We Said Forever

by James, Marie

  I cringe, both at her and myself for knowing I would’ve taken her up on her offer in the not so distant past. Well…not the ‘I don’t care if I come’ part.

  “No thanks,” I mutter, pulling my arm from her grasp.

  I ignore the insults from a few of the guys about my sexual competence, but it takes everything I have in me to walk away when the girls start telling me Fallyn’s not worth the effort. She’s the only one worth any effort. They whine about being willing and ready, several offer threesomes, but I reject each proposal and walk out of the building. The muscles in my neck and back are sore from the tension of Fallyn’s rejection. I try to tell myself having to put forth any energy into chasing a woman is a waste of time, but there’s something about this one that brings me to my knees.

  Chapter 7

  Fallyn

  I kick at a clump of weeds at the bottom of a large tree, knowing that jerk has somehow managed to get to me. If I were smart, I’d keep walking and forget all things LVU football, including the sexy as sin quarterback. Leaning against a nearby tree, I watch the front door for him, unsure of what I’m going to do when he exits. I have no idea why I feel guilty for the way I reacted in the hall, but the last thing I need is to be the center of attention, and Blaze Porter is nothing if not a whirlwind of over-sexed girls and guys who want to be him.

  Before long, he appears at the top of the steps, head darting left and right. My heart kicks a heavy beat when I see his face droop at not finding me. Honest, unfiltered disappointment marks his handsome face, and my feet take a step forward unbidden.

  “Fuck,” he mouths before heading down the sidewalk away from me.

  My feet shuffle forward and I jog after him before I can evaluate what I’m doing. It takes longer than I anticipated catching up with him, but his stride has to be at least double the length of mine.

  Reaching up, I tug on his sleeve, and his eyes, filled with annoyance and unrestrained anger, cut down to me.

  “Leave me the fu—” His words falter when he sees me standing in front of him.

  Without a word, I stand on my tiptoes and brush my lips against his. Sighing after the languorous roll of our tongues halt, I say, “We kiss before we talk, remember?”

  His lips sweep over mine again, tangling, twisting. His teeth nip at my bottom lip before he dives back in once more. I could kiss the man for days—skip family holidays and live in a cardboard box with no responsibilities if it meant his mouth on mine. That thought forces reality to slam back into me, the insistency of my past an unseen force pounding on my back, demanding I not let this go any further.

  I put an inch of space between our mouths, our panting breaths mingling. Gray-blue eyes stare into mine, confused but grateful at the same time.

  “Just for the record,” he says, “I know how to get a girl off.”

  Another pang of guilt hits my chest sharp and quick.

  “I swear I can make you come so hard, you’ll see colors your eyes have never seen before.”

  “I have no doubt,” I respond with genuine praise. “But don’t do that.”

  “Don’t make you come?” He punctuates his question with a tight swivel of his hips against mine. The thickness of his cock brushes against my belly, and for a split second, all I can hope for is coming with his fingers, tongue, or the heavy firmness in his jeans. I shake my head, irritated at myself for almost losing my control.

  “Don’t act all bad boy, cocky asshole. I don’t like it.”

  He cocks a challenging eyebrow at me.

  “Okay, maybe I like it a little too much,” I correct. “But I’m changing my ways. It’s why I stopped you.”

  “You mean kissed me?”

  I nod, unable to keep the grin from my lips. “I wanted to apologize.”

  “For wounding my ego.”

  I roll my lips between my teeth, resisting the urge to put him further in his place.

  “Your ego is fine,” I mutter, gazing up at him. His eyes are soft, thoughtful, and I lean into his gentle touch when he catches a rogue strand of hair and tucks it behind my ear.

  “Not much of an apology,” he teases, breaking the spell I seem to fall under in his presence.

  “I’m sorry for outing your poor sex skills in front of an audience.” I try to hide the smirk tugging at my mouth behind my hand. I’m not normally a mean person, but with the size of his ego, getting knocked down a couple of pegs isn’t going to hurt. I can’t give him everything he’s expecting and leave him with the upper hand.

