That made him smirk. “Got ya.”
Even though we’d found a way to be around each other again, that didn’t mean things weren’t still incredibly awkward. I no longer talked first. I didn’t try and make conversation. He’d made himself loud and clear about his feelings for me. He had none. If he wanted to talk, it’d have to be his idea. Not mine.
I got up, and his hand shot out to grab my wrist. “What?” I looked down at him, into those clear, glass eyes.
Every time I did they cut me with their shards.
“Where are you going?”
“Inside.” I pulled my wrist free. “Are you done?”
He sighed miserably. “I’ve been trying, Es. The least you can do is pitch in.”
He called that trying? We were like classmates forced to do a project together. I’d end up getting us both an A, and he goofed off. “What for? If it were up to me you’d be the bigger person and move out.”
His eyes tightened. He worked his jaw and then shot up. “Let’s go talk.” When I stared at him stupidly, he took my hand and led me through the patio doors.
“Where are we going?” I griped, trying not to spill my beer as he navigated through the packed living room. We went into the hall and then he opened his bedroom door, motioning impatiently for me to go inside. “I’m not going in your room.”
“We need to talk. Without yelling. Go.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You need to hear this. And maybe I need to get it off my chest.”
I sighed dramatically, stepping over the threshold and into his room. It looked nothing like it had when the twins lived here. He had minimal furniture; there was a bed pushed into the corner, full-size, and a desk stacked with textbooks and then his soccer gear was piled on the bedroom floor. The curtains were dark blue, and when he closed the door what little light that been filtered through from the hallway was gone.
He reached around me to turn on his bedside lamp and pointed at his bed. “Sit.”
I did, pulling my skirt down along the way and placing my beer on his nightstand. He remained standing, arms once again crossed over his chest. “You’re not being fair to me. You’re not even giving me a chance, Esmaie. You’re being—”
“Don’t you dare say crazy.” I glared at him.
“I wasn’t going to say it.” But his eye twitched, because he so had been about to say that. “I want to know what you’re thinking, where you’re coming from. We hang out a lot, but you never really say anything. I keep replaying what you said to me. About your dad and mom. About all of that. About how much you put yourself on the line. I was shocked. I didn’t act the way you deserved. But you have to admit that was some insane shit you dropped on me.”
“What is this, an apology?”
“No. It’s me asking for a chance. I don’t know,” he sighed, a sudden heaviness and lightness in his eyes. “To maybe see where this goes?”
My heart and stomach flipped and flopped. “What?”
“You’re an intense woman, Esmaie, but I think that intensity comes from a wounded, broken place. You use humor to deflect from your true feelings. You made me the bad guy because that was easier than admitting you handled that all wrong.”
Oh, great. He’d been psychoanalyzing me these past weeks. Not trying to make amends. “I’m sorry,” I admitted breathlessly, letting the weight of my admission fall between us. “I just see something I want, and I go after it. Maybe I’m a masochist, and I love the pain I feel when what I want lets me down again, and again.”
“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way, but you got under my skin making me feel like a piece of crap like that. That wasn’t fair,” he growled quietly.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, embarrassed all over again. “I’m sorry.” And just like that, I’m sobbing. Because he’s right. I’m insecure. Lonely. Empty. He was a brand-new beautiful dream standing in front of me and I’d acted the way I always did. Impulsive. Unstable.
Crazy.
He crouched down in front of me, a sigh falling from his lips. “Don’t cry. Don’t be sorry. You’re hurting inside, aren’t you?” He moved to cradle my face in his hands.
I couldn’t look at him anymore. “I’ll move out.”
He held my face tighter. “Aren’t you?”
I tried to free myself. “Let me go, Wade.”
“Aren’t. You?” he repeated, tone darkening.
“Why does it matter? No one cares. I don’t care. You don’t care.” I closed my eyes, hating the tears that spilled down my cheeks.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You and I are going to start over. You don’t have feelings for me. That’s impossible. But we can work on it. Start as friends. I won’t hook up with anyone else. You won’t hook up with anyone e—”
“Did you have sex with her?”
He held my eyes. “No.”
“You promise?”
He cradled my face tenderly. “I promise.”
“Because I interrupted you.”
He nodded, telling the truth. “I’m glad you did. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. This relationship would have been irreparable if I had.”
Tenderness emanated from his eyes and the lines around his mouth were turned down in concern. He looked like he cared in that moment. My heart soaked it up.
“Gosh, you’re so fucking cute.” The words fell from my lips before I could stop them. I didn’t take them back. “Kiss me.”
He frowned. “We’re supposed to be starting ov—”
I kissed him instead. The moment our lips touched, I groaned, from deep in my soul. My arms came around his shoulders. He still grasped my face, and he was totally immobile. I popped my eyes open to find his already were. His eyes weren’t angry. They weren’t even upset. They were sharp, brilliant shards of terror.
I pulled back. “What? Am I that bad of a kisser?”
He let me go and rocked back, putting his head in his hands. “Why did you do that?”
“I’m sorry.” I touched him, but he pulled away from my touch. “I couldn’t help myself. Wade?”
He jumped to his feet and glared down at me. “You want to know why I don’t date?” He marched over to his wallet that was on his desk and flipped it open, jabbing a picture at me.
It was him. Much younger. Probably sixteen at most. He had his arms wrapped around a beautiful, dark-haired girl. I looked up, confused. “Who is she?”
“Sabrina. The first and last girl I’ll ever love. I lost her senior year of high school. We lived across the street from each other our whole lives. She was my whole fucking world, Esmaie. And then she was gone.” Acid glimmered in his eyes. “I can’t do this with you, at least not the way you want. The only thing I can be to you is your friend.”
I couldn’t open my mouth. If I did, I didn’t know what to say. I felt horrible for ever bringing my struggle with fate up to him. He hadn’t dismissed me because he didn’t want me. He dismissed me because he was empty. I put my hand over my mouth, feeling dreams I had no right feeling crashing to the ground.
But I felt his dreams already had, and I cried harder for him than my own.
“Okay, Wade. We can be friends.”
Chapter Five
Esmaie
When dreams collapsed, they left behind remnants of hope. A tingling of what could have been. Like an arm that still ached even after it had been torn off, those dregs of hope still reached for the stars.
I left Wade in his room and headed straight for the bathroom, where I cleaned my face, barely able to look myself in the eye, and see the way emptiness made my eyes less green and more destitute. I went back to the party and drank with my friends, doing what I had done the last three years of college. Numbing, numbing, always numbing.
The next morning, I woke up with a headache so intense it felt like someone was elbowing me in my temples. My stomach rolled, and I made a dash for the bathroom, skidding to a halt at the toilet and spewing my guts up.
> “Here, drink this and take these.”
I looked up to find Wade standing there with a glass of ice-water in his hand and pills in the other. I took them, swallowing them back. “Thank you.”
He propped his hip onto the counter, gazing levelly at me. “Drinking your sorrows away?” His lips rose into a crooked smile.
I smiled back, nodding. “Something like that.”
“You look nothing like her,” he said, catching me off guard. “Complete opposite. She had pretty, wavy brown hair. You have gorgeous, silky dark blonde hair. Her eyes were blue, yours are green. She was such a nerd, always serious. I loved making her laugh. Now you’re the one making me laugh. It’s messing with my head.” He shook it, moving his gaze to stare at his feet. “You want to go get something to eat?”
I wanted to comfort him more. Hug him. Hold him. Kiss his cheek. Run my fingers through his hair. Anything to erase the emotions I forced him to dredge up last night. “Please.”
