like a real date with the door opening finale.”

  He shakes his head as we make our way up the sidewalk.

  “I liked it. It was a good move,” I tell him just to keep the mood light.

  With every step we take, my heart starts to beat faster. The closer we get to the door, the more I begin to panic about what to do internally. Light mood or not, things are about to get tricky.

  Do I invite him in? Do I want him to come in? What does it mean if I invite him in?

  Can I just admit I want to have sex with him?

  No, no, don’t do that. It’s just the first date.

  It’s not even a real date!

  I sneak a peek at him.

  But he’s so freaking hot.

  We make it to the doorstep before I can come to grips with my feelings.

  Hollis stands next to me with his hands shoved in his pockets. His hair lays against his forehead as he watches me dig through my purse for my keys.

  His cologne envelops me in my small porch as I push the key into the lock. It turns, and I push the door open.

  “Do you want to come inside?” I ask, hoping he can’t hear the slight quiver in my voice.

  I’m still unsure what I want him to do. It’s a split decision. My brain knows it’s not a good idea, but my body is in strong disagreement.

  He smiles. “No. I gotta get going.”

  Relief coupled with disappointment rolls through me. I don’t know which is stronger.

  “Big plans tonight?” I joke.

  “Yeah. I gotta call River and check on his mom.”

  I furrow my brow. “What’s wrong with River’s mom, and who is River?”

  “River’s my best friend, and his mom has cancer. He’s been pretty fucked up about it, as you can imagine. ”

  My heart sinks in my chest. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll say a prayer for her tonight.”

  “Thanks.” Surprise riddles his voice. “And thank you again for going with me tonight.”

  “I was happy to do it.”

  We watch each other. The air between us changes. There’s a current swishing back and forth—pushing me and pulling me toward him and away again.

  I should just let him go and not say anything else. I shouldn’t make this complicated or personal. But I can’t help but want to ease the uncertainty present in his eyes.

  “I know, or I expect, that you’ll go back to your hotel and replay the conversations from tonight and wonder if you said the right things.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Or I assume you’ll do that. Do guys do that? Girls totally do.”

  He nods. “Yeah. We do. Probably worse than you.”

  “I don’t know. I’m great at it,” I scoff. “Anyway, I just want to tell you that you did great. Lincoln and Danielle loved you, and I had a great time with you.”

  He runs a hand down his cheek and cups his chin. He watches me, one brow raised to the sky.

  “And I was just teasing you tonight,” I add since he seems to have taken the first part well. “I think you’re a totally nice guy.”

  “Well, I was just teasing you too. I think you’re a totally nice girl.”

  We exchange a grin.

  He moves his weight from one foot to the other. I hold my breath, not sure what’s coming but fairly certain something is.

  There’s a wariness in his eye that makes me wonder if he’s going to kiss me. He leans in, ever so slightly, and I’m a little breathless.

  I feel so small next to him, and I shouldn’t feel so comfortable. I should be darting inside and shutting the door and calling Bellamy with the details of tonight. Instead, I’m contemplating what his lips taste like and where his hands will fall when he kisses me.

  His teeth graze over his bottom lip. Slowly. And as he releases it, I’m mesmerized by how red his lips are.

  God, this man is sexy.

  A host of butterflies take flight in my stomach while I wait for him to make up his mind or make the next move.

  Please let it be the next move.

  I force a swallow as my nerves start to get to me.

  He reaches forward, his hand stalling midair before grazing the side of my cheek. The confidence I expect from him is mixed with a surprisingly sweet hesitation.

  He’s beautifully confusing. What you see isn’t all you get.

  “You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispers, stroking the side of my face. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  I can’t shake myself out of the almost-trance I’m in to find the words to respond, so I nod.

  I hold my breath as he searches my eyes for something. Whether he finds it or not, I don’t know, but his hand falls to his side.

&
nbsp; “I better get going,” he whispers, finally taking a step back.

  A rush of breath escapes my lips as I look at him like he has to be kidding.

  Resolution is seated in his face as he forces a smile for my benefit. “Good night, Larissa.”

  What?

  He says it like an apology. As though he knows what I expected, and he is to blame for that.

  I lift my chin.

  “Uh, good night, Hollis,” I say, hoping I don’t stumble over the words too much. “Be safe.”

  Be safe? Oh, my gosh, Larissa.

  “I’ll text you tomorrow and make sure everything is still a go.” He walks back down the steps.

  I nod, watching him turn and jog down the sidewalk.

  My heart sinks in my chest. It kills the butterflies.

  Dammit.

  I go inside and shut the door. My nerves are racing over the non-kiss, and I can’t help but wonder if I was too pushy. Or too obvious.

  I wanted that kiss so damn bad that I could almost taste it. I was sure Hollis wanted it too.

  Maybe I just can’t read men anymore.

  Or maybe it’s that Hollis isn’t what I expected him to be.

  I sigh.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be kissing him in the first place.

  My purse hits the table with a thud. But before I can walk toward my room, a knock raps quietly behind me. I spin around and look through the peephole to see Hollis.

  I swing the door open with a flourish.

  “What the—”

  Hollis steals the words from my lips. He presses his mouth to mine with a mixture of tenderness and aggression that takes my breath away.

  His mouth is hot, his body is hard as he presses it against mine. His fingers are rough as they cup my cheeks.

  My brain misfires, unable to process this quick turn of events. By the time I get myself together, he’s pulling away.

  A deep smirk offsets a broodiness in his eyes that has me reaching for the doorframe to keep from falling over.

  “My mom,” he says as he walks backward again.

  “Huh?” I ask, my brain still clouded from the kiss. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s the one who burned me.”

  I stand on the porch, mouth hanging open from both the kiss and his admission, and watch him climb in his car. He starts it up, and, with a rev of his engine, he rips his way down the street.