by M. Never
Laney’s face falls as an air of silence blankets the room, suffocating it with tension. “Both,” she responds.
I never take my eyes off her as I answer. “I don’t have any professional regrets. Every triumph and failure has led me to where I am now. I just want to keep moving in the right direction. As for personal regrets? I think everyone has those. I lost someone I loved once, and I will always regret that,” I admit, as stone-faced as possible.
Laney just continues to stare; the tense silence becoming almost unbearable.
“Sometimes . . . she regrets it, too.” She clears her throat and looks away. I nearly fall out of my chair. Did she just admit she misses me?
“Mr. Ellis, thank you for the candid honesty.” She moves on. “I have one last question before we end.” Laney tucks some hair behind her ear. I want to reach out and touch her, but I don’t. I keep my distance, my heart fluttering from her confession.
I nod her on.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
I smile. I know exactly where I see myself. “Playing for the NFL with a Super Bowl ring on my finger.”
Laney chuckles. “I have no doubt, Mr. Ellis, that one day that will become a reality.”
With that, Laney ends the interview.
“Please don’t forget to sign the football and give it to Josh.” Laney gathers her notebook and pen and places them into her book bag.
“I’ll drop it off right after I leave.”
“Thanks.” She slings her backpack over her shoulder. “Good interview. You’re a pro.” She teases me, but I’m not in a very playful mood.
“You weren’t so bad yourself.” I grab her hand as she walks by.
There’s regret on her face, but she doesn’t pull away. “Whatever it is you think you need to say, you don’t. It’s in the past. We’ve both moved on.”
I stare, wondering if she really believes that. I sure as hell don’t. She feels as real today as she did three and a half years ago.
“I really am sorry,” I profess, rubbing my thumb over her hand.
“Don’t be.” She pulls it away and touches my face; my skin nearly catches fire.
I’ll always be sorry.
“I gotta go. See you next week, All-Star.”
My chest tightens from the term of endearment. She hasn’t called me that in years.
“Same time, same place,” I assure her wistfully.
Laney throws me a sweet smile over her shoulder right before she leaves. I don’t follow. Instead, I sit back down and spin the football mindlessly on the table. Some strange sense of hope tingling inside me.
“I lost someone I loved once, and I will always regret that.”
“Sometimes . . . she regrets it, too.”
Laney
“DO YOUR HOMEWORK, Lemon?” Kam drops his notebook on the desk next to me and slips casually into the seat.
“Yes, you?”
“Right here.” He pulls out a typed page and waves it in my face.
“Am I supposed to be impressed or something?”
“Or something,” he flirts.
Kam has been doing that a lot lately. Flirting. With me. I don’t know if it’s the end of the school year high, the fact we’re graduating, or what, but the last two and a half months, spending every Friday morning together, has done something anomalous to our estranged relationship. We have two official classes left before we take our final and then head out into the world. Me to New York to start an internship at a prestigious architectural design firm, and Kam to the NFL. Both our career dreams seem to be coming true.
“What’s with the pigtails, Lemon?” He flips my hair flirtatiously with his pen.
“Nothing.” I shrug him off. “Can’t a girl wear pigtails?”
“She can.” He eyes me hungrily. That look is so dangerous.
“You know what pigtails are good for?” he leans in and whispers.
“What?” I raise an eyebrow speculatively.
“Pulling.” He yanks on my hair a little harder than just teasing. I actually clench my thighs. Maybe I’m not so immune to Kam’s prowling after all.
Professor Katz begins class, and Kam and I both shift in our seats. But it doesn’t matter how much I try to concentrate on what the teacher is saying; the only thing I am aware of is Kam. I can feel him looking at me. No. Not just looking—licking me with his eyes and tangling me in an uncomfortable excitement. A precarious predicament. Kam is off-limits in so many ways. We’ve been down this road before, and as much as our physical chemistry is off the charts, there are too many old emotions attached. I couldn’t open that door again, not even for one, carefree, no-strings-attached night. One, uninhibited, reckless, pulse-pounding night. I can almost feel the way he used to touch me. The light caresses and strong grip, when our bodies would fuse together and the world would disappear. It was the only time I really ever had Kam—the only time I received his undivided attention and unconditional love. There’s a sudden ache in my chest as I find myself mourning what we once had.
“Laney?” Kam shakes me by the shoulder. “Are you alright?” I look over at him and then around the room. We’re the only two left.
“Fine.” I clear my throat.
“You were in some pretty deep thought.”
“I guess I was.” I scan over Kam’s facial features. His big baby-blue eyes, strong jawline, and prominent nose. Tack on his charismatic personality and southern charm, and he’s the epitome of quarterback playboy. He hasn’t even been officially drafted yet, but he’s going to take the NFL by storm. I predict it already. He’s Alabama’s golden boy, and he’ll be the National Football League’s, too.
To me, however, he’ll always be the man I let go.
I move to stand, extinguishing all the feelings flaring inside me like wildfire.
“Do you want to grab some coffee?” Kam asks as he walks me out. “Or is your attack dog waiting for you?”
I laugh. “No. Not today.”
“So how ‘bout it? Coffee? I’ll even buy you a muffin.”
“I can buy my own muffin. And coffee, for that matter.”
“So, is that a yes?” he asks hopefully.
I contemplate for a second; my good sense flying right out the window. “Sure, why not?”
We grab a table outside at the nearby coffee shop on campus. It’s a warm April morning, and the humidity is comfortably low.
“So . . .” Kam says with a smirk.
“So . . . ?” I reply with the coffee cup in front of my mouth, concealing my mirroring expression.
“In a few more weeks, this will all be a distant memory.” He motions to campus.
“Yup,” I agree, cheerfully. “Are you nervous about the draft?”
“A little,” he admits reluctantly. “Everything I’ve ever wanted is right at my fingertips.”
“That should make you happy.”
“I am happy.”
“You sure? Because you sound like something is missing.”
Kam stares at me stoically, ticking his jaw. “Not something. Someone.”
I freeze mid-sip. I’m not even going to ask whom because the way he’s looking at me tells me everything I need to know.
“Kam.” I sigh.
“Laney.”
“Don’t do this,” I beg.
“Why?”
“Because.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s complicated.”
“What’s complicated?” He leans over the table. “Tell me you don’t have any kind of feelings left for me. Tell me that spending time together over the last few months hasn’t changed anything.”
“It hasn’t.” I assert.
“Why? Because of that idiot you date?”
“Kam, that’s enough.” I stand up, and he follows suit, blocking me before I can pass.
“You can’t be serious about him, Laney.” Kam glares down at me. His big, blue eyes sparkling in the sun.
“I am serious abou
t him.” I hold my ground.
“Why? What does he have to offer you?”
“That’s a loaded question, Kam. Are you sure you want to hear the answer?”
“Yes.”
I huff. “Steven has never broken a promise. Or not shown up when he said he was going to. He doesn’t spend half our relationship apologizing for the things he didn’t do. He may not be you, but at least I know I can rely on him.”
Kam’s expression darkens. He wanted answers, and I gave them to him.
“You can rely on me, Laney.”
“Not the way I need.” I shake my head, attempting to move around him, but he places his hand firmly on my hip. My heart stops.
I look up into his eyes pleadingly. We can’t do this; it’s just going to be heartbreak all over again.
He opens his mouth to respond, but his phone interrupts him. Some things never change. Kam lets it ring three times before he hesitantly removes his hand and answers it.
“Yeah.” He never takes his eyes off me. “What’s up, Sam?”
That’s my cue. I bypass his rigid body and make a beeline straight to my car.
Same shit, different day.
Kam
COFFEE DID NOT go how I expected.
Laney just hightailed it out of here, and Sam is barking in my ear about something on the news.
“Find the closest television and turn on the local news!”
I walk into the coffee shop and ask the girl behind the counter if she can switch the channel. She recognizes me immediately and blushes.
“Absolutely,” she drawls.
As soon as she changes the channel, my face is plastered on the screen with the headline: “Alabama Golden Boy Accused of Sexual Assault.”
What. The. Flying. Fuck?
Laney
IT’S STARTING TO rain.
After the coffee debacle with Kam, I came home, changed into the crumpled-up shirt I slept in last night, and disappeared under the covers. I listened to the large droplets hitting the pavement outside like a drum until I fell asleep.
I don’t know how long I have been holed up, but when I throw the covers off, I realize its dark outside. I just lie there as the thunder pounds and my emotions stir. I have been in a state of conflict all day. Wanting Kam is one thing, but knowing he wants me back is entirely another. It opens doors that should stay closed forever. Dangerous, emotional, heated doors that warn Enter At Your Own Risk. And loving Kam has always been a risk.
I know I have to stop obsessing. About Kam, about the past, about the present, and about the very potent feelings that just won’t seem to go away. I’m going to drive myself nuts!
My personal-crisis situation calls for some pizza and ice cream . . . stat.
I shoot out of bed and walk into my living room, and what do I see as soon as I look at the television? Kam’s face.
“You’re up.” Steven is lounging on the couch holding the remote.
“How long have you been here?” I ask him, peeling my attention away from the headline for only a second.
“A few hours. We were supposed to grab dinner, but you were asleep when I got here. Are you feeling okay?”
“Not really. What’s going on?” I point at the television.
Steven snickers. “He’s not so golden after all.”
I want to slap him for his scathing remark.
“Why are you always hating on Kam?” I snap at him. “Does he intimidate you that much?”
Steven stands up. “He doesn’t intimidate me, Laney. I’ve just always seen him for what he is. And now the rest of the world sees it, too.” He motions to the screen.
Alabama Golden Boy Accused of Sexual Assault.
“Kam would never do that,” I immediately defend him.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“I guess you would know,” he replies snidely.
“What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“Still having feelings for your ex,” he says blatantly. “The two of you have been pretty cozy lately.”
“We’re friends.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?”
“You’re being an idiot.” Just like Kam called you today. “Where is this coming from?”