He nodded, relieved that I didn’t comment. He left me to get ready. With my headache still pounding, I brushed my teeth and showered in record time, trying my best not to be sick. I dressed in a pair of denim shorts and threw a gray hoodie over my head after quickly wrestling my wet chest into a bra. I put my damp hair into a bun and then slipped on some sandals, heading out into the living room to find Wade cleaning up from the party.
“Leave it, I’ll do that when we get home.”
“What the hell is this?” He glared at the new art décor in the middle of the living room.
“It’s my Beer-amid of Beer-za.”
Ren and I had constructed a pyramid out of beer cans. I was actually quite proud of it and took my phone from my purse to snap a pic.
Wade gaped at me. “The Egyptians would not be proud.”
I snorted. “Yeah right, look at the foundation.” I tried to tip it over. “Rock solid.”
He brushed past me. “Let’s go, Bob the Builder.”
The moment we stepped outside, I hissed, shielding my eyes from the light. He chuckled, holding open his passenger door. I quickly dropped into his front seat, pulling down his visor immediately. He flipped open his center console and produced a pair of aviator sunglasses.
“My hero.” I sighed in relief when I put them on.
He grunted, turning on his truck and backing out of the driveway. He didn’t seem like he was in the mood for conversation, and after last night, neither was I. I settled into the silence, trying not to think about the things he said, or the pretty blue-eyed girl he’d lost.
He pulled up to a café far from the university and college life. Bri and I had been there a couple times when the library and the coffee shop were too crowded. It smelled like baked bread and swiss cheese upon entering. The scent curled my toes. I spied a few people eating Monte Cristo’s. The fried ham and cheese sandwiches looked divine. My hangover and I both agreed that we would eat ten of them. My waistline wisely kept her mouth shut.
“You want a bistro seat or a booth?” he asked, since the restaurant was seat yourself.
The bistro seats were intimate, romantic. I spied one couple, whose legs were tangled under the table, and the steam from their cappuccinos floated between them. Their lips were a breath’s away from the other and all I wanted was for him to kiss her. Curl her toes and play with her dreams.
I cleared my throat and looked away. “A booth.”
Thankfully, I had my back turned to the couple. We grabbed the menus from the stand on the table and I hid my face behind it, scouring the options even though I already knew what I was ordering. When I glanced over the top of the menu, Wade was watching me. “What?” I whispered.
“You’re not going to mention last night?”
“I hadn’t planned on it, no.” I didn’t move my menu.
“I’d like to talk about it.”
“What for?” I asked sadly. “I’ll back off, Wade. I’ll respect your past relationship and your pain. What more can I do?”
He groaned, running both hands through his hair. When he met my eyes again, his looked tortured. “Do you know how many women have tried to get in my pants since Sabrina? A lot. I’m not gloating, I’m not puffing out my chest. I mean it. And every single one was so easy to say no to. I don’t even know you, Esmaie, and saying no to you was so hard.” He pointed at me, as I sat there with my lips parted in shock. “You can’t just show up, with your cute fucking face, and your messed-up sense of humor, and your long ass legs, and tell me some bullshit about forever. That wasn’t cool. Because whatever you did scrambled my head. Take it back,” he whispered harshly.
“I wasn’t trying to get in your pants.” Why was I panting? My lungs reached desperately for air, making each breath shallow and quick. He looked wild, angry, and so unbearably gorgeous I wanted him to take me on this table right now. Show the couple in the back that there were different kinds of intimacy. Some kinds were fucked up and we didn’t care.
“Take. It. Back.” He rose slightly in his chair, towering over me as best he could in the compacted booth.
I held his eyes bravely. “Give me a chance.”
“No,” he growled, low in his chest.
“You want to, that’s why you can’t let this go. You know what we’ll be. You’re a dumb jock and I’m a silly dreamer, but there’s so much more to us than that.”
He sank back down roughly, grabbing his menu up and glaring murderously down at it. “I’m going to be a dick to you until you push me away.”
“No, you’re not.”
He sighed sadly. “No,” he agreed, “I’m not.” And then he looked at me, face open, heart breaking. “You get a month. A month of us to see if that bullshit speech of yours holds any validity.”
I swallowed hard, my chest near exploding. “You’re being crazy romantic right now.”
He rolled his eyes. “I can already foresee you being the biggest pain in my ass. Sabrina wasn’t a pain in my ass. Why is everything you do different from her?”
“Do you want me to be like her?” For some reason, that made me sad for his ex. And for me. “What you had with her was special, right?” He nodded without hesitation. “Why would I want to replace any of that? Why would I want to take that from her? She’s still yours. Always will be. I just want a chance to show you that you can be in two hearts at once.”
“Don’t be cool about this.” He glared darkly at me, his pain so deep it turned his eyes into dark, blue midnight.
“I will always be cool about this and Sabrina.”
He cringed. “Don’t say her name. Not on your lips.” He slid to the edge of his seat and put his face closer. “What are the odds? Tomorrow is September first.”
“And there’s exactly thirty days in September.” I grinned.
He grumbled under his breath and sat back just as a waitress came to take our orders. We both ordered the same thing—insert fate here—and two coffees, and then we were left once again to navigate this horrible plain of embarrassment and heartbreak.
Ideally, he was just being nice. Giving me a chance so he could cut ties without feeling guilty. I wasn’t being nice. He warred with himself. I’d fight right back.
I reached my hand across the table, palm side up. He studied my hand, and then my eyes, and then my hand again before hesitantly placing his palm to mine. The moment our skin touched, I felt that missing piece in me radiate from his touch.
The dumb jock had no idea we were meant to be.
He let my hand go and gave the waitress setting down our coffees a grateful look.
I ripped open sugar packets and watched the crystal granules tumble into the rich, dark liquid. It was porn-worthy watching the cream swirl in the cup, lightening the coffee. I took a sip and moaned, closing my eyes as I had a moment of pure, untainted bliss. My hangover immediately dissipated. I opened my eyes and felt hope when Wade was still sitting there, staring at me.
His coffee was still black.
***
“I have practice in
an hour,” Wade informed me outside of our house. He put his truck in park and gazed out his window. “Want to come? Sabrina loved watching me play.”
Truthfully, watching him run up and down a field for hours should sound appealing. But it sounded like I’d be stuck in the heat all by myself instead. “No thanks.”
“Too bad. That’s something I miss. All the other guys have had their girlfriends at the practices and games for years. I can’t stand hating them for it anymore. You’re coming. I just need to change and grab my gym bag. You want me to get you anything?”
That wasn’t fair of him. Pulling on my heart strings. “My Kindle?”
His lips twitched. “Where is it?”
“It should be on my nightstand. I like to read before bed.”
“Read what?”
“Books…?” Duh.
“No, what genre? Smutty romance novels, or sci-fi? That sort of thing.”
“First of all, how do you know about smut?”
He laughed. “My sister Joanna loves to read. She talks my ears off. You have no idea how hard it was sharing a room with her in high school when she was obsessed with Edward Cullen.”
I laughed with him. “Edward wasn’t smut, though. He was beautiful.” Now I knew why he knew about Harry Potter.
“Sure, if sparkly immortal stalkers are your thing.”
“They are,” I grumbled, miffed he’d gone there. “Do you have practice, or not?”
“Answer the question.”
“I don’t know, Wade. I love reading everything. Romance, young-adult, new-adult, historical, erotica… magic doesn’t stop at one genre.”
He blinked, staring at me for an uncomfortable second, and then a slow, indulgent smile curled his lips into a dazzling crooked grin. “I don’t even know what half of that is. Be right back.”
I watched him jog through the lawn and up the walkway for the front door. He returned a few minutes later wearing soccer gear, with my e-reader in the same hand his gym bag was in. I put it in my purse as he backed out of the driveway.
The Jock and the Dreamer Page 4