  “Still a weak presentation of regret, Fallyn.” His mirthful eyes light with playfulness.

  “It’s the best I can do,” I admit. “If you stop putting me on the spot in front of an audience, I won’t feel the need to call you out on your bold behavior.”

  “All I heard was you want me alone.” Reaching down, he clasps my hand in his and starts walking down the sidewalk.

  “Not even close to what I just said.” My feet fall into rhythm with his, and I refuse to evaluate my willingness to be ushered at his whim. “Where are we going?”

  “You owe me lunch.” I glare at him when he smirks down at me before pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

  I damn near swoon, the sweetness of the simple kiss catching me off-guard. From what I’ve heard about him, it’s out of place for his player-status reputation. I may not have heard anything specific about his sexual skill level, but I know the type, and a delicate kiss on any location of my face other than my lips doesn’t fit the character of a man who has women falling at his feet. I didn’t miss the incredulous glares from the girls in the hallway when I walked away from him earlier. The words were about him, but they were offended I had the nerve to speak that way to such an enigma.

  We reach the door of the only deli on campus before I can work through the blast of emotions I get when I’m around him. He’s one contradiction after another. Realization hits me as the hostess shows us to our seats. The true contradictions I’m noticing are my uneducated expectations of how he should be versus how he actually is. I struggle to wrap my head around the fact that he may be a nice guy and I’m giving him the cold shoulder, which makes me the asshole, not him.

  Being presumptuous is one trait I know I didn’t get wrong. It’s clear when he sits beside me in the booth, rather than across from me like a normal person would. I slide in further, creating a little distance between his thigh and mine, only for him to scoot closer and practically pin me to the wall.

  “You’re trapped now,” he whispers as his nose trails down my neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I love how responsive your body is to me.”

  His large hand finds my knee under the table, and I resist the urge to knock it away. I love the way my body responds to his. One simple touch, not even overtly sexual, makes me think of some of the dirtiest fantasies I’ve been fighting since the night we met. My eye lids grow heavy as I sink lower in the booth. I know what I want right now, and as much as I’ll regret giving into him later, this single moment is the only thing I care to focus on. Too bad fate has other plans.

  “Hey, Blaze,” comes from his right.

  I look up to glare at the woman who thought it would be okay to interrupt an obvious private moment between a couple to find the waitress standing there with a tablet in her hand and pen at the ready.

  Couple?

  The sudden need for space has me brushing Blaze’s hand off my leg and shifting my hips, making my intentions clear.

  His jaw flexes at my response, but he schools his features before turning his attention to the perky blonde. I don’t see a hint of recognition in his eyes, but he could be a very good actor. I know so little about him, I wouldn’t know the difference.

  “What can I get you?” she asks him.

  I look out the window, ignoring her blatant disrespect. I’m annoyed I even let it bother me. His lips meet my neck, and I shiver. I love his attention in front of her, but of course, he opens his mouth and goes full-douche in two seconds flat. />
  “What would you like to drink, babe?”

  I stiffen at the pet name, anger and self-loathing the only emotions I can fathom right now. “Babe? How many ‘babes’ you got, babe?”

  His lip quirks on the right side, letting me know my jealous outburst isn’t lost on him.

  “Fallyn?” he begins. His words are private, and I swoon knowing he’s speaking only to me. “Darlin’? Sweetheart? Beautiful? Future wife and baby momma? Which one do you like most?”

  “You’re nuts,” I chide, but can’t help the grin that escapes despite my bad mood. “Diet Coke, please.”

  He turns his head from mine, but not before he clasps my hand in his under the table. “My future wife would like a Diet Coke, and I want a root beer float.”

  “You’ve got it,” she says as her eyes dart between us, looking down to my left hand resting on the tabletop. “And, um…congrats, I guess.”

  I shove his shoulder a little harder than I intend to when she walks away. “Are you crazy? She’s going to tell everyone what you just said. Your comment is going to be trending on social media before we even leave this place.”

