by Lily Cahill
“Hey, Dad.”
“How’d it go today?” he asks, without even a greeting.
“Good,” I say, forcing cheer into my voice.
“Just good? How is that Sawyer kid throwing?”
I hesitate, which tells my father everything. “Shit. Riley, I’m worried that we made the wrong choice about staying at MSU. I wish I could be there to see what’s really going on.”
“Yeah, but you’re not,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’m here. This is my life, my future.”
“Yeah, but we’re a team, son. I want to see you succeed.”
I suck in a breath. “You want to see me succeed in football.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t care about anything else.”
“That’s not true,” Dad says.
“Yes, it is. You never ask me about my classes or my friends. All you care about is that I make the NFL, so I can live out your dreams.”
I’ve never said this to my dad before, but if feels like such a relief to finally say it. To clear it out of my chest.
“Riley—”
“Look, I’m sick of it! Sick of your expectations. What happens if I fail, dad? What happens then?”
I don’t wait for an answer, just click the phone off. My dad calls back almost immediately, but I send it to voicemail. I can’t take any more pressure tonight. All I want is to see my girl and let tomorrow take care of itself.
I take a deep breath as I approach the house, trying to calm the frustration bubbling inside me. Lilah texted me that she left the door unlocked and that I should come right in.
“Lilah?” I call into the dark rooms.
“Back here,” she calls. I follow the light coming from her bedroom and the faint tinkling of music. The rest of the house is dark and silent, and it hits me that maybe Gamma isn’t here. But who knows—everything feels so mixed up right now. I’m already feeling bad about hanging up on my dad, and I should really call him back after I’ve settled down.
Then I turn into Lilah’s room, and every thought drains out of my head.
She’s lying in her bed, which would have been enough by itself to get my dick hard. We’ve had sex standing, sitting, braced against a wall, inside, outside, and in the back of my truck … but never in an honest-to-goodness bed. She’s curled against soft pillows in a pool of golden light, and she looks so gorgeous she almost isn’t real.
But that isn’t all. She was wearing a Mustangs jersey. My Mustangs jersey, with my number on the front. I’m not an egotistical guy, but seeing her curvy body tucked inside my jersey has a primal pleasure rising inside me.
Mine.
“Hi, Riley,” she says, her voice sultry. She trails one hand up her bare leg, her red fingernails contrasting with the umber of her skin. Her lips are red too, sleek and pouty, and she has done something to her eyes to make them bigger and sleepier. Her mohawk is thick and curly, and I can’t wait to get my hands in it.
“Hi,” I breathe, trying to take her in all at once. “You look incredible.”
She licks her lips and smiles. “I figured, with the big game tomorrow, you might need a little extra encouragement.”
I nod, still feeling dumb. “Your grandma’s not here?”
Lilah shakes her head, then scoots over a bit on the bed to make room for me.
I nearly trip trying to kick off my shoes and strip off my pants at the same time. I toss a couple of condoms on the dresser, grinning when Lilah raises her eyebrows. “I’m going to need a lot of encouragement,” I say, pulling my shirt over my head and dropping it on the floor. She reaches out for me as I walk naked toward the bed. Mentally, I take a photo of that moment—my woman, welcoming me.
I sigh as I settle in against her. My cock is already rock hard, but all I want for the moment is to be close to her. She is so soft, so warm. Underneath the desire, there is bone-deep comfort that comes from simply being in her arms.
She’s wearing some musky scent that teases my senses, drawing my nose to her neck and throat. She laughs as I nuzzle into her and throws her leg over mine, trying to draw me closer. “My bed’s not very big.”
“But it’s a bed,” I say, stretching luxuriously. My feet are hanging off the end, but I’m used to that. “I finally got you in a bed.”
She bites her lip and looks away from me. “I’m sorry that I don’t feel comfortable in your dorm. We could have been in a bed all along, but—”
“Hey. You don’t need to apologize for anything.” I stroke my hand over her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin. “But you should come over sometime. If nothing else, you can check out my collection of carvings.”
She presses her lips together and nods. “I can do that. I’m sorry that I’ve been so stubborn about it. It’s just, with Natalie ….” She shakes her head, frowning. “It felt disrespectful to her, somehow. But that’s just foolish. If I want to be in your life, I should see how you live.”
I nudge her with my forehead, wanting to see her smile again. “So you want to be part of my life?”
She nods, something like a plea in her eyes.
“That’s what I want too,” I say, my voice thick. “I want you in every part of my life.”
I kiss her as her lips start to turn up. It’s slow, languorous. We’re savoring each other. I run my hands over the surface of the jersey, molding the curves of her body.
She purrs with pleasure and runs her hands over me in turn. Her lips leave mine and trail down my chin, my throat, sending shivers down my spine. “Lilah,” I whisper, for the simple pleasure of saying her name.
She pushes at me until I lay on my back, and she kneels beside me. It gives her hands the freedom to run over my chest and shoulders while her mouth kisses hot trails over my chest. I moan when she tweaks my nipple between her fingers, then gasp when she takes the other with her teeth. My hips thrust up involuntarily, desperate for attention. “You’re killing me,” I manage to gasp.
She lifts her mouth from my chest and kisses me again, deep and dirty. At the same time, she strokes her hand down the center of my abs and takes my cock in her grip. I gasp into her mouth as she begins to stroke the whole length of me, rubbing the head with her thumb.
“Oh, baby,” I groan, letting my legs fall open. “That feels so good.”
“I can do better,” she purrs, resettling herself between my legs. Keeping her eyes on mine, she takes my cock between her bright red lips.
“Fuck, Lilah. You’re always beautiful, but you look so gorgeous with my cock in your mouth.”
I can see from the way her eyes fly to mine that she’s shocked, but that she’s also turned on. Her ass is in the air now as she leans down to work on me with her mouth and hands. She knows exactly how to keep me on the edge, speeding up and slowing down until I’m desperate to come.
As if she can hear my thoughts, she rises up until she’s sitting on her knees. She pulls off the jersey, revealing that she’s gloriously naked underneath but for a pair of cotton MSU panties.
I stroke her ass, tracing the team logo. “Baby. For me?”
“For you,” she confirms, turning so I can admire the way they cut high on her ass.
I pull her down next to me and roll on top so our positions are reversed. It’s my turn to run my hands all over body, to use my mouth on her hard nipples. She’s squirming and moaning by the time I peel off those soaked panties and position myself between her legs, rolling a condom into place.
I take a second to appreciate the way she looks, sprawled out against the rumpled sheets. Her breasts heaving, her eyes glittering with desire. I take my cock in hand and rub the tip of it against her clit, making her moan and cry. She’s so slick, so ready. And still I tease her, driving her desperate body, until she clutches at my shoulders and begs me to fuck her.
When I finally sink into her, it’s as if there’s no world beyond this bed. No breath beyond the breath we share. Her eyes flutter open, her pupils wide and focused on my face. In tha
t moment, all her defenses are down. I can see into her, see the love inside me reflected in her.
It’s so much, too much, so I kiss her. That just makes the feeling spiral out and radiate through my entire body. I’m pumping inside her, driving us both closer to madness, and yet my heart feels like it’s swelling to the breaking point. Her kiss is like a gift, like she’s giving some part of herself to me in a way she hasn’t before. Something in me breaks open to her, something that will never be whole again without her.
She tears her mouth from mine to cry out. I bury my face in her neck and follow.
Chpater Nineteen
Lilah
MY DOUBLE BED HAS NEVER been this crowded, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Riley makes up for taking up the vast majority of my bed by holding me as close as possible. He has a sleepy smile on his face, his eyes closed, his hair mussed. Love hits me like a fist in the chest.
There’s no going back now. I’ve been falling for a long time—probably since that first day of class, when he pissed me off so much. I should have known then that my reaction to him was more than the usual.
Now, here we are, tangled up in the bed where I’ve never brought a man. I spent money to please him that should have been in my savings account. I went to a football game, for God’s sake. I’m definitely in deep. I lay my hand over his chest so I can feel the strong, steady beat of his heart.
Normally, this would be the part where I freak out. I’ve had previous relationships that I had to end because they got too real. There aren’t a lot of people who have been in my life for the long term. My Gamma. Natalie, until she died. But no guys. I’ve always felt like there was no point investing in a relationship that would inevitably end.
But this thing with Riley … for the first time in my life, I’m really willing to make it work. My grandmother was right, he’s worth compromising for. He has already changed my life by making me rethink how much I hate football players. I know now that I blamed the whole team for something only a few of them did. And I believe Riley when he says the team culture has changed. It feels good to let go of my anger. It makes me realize that Natalie wouldn’t have wanted me to carry it in the first place.
For most of my life, I’ve avoided opening up to people. I pour all my emotions into my art to keep myself from saying them out loud. But I’m ready to do things differently. Riley is a wonderful man. He won’t hurt me, he won’t leave me. Look at how hard I’ve tried to push him away! Now I’m ready to pull him in, hold on tight. I’m ready to open my heart to him, my life, my everything.
“What happened to the carving?”
Oh, it was just too perfect. I got an email from Marty earlier in the evening while I was waiting for Riley, and I couldn’t wait to share my news. Well, I could wait a little while. Now Riley can see how much faith I have in him, how I’m willing to work on his behalf.
“That’s the next surprise,” I say, snuggling him closer. “I was offered five grand for your piece.”
He pushes me back so he can see my face. “What?”
“I took your piece to the Melee Gallery, where I sell most of my work. Marty Carlson—he’s the guy who normally teaches the art class—he flipped over the piece. He said he’d buy it from me on the spot.”
“Five grand? Five thousand dollars?”
“Isn’t that great?” I ask, wiggling with glee. “I mean, I knew you were good. But if you can command this sort of price now, think of how much you’ll be able to make when you’re established. Marty said that if you had enough work, he’d build a whole show around you!”
Where I expected him to whoop with joy, his face darkens. “You sold it?”
“No, Riley, I’m proving to you that you can make money as an artist. You don’t have to play football!”
This last part probably comes out a little too pleased. Riley’s serious brown eyes go molten with anger. “Jesus, are we still on this? When are you going to get over this? Every other girl I’ve dated loved that I was a football player.”
“I’m not like every girl,” I say, resenting the comparison but trying to keep my temper in check. “If you want to play football, that’s fine, but—”
“Fine?” he scoffs, putting space between our naked bodies. “Do you have any idea how hard I’m working? How much this matters to me?”
“If course I know,” I say, desperate to get back on solid ground. “I just wanted you to know that you have options. You talk about it like it’s the NFL or nothing, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Tell that to my father.”
I don’t know what to say. “Can’t you see,” I try tentatively, “this is an alternative. You could have a different kind of life.”
His gaze, which had been fixed on the empty bookshelf where his piece had been, returns to mine. “Your kind of life?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Digging up your feelings so you can sell them?”
“That’s not what I do,” I say, though part of me wonders if it isn’t the truth. “Besides, what I do with my work is my business.”
“Yeah, right. But business has been shitty, hasn’t it? You told me yourself. I bet that five grand helped, huh? How much do you think you’ll get from the little figurines upstairs?”
How can he believe that I would sell anything he’s given me? The thought makes me sick. “It was an offer. I didn’t take it. Marty asked if he could keep it overnight and take some pictures.”
“You didn’t sell it.”
“No.”
He exhales hard. “And you’re not going to?”
“Not unless you decide you want to. But Riley, like I said—you could make some real money. You could have a career.”
“Because the career I have now isn’t good enough?”
“Riley,” I say, my voice breaking as he rolls out of bed and starts dressing. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Seriously, Lilah. Do you have any idea how many girls would kill to be with a football player?” He punches his arms through the sleeves of his shirt.
“Is that what Jeremy Hudson used to say?” I instantly regret the low blow, but I’m angry now too. Why isn’t he listening to me?
Riley’s shoulders stiffen with shock. “Right, I forgot. Because we’re all rapists, we’re all monsters. We’re all exactly the same.”
“That’s not—”
“Look, I’m tired of the explanations, the excuses. You’d do anything to get me away from football. Why can’t you understand how much it means to me?”
I hug my arms around my naked body. Only minutes ago, we’d been close and warm. Now he feels like he’s across an unbridgeable gulf. “I don’t want to lose you. I can get over it. I’m getting over it.”
“If you weren’t so stubborn in the first place, there wouldn’t even be a problem.”
I am stubborn, and I don’t consider it a flaw. “You don’t get to tell me how to live my life.”
“Oh, but you get to tell me how to live mine? Everything is on your terms, in your space, in your time. I feel like I’m being pulled in a thousand directions, and it’s killing me.” He shakes his head, turning away from me. “I thought you were different. I thought you saw me, really saw me.”
“I do, Riley.” I follow him out of bed, naked and vulnerable. Taking a chance, I lay my hand on his tense back. “I see you.”
He shakes me off. My heart falls as quickly as my hand. “Please, Riley. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
He turns to me, and the pain in his eyes lances me. “You’re just another person who wants to tell me what to do with my life. You can’t accept me as I am. And I’m starting to wonder if you ever will.”
The world tilts on its axis as he walks out the door. I call out to him, my voice cracking on his name. But the only answer is the slam of the front door.
After Riley leaves, I sink to the floor with my arms wrapped tightly around myself. Hot tears are spilling from
my eyes even as my skin prickles with cold, but I can’t think of anything but the searing pain inside me. My mind feels shattered, every thought causing a new wound. How did it all go so wrong?
This is why I’ve always been careful with my emotions. Loving someone is like spinning a web between two souls. You may be stronger together, but it doesn’t take much to shred the connections. That’s how I feel inside—shredded, laid open, lost. Riley. I hurt Riley, and he hurt me.
A single thought pierces through the pain. This is how I know I’m in love with him. My heart is crying out to him, begging for him to come back so we can hurt each other some more.
I can hear the empty house echoing around me. If I were to call my grandmother, she would come home to comfort me. But I don’t want to talk to her; I don’t want to confess how badly I fucked things up. How badly I always fuck things up. Hiccuping, I tip over onto my side, pulling the blanket from the bed to wrap around my shoulders.
I didn’t meant to hurt him. But I assumed that he would be as thrilled as I was with the idea of living as an artist. I deliberately ