Lessons In Losing It (Study Abroad Book 4)

by Jessica Peterson

  “How do you feel about long distance relationships?” she jokes, but neither of us laughs.

  I don’t want to piss on her parade. This is a huge accomplishment. I want to celebrate with her. We can think about what to do next later, I suppose.

  So I smile, holding my arms open. “Congratulations, love. I’m happy for you,” I say, and I mean it. “I know this is your dream internship, and you got it. You bloody got it!”

  “Thank you.” She climbs into my arms. She fits perfectly against me, her soft curves the answer to my hard edges. “I, like, can’t believe it. This is insane. I’ve worked for three years—”

  “Not so insane. You’re incredibly bright. I’m sure you interview well. And you’re truly passionate about the field. Of course you got it.”

  She tilts her head to look at me. “Don’t forget I’m also applying to the internship with Valentina. We could still…you know. Be together in the long run.”

  “I know,” I say. “I just don’t want you to give up something you’ve been dreaming about for so long. I know how badly you want this.”

  “Dude. Having the world’s most valuable sports franchise on my résumé—that’d also be a dream come true.”

  “Well,” I say, sighing. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Right now, we’ve got to celebrate. You free tonight?”

  “I am.”

  “Perfect. I’ll be at training until late—but I can pick you up after?”

  “Sure.” She spears me with a look. “But in the meantime…how’s that pants situation looking?”

  I grin. “I’ve had the most fucking painful hard-on all morning. What time is it—” I glance over my shoulder at the clock. “Shit, Rachel, you’re going to be late to class if we don’t leave now.”

  “Really?” I try not to smile at the disappointment in her voice. She enjoyed last night as much as I did, which is a huge turn on.

  “Really. By the time I drive you home—”

  “I can just wear what I did last night to class. That way you can drop me off right at school—might give us a few extra minutes?” She reaches down and hooks a finger into the waist of my shorts. My dick pulses in agony.

  I grab her by the wrist. “I’d love nothing more than to spend a few extra minutes with you—naked—this morning. But you’ll not be late to class on my account. And I do have training.”

  “Fuck,” she breathes. Her shoulders fall. “You’re right. But I really wanted—”

  “Me too. You have no idea how much I want that.” I meet her eyes.

  We stand. I take Rachel’s face in my hands and press a long, lingering kiss on her mouth, taking her bottom lip between my teeth as I pull back. She moans. She tastes sticky, sweet. Perfect.

  My whole body lights up with need.

  “And Rachel?”

  “Yeah?” her voice wavers. Her eyes are still closed.

  “Wear a dress tonight.”

  She pulls back. “A dress?”

  “Yeah. A dress. I’ve got an idea.”

  Chapter 14

  Rachel

  I spend a good chunk of the afternoon sending a frenzy of emails and texts to Fred and chatting on the phone with Valentina. The application deadline for the football club’s spring internship is tomorrow (go figure), so I have less than twenty-four hours to write essays, gather recommendations, and coordinate with the Meryton University’s bursar’s office to get a sealed copy of my transcript delivered in time.

  I have no idea how I’m going to pull it off. But I have to try. Valentina promised to help.

  Getting this internship just got really important all of the sudden. Because if I get it, that means I get to stay in Spain for another semester—at least. Which means I’ll get to be with Fred. I’ll get to be with Fred, and I’ll have an internship opportunity that’s so incredible I didn’t even know to dream about it.

  I’ll have my cake and eat it too.

  It’s almost too good to be true. Which makes me think it won’t work out. It can’t, because no one deserves that much awesomeness. But maybe—just maybe—I’ll get lucky this time.

  Maybe the happy, well-balanced life I’ve dreamed about might actually happen.

  Every so often, when I get up to use the restroom, or I shift in my seat, the skin on my back smarts. It feels tight, and even my softest sweater feels uncomfortably rough against it. Still, I have to smile. That rug burn is a reminder of Fred. Fred and his smile and his glasses and the confident way he touched me and teased me and made me come. My heart flutters, literally flutters, when I think about him.

  I am definitely playing with fire here. But it’s too late to tuck tail and run. I like this guy. A lot. Not only because he is excellent. And genuine. And open-minded. Kind, too. And Lord does he look good in a hat.

  Fred’s also making me feel more confident about following my own career path. About doing what I want to do, what is right for me, instead of doing what I’ve always thought I should do—what my mom wants me to do.

  What he said this morning about not being responsible for his mom’s happiness really opened my eyes. I mean, maybe I really don’t have an obligation to make my mom happy. Maybe I can’t. I’ve tried very, very hard for a long time, and it hasn’t made her any happier. But it’s certainly made me less happy. It’s stressed me out, big time.

  Maybe, no matter what I do or say or accomplish, Mom is always going to be…well, Mom. Maybe she’s always going to be unhappy until she decides otherwise. That choice, like Fred said, is in her hands.

  Just like the choice to be happy, and follow my dreams, is in mine. I can’t make Mom happy. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be happy myself. That doesn’t mean being happy and doing what I want is some kind of crime. I’m not doomed to live a stressful, shallow life like her. I don’t have to be unhappy or superficial in sympathy.

  I know my happiness will come at a price. That sucks, and it’s unfair. But who knows? Hearing Fred talk to his mom this morning made me think that maybe one day I’ll be able to talk to my mom like that, too, despite the fact that I disappointed her.

  I’m still scared shitless to tell her I not only got an internship in sports medicine, but that I’ve also been pursuing this career path for years behind her back. I know the call is not going to go well. But now, thanks to Fred, I know that it (hopefully) won’t be the end of the world. It’s not the end of our story. There’s still a chance for a happy ending. Look at Fred and his family.

  I just have to be brave and hope she’ll understand one day why I did what I’m about to do.

  ***

  Between the emails and frantic phone calls, I somehow manage to throw myself together in anticipation of my date with Fred tonight. The Madrileñas notice that I put a little, er, extra time into getting ready. Vivian all but whistles when I walk into the library.

  “Are you wearing eyeliner?” she asks, peering at my face like I’ve suddenly sprouted a fascinatingly horrible skin disease. “And a dress! Wow, Rach, are you, like, planning to seduce our professor or something? Because I’m totally on board with that.”

  I try to laugh it off—“I just took a shower, guys, no big deal”—but no one buys it.

  “So tell me, Rach—who’s this new guy you’re fucking?” Maddie asks.

  I almost choke on my soda. “I’m not—what—”

  “You’re glowing,” she says. “Which means you’re fucking someone hot. Good for you. Now tell us everything.”

  I try to bite back my smile, but it doesn’t work.

  So I do. I tell them everything. Well, not everything—I want to keep the most delicious details for myself—but it fills me with the loveliest, giddiest joy to share Fred with my girlfriends.

  “He is so swoon-worthy,” Laura says. “I had no idea!”

  “I’m very curious about the dress,” Viv adds. “Does he, like, want to finger you in public or something? You’re not wearing underwear, are you?”

  “I mean, I am,” I reply. “But i
t’s the tiniest thong I own—very easy to, um, get around, if you know what I mean.”

  Maddie grins. “That’s my girl. I hope everything works out for you guys. But what if you don’t get the internship here in Madrid? Are you going to stay anyway?”

  My joy clouds over, just for a minute. “I don’t know. I’m trying to think positive thoughts. I get it, everything is so new between me and Fred. It’s crazy to make plans like this. But the way I feel about Fred…I just…I’m falling for him. Hard.”

  Viv drops her pencil. “Holy shit, Rachel, are you falling in love with this guy?”

  Love. Honestly? I could see it happening. Which is terrifying and thrilling, all at once.

  “Wow,” Viv says, interpreting my silence as an affirmative answer. “Well in that case, let’s form a prayer circle and make sure God lines up this internship for you. Because…wow.”

  I put my head in my hands. “I’m really setting myself up to crash and burn, aren’t I?”