“It’s coming from the fact I’m not blind, and that you wear his practice jersey to bed every night.” He pokes me in the chest. I look down and realize I’m wearing the dark-blue jersey with the number seven, a pair of underwear, and nothing else.
Steven heads for the door. “Why don’t you call me when you work out what the hell you want. Although, I’m pretty sure I already know what that is.” Thunder booms and lightning strikes just as he storms out, slamming the door behind him.
I stand there gaping. What the fuck just happened?
First Kam, now Steven? My life is turning into a car wreck.
I rub my temples, sit on the couch, and turn up the volume so I can listen to the news report that’s playing on a loop. “Sandra Collins, twenty-two, has accused the football phenom of raping her at a college party after she repeatedly refused his advances. An investigation is underway.”
I just shake my head, disbelieving. Kam may be many things, but a rapist is definitely not one of them.
I suddenly jump from a knock at the door and a simultaneous lightning strike that illuminates the whole room. I run to answer it, fully expecting Steven to be on the other side, gearing up for round two. Instead, I swing it open to a soaking wet, hooded figure.
“Kam?” I yank him inside. He’s drenched from head to toe.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.” He pulls off his hood and unzips his sweatshirt. His wet T-shirt is clinging to all the right places, most notably his chiseled chest and ripped abs. I look away so I don’t start salivating.
“It’s fine. Come in.” I walk him into the living room of my moderate-sized, off-campus apartment. “How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
“In the rain?” my voice elevates.
“I had to get away. There are reporters crawling all over my house. I snuck out the back.”
Kam shares a spacious colonial with three of his teammates. It’s a hub for parties and a hangout for almost every athlete on campus. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now.” He shivers, dripping wet in the middle of my living room.
“I just saw,” I reply as I grab a towel from the bathroom and hand it to him.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” I respond sympathetically.
“Fucking, bullshit,” he mutters as he wipes his face, then sneezes. Not good.
“Um, not to sound like I’m coming on to you, but you should really get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.” Kam’s grim expression lightens a little.
“Lemon, if you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.”
“Kam, please.” I stop him right there.
“Just sayin’.” He shrugs.
I roll my eyes. “I can put your clothes in the dryer, if you’d like. If not, don’t sit on my couch until you’re dry.” I walk over and plop down on the plush sofa.
“You’re tougher than nails, Lemon.” He shrugs off his sweatshirt, then peals his T-shirt off right in the middle of the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” My mouth actually goes dry. Holy Roll Tide. College football does a body good.
“Talking my wet clothes off so I can sit down.”
“I didn’t ask for a strip show. Use the bathroom!” I point.
“Sorry. Didn’t think it would be a big deal. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” He turns toward the bathroom door, his back muscles rippling as he walks. I sink into the cushion. Good lord. I actually fan myself. It’s been nearly four years and the man still has a panty-melting effect.
Dangerous, emotional, heated door that warns Enter At Your Own Risk.
Kam comes out of the bathroom wearing nothing but the towel I gave him. “Where’s the dryer?”
/>
I motion to a set of doors off the kitchen. I think I have lost the ability to speak. Kam, naked, in my apartment. How did we suddenly get here?
He pops his clothes into the dryer with a tight grip on the towel. Once they’re tumbling, he takes a quiet seat next to me on the couch. It isn’t very big, but it’s comfortable. With his head hanging low and elbows resting on his knees, he looks over at me. And that’s when I see it. The devastation. He may have been playing around before, but he can’t suppress what he’s truly feeling.
“You okay?” I ask considerately.
He shakes his head, and a few renegade droplets fall from the ends of his disheveled hair.
“Did you assault that girl?” I have to ask, even though I already know the answer. I just have to hear it from his own mouth.
“No,” he asserts. “I don’t even think I know her.”
“Then why would she accuse you of such a thing?”
Kam shrugs. “A payout, maybe? I wouldn’t be the first athlete it’s happened to.”
“Despicable.”
“Whatever the reason, it’s destroying my reputation.” He scrubs his face with his hands. “Which, in turn, is destroying my career.”
“Her accusation doesn’t affect the way you play football,” I argue.
“No, but reputation is everything when you’re being drafted. No one wants to recruit a bad seed.”
“Anyone who knows you knows that you would never hurt or disrespect a woman. And if you don’t get drafted because some stupid girl looking for attention cried rape, the NFL needs to seriously re-examine itself.”
Kam smiles wearily. “Thanks, Laney.” He puts his hand on my bare knee and heat races across my skin. “How is it every time my career is in jeopardy, you always know the right thing to say?”
“I’m a genius.” I laugh nervously.
Kam laughs, too, pushing my knee playfully. He’s so cute when he’s just Kam. Not Mr. All-Star or Mr. Popularity. Just Kam. We stare quietly at each other for a long while. The energy in the room heavy, suppressive almost.
Dangerous, emotional, heated door that warns Enter At Your Own Risk.
“It’s getting late. You should probably get some rest.” I move to stand, but he snatches my wrist.
“Can you stay with me?”