  He sweeps my legs up and crosses them over his, resting both of his large hands on my thighs. “It just means all those other offers you’re getting will stop now. No one tries to take what belongs to Blaze Porter.”

  And there’s that cocky, asshole attitude again.

  “What kind of name is Blaze anyway? Are your parents psychics or something? They somehow knew you were going to be incredible at getting the ball down the field the day you were born?”

  His face sobers, and I repeat the words in my head, trying to figure out what I could’ve said to upset him. My mind races, instantly thinking he’s lost his parents in some tragic accident. Before I can apologize, his grip tightens on my legs.

  The waitress drops our drinks off, takes our food order, and insists everything is on the house in celebration of our engagement. Blaze doesn’t correct her, and for some reason, neither do I. I’m not delusional, but there are worse things than being fake engaged to this gorgeous man.

  “My parents are addicts,” he says as the waitress walks away. “Blaze has everything to do with smoking dope and absolutely nothing close to expectations my parents had for my future.”

  I’m speechless, other than the gasp I fail to keep control of. What does one say to this kind of revelation? Really? You seem like a golden boy who has everything handed to him, doesn’t quite seem like the appropriate response. Not to mention, assuming he was born from privilege because he’s been so successful at football makes me a bitch.

  “I…” I stutter, waiting for him to tell me he’s joking, but he doesn’t. I want to reach out to him, hug and comfort him for some strange reason. He’s not the first person to come from a messed-up family, but the urgency to praise him for doing so well seems out of place right now.

  “I love your name,” I confess, leaning in closer to his ear. “It’s perfect since you’re so hot.” I ply him with compliments, hoping he’s not insulted by the sudden topic change.

  A genuine smile lights his face before he turns his head and presses his lips against mine. Just like at the party and earlier in the classroom, he takes my mouth with such passion and longing, I imagine sitting in this booth and kissing him for every second of the foreseeable future. His fingers flex against my thigh, shooting sparks of arousal to my core.

  I nibble his bottom lip, and he returns the action by smiling against my mouth and whispering ridiculous and dirty things. We’re lost in each other so long, it isn’t until we come up for air and find our food on the table in front of us that I realize we missed the drop off. My cheeks heat, flushing pink as I gaze around to see if anyone else is paying any attention to our impromptu make out session. Much to my surprise, it’s as if everyone around us is in their own little bubbles as well.

  We spend the next three hours eating, talking—more about me than him—and making out in the booth. Unable to leave him with so much to learn, even if I have to pull each detail out painfully, I ignore the fact that I’ve missed every one of my afternoon classes. It’s the first concession I make for Blaze Porter—the first time I choose him over my future and what I know I should be doing.

  Chapter 8

  Blaze

  The second my knuckles knock on the door, I question the meager bouquet of flowers in my gloved hand. Daisies seem like the cheapest flower you could ever buy a girl. They’re definitely not roses or orchids, which the flower shop had, but I think buying a woman a flower that looks like a weeping vagina sends a bad message. For some reason, the daisies seemed like the perfect fit. Dyed blue, red, green, and yellow, they caught my eye, almost like Fallyn did the first time she tried to walk past me at that party.

  Now that I’m standing, waiting unannounced on her doorstep, they seem douchey and out of place.

  “Blaze Porter,” comes the breathy response when the door is pulled open. I look past her roommate’s shoulder into the apartment, hating that I’ve seen this chick’s tits.

  “Is Fallyn here?” I ask, holding the flowers down beside my leg after realizing I was holding them up in front of me like a nerd would a hard-earned award received at the science fair.

  “She’s in the shower,” she responds, rubbing her finger up and down the grain of the wooden door seductively. I’m an asshole for wishing she’d get a splinter, if only to make her realize how ridiculous she is. Opening the door wider, she sweeps out her arm, welcoming me in. “You’re more than welcome to join me. I’ll keep you entertained until she gets out.”

  My steps falter before I cross the threshold. The last thing I need is Fallyn walking into the room thinking something is going on with her roommate. I remind myself I need to tell her about the party and how her friend came on to me, even after she was well aware I was looking for her. They may be friends, but it’s clear, even with my limited involvement, this chick doesn’t have Fallyn’s best interest at heart.

  I don’t miss the disappointment on her face when I choose the single chair in the living room. She eyes the floral print arm as she walks by and takes the closest seat to me on the sofa.

  I place the douchey daisies on the coffee table and turn my attention to the silent TV, feigning interest in the people rushing around sewing machines, looking like they’re going crazy as a questionably dressed blond man yells at them.

  Ten minutes tick by with sloth-like speed as I avoid or only give one word answers to the roommate’s questions. The way the furniture is situated, I can see straight down the hallway, and I watch the first door on the left intently, waiting for the shadow that’s been dancing around in the light under the door to emerge. When she finally does, I’m left breathless.

  Tiny shorts and the thinnest tank top I’ve ever seen grace her magnificent curves. Damp fabric clings to her budded nipples as she bends over in the hall, flipping her hair until it’s nearly touching the floor so she can run the towel over it. Her shirt rides up her back and I lose a few valuable inches of space in my jeans.

  “Jesus,” I huff, drawing the unwanted attention of her redheaded roommate.

  Her eyes dart down the hall where Fallyn is still bent over drying her hair. “I can’t believe you’re interested in her. She goes days without shaving her legs. I bet her pussy looks like Chewbacca.”

  I stand from the chair, unable to listen to this woman talk shit about Fallyn any longer. “Better than a pussy that’s so beat up, the cornerback had to fuck your ass to get off.”

  Her jaw snaps shut, eyes narrowing in anger. I don’t think Dave meant for that information to get back to her, but he warned the entire team in case they were interested.

  “You motherfucker,” she seethes, and Fallyn whips her head up, looking in our direction.

  Her eyes widen in surprise, her mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’ that makes me think of other things—things that shouldn’t be in my mind after just arguing with her roommate. Bewilderment at my p
resence turns to concern when her eyes flit between the two of us.

  “What’s going on, Charity?” She makes her way closer, until she can see both of us.

  “Nothing,” her friend mutters before heading down the hall and closing her bedroom door.

  My eyes rake her over from head to toe, admittedly stopping to peer longer at her legs. I don’t see hair, though it wouldn’t bother me if I did. If she goes days without shaving or maintaining her pussy, it means I have no competition. I can’t imagine a woman her age would be sexually active and not at least trim in some areas.

  I silence her questions with the tip of my finger and lean in, taking her lips in an unhurried kiss. “Hey, future wife.”

  “Ridiculous,” she chides, but the grin on her face tells me she likes it at least a little. “Why are you here?”

  I pull her body close to mine, savoring her nearness, but hating how my jacket and jeans separate my skin from touching hers.

  “Because this is where you are.” She sighs into my embrace, hands finding their way inside my coat and under my shirt to the skin on my back.

  “Be careful, Quarterback. Someone may hear you and it’ll ruin your playboy reputation.”

  Cupping both her cheeks, I tilt her head back so I can look into her dark brown eyes. “You’ve ruined me already.”

  A sweet smile spreads across her face, but she remains silent.

  I take a step back, regretting the loss of her touch. “Now, go get dressed. The movie starts at eight.”

  “You know, when a guy wants to go out with a girl, he’ll ask, not assume she doesn’t have other plans.”

  One minute, she has her arms wrapped around me while she kisses my lips, and the next, she’s giving me shit about going out. Rather than call her out on the discrepancy, I give her what she wants, even though it opens the possibility of refusal.

  “I’d like to take you to an eight o’clock movie. Would you like to go with me?”

  She looks behind her, and I can sense her indecision. I know she wants to check on her friend, but at the same time, she wants to go with me. She holds up a finger, telling me to hold on, and walks down the hall, tapping on the closed door.