  “We have a week or two left before the end of the semester.” Maddie squeezes my shoulder. “A lot can happen between now and then. Things will work out. They always do, right?”

  “Right,” I say, even though I’m not sure I buy into that belief.

  I honestly don’t know what we’ll do if I don’t get this internship. I want to work in sports medicine one day, which means I shouldn’t pass up the spot at the Meryton athletic department. I’ve dreamed about that internship for years now; I’ve worked toward it ever since I was a freshman. It’s a slam dunk. An amazing, life-changing opportunity.

  But now I also want Fred. Which means I’d have to pass up the Meryton internship and stay in Madrid. Or—total long shot—I guess he could come to the states. Fred is a legit soccer star, though. He can’t just uproot his life and his career—his insanely lucrative career—to come live with me in Durham, North Carolina. I mean, we do have professional soccer in the states, but the small American league is a bit of a backwater compared to the famous, lucrative leagues here in Europe. Who the hell am I to ask him to give up money and fans and opportunity like that?

  I guess we could try long distance. But four-thousand-some-odd miles is a lot of distance. And we’re both so busy, Fred with soccer, me with school and, later this year, an internship. To make it work long distance would be nothing short of a miracle. Could we do it, though, if push came to shove? Do I want this enough?

  I don’t know.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen.

  ***

  No matter how hard I try to think about what Fred might be plotting for this dress I’m wearing, my mind spins. A lot has happened in the past week—the past twenty-four hours—and I’m struggling to process it all. Fred, my future, my mom—it’s all coming at me so suddenly and so quickly it’s almost paralyzing.

  I’m sure everything will work out one minute, and then I’m crushed by the certainty that it won’t the next. Should I hope for the best? Should I cut and run?

  Am I being a complete and total idiot by allowing myself to fall for a guy I’m probably going to have to leave behind? Am I an idiot to think we’re forever material even though we’ve known each other for all of two weeks?

  I glance at the clock at the far end of the library. Half past five. Fred isn’t supposed to pick me up for another hour or so, but I can’t keep sitting here. I need to get up. Walk. Think.

  I bundle up and head outside. I walk for a long time, block after block, until I hit Salamanca, passing by the Prado Museum. The enormous building is all lit up at night; it’s pretty, worth taking a stroll around the block to see.

  I check my phone. I have another twenty minutes or so until Fred comes. I shoot him a quick text, telling him to meet me around here instead of at the university. He says he’ll be heading my way shortly.

  My dress flutters in the breeze as I make my way around the museum. I’m glad I wore over-the-knee boots underneath my dress; it’s cold tonight.

  Good-looking couples huddle together as they pass. One couple kisses, a loud, wet kiss that would’ve had me rolling my eyes in disgust a week ago. Now, though—now I find myself smiling. I wonder what Fred and I look like when we kiss.

  A shiver of anticipation darts up my spine. I can’t wait to see him.

  I turn the corner onto Gran Vía, the street that runs lengthwise alongside the museum. The building is illuminated in a rainbow of colors, a bright behemoth against the black night sky. I’ve been in Madrid for almost five months now, but stuff like this never gets old. I love this city. Love the way it smells and how it looks and how much it appreciates day drinking and dancing until six A.M.

  I’m going to miss it if—when—I leave.

  I raise my head at the sound of approaching footsteps. A big guy in biker boots walks past me, his footfalls echoing off the museum walls. I blink, my eyes moving to the street.

  They land on a tall, broad figure, really just a shadow from here, leaning against a car at the curb.

  The man’s hands are in the pockets of his jeans; his ankles are crossed. He’s looking the other direction, away from me. Something about the set of his enormous shoulders says he’s waiting for someone. They’re just the tiniest bit tense.

  He turns his head, revealing the outline of a familiar nose. Full lips. Tidy swoop of hair.

  Glasses.

  A rush of awareness douses my skull and moves through my body, leaving behind a tingling sensation in my knees, the tips of my fingers.

  Fred.

  I am suddenly so, so glad. Glad for what, I don’t have a fucking clue.

  I’m close enough now to see him smile as I approach. He stands, keeping his hands in his pockets, and pivots a little to face me. He looks good. Really fucking good. The kind of good that makes my entire being throb with longing.

  I don’t want to leave this guy. Ever.

  “Hello, beautiful. I hope you’re not too cold in that dress,” he says, eyes narrowing.

  If anyone else said that right now, it’d sound cheesy. Trite. But in Fred’s earnest, slightly gravelly voice, it sounds just right.

  “I’m fine,” I say, drawing to a stop a few paces away from him. The space between our bodies—I don’t know any other way to describe it except that it’s hungry. My heart swells.

  I guess I’m just glad to see Fred.

  I’m glad that he’s here.

  Chapter 15

  Fred

  The light from a nearby street lamp catches on Rachel’s long, silky hair, gilding it in shades of gold and copper. My heart skips a beat. I feel the blood moving inside my skin, filling every square millimeter of my body with excitement. Want.

  I want to reach out and pull her to me, but she’s standing just out of arm’s reach. It’s bloody killing me; all day long I’ve thought about this moment. About when I’d see her again.

  I was in a happy daze during training this morning; my surly manager, William Wallace (not his real name, we just call him that because he is scary and Scottish) told me more than once to “wipe that silly fecking smile off yer silly fecking face”. Olivier, our captain, asked me if I was “on some-zing, like ze drugs?”. Alexsandr, in true form, teased me about the rug burns on my knees.

  I shrugged them all off with excuses of feeling well rested. I didn’t quite know what to say about the rug burns. I just pulled up my socks and got on with it. I don’t want to tell them about Rachel. Not because I’m ashamed—quite the opposite—but because I don’t want to jinx it. Us. Me and Rachel.

  I thought losing my virginity would be the best fucking thing ever. And it was great. It was so much better than I could have ever imagined.

  “Ready to celebrate?” I ask.

  The sinews in her throat move as she swallows. “I am. I guess.”

  Her voice stretches over those last two words. I blink. Shit, something is wrong.

  I take a step toward her. I can see her eyes now; they’re glassy. Wet. Tired, like she’s been struggling.

  “Rachel
.” The dip in my voice betrays my concern. “Are you all right?”

  She turns her head and looks away for a moment. She swallows again. Christ, did I hurt her last night? Is she in pain? The thought that she’s tired or hurting on my account makes me fucking angry as hell at myself.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot. Too much,” she says, meeting my eyes again. She puts her hands in her coat pockets. “I had amazing sex with a famous footballer and got my dream internship and applied to another dream internship, all in one day.”

  “No big deal,” I say, grinning.

  She scoffs. “Small beans for sure.”

  “I know I’m putting a lot on your plate right now,” I say. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “You’ve already done way too much,” she says. “And it’s all good stuff you’ve put on my plate. Really, really good stuff. I’m just worried that…you know.”

  I look at her. “That things won’t work out.”

  “Yes. Exactly. There’s a lot on the line for me.”

  “I know,” I say. Bloody hell, do I know. Because there’s a lot on the line for me, too. I’ve been so careful with my heart. So protective.

  And now I’m giving it away to a girl who might run halfway across the world with it.

  We’ll figure something out. I’ll pull every string and call in every favor to make sure Rachel stays by my side. The club loves me right now. There’s no way they’d stand in my way. Not on this.

  “You’re going to get the internship. I’ll make sure of it, all right?”

  “C’mon, Fred, you don’t have to do that. I’d actually prefer that you didn’t. If I’m lucky enough to be chosen, I want it to be on the awesomeness of my application, not on the fact that I’m some player’s girlfriend. I want to feel like I earned it. That I deserve it.”

  “I understand that,” I say. “And I know the awesomeness, as you say, of your application is going to put you at the top of the pile. But what if Valentina is deciding between you and another candidate, and it’s my call that tips the balance in your favor?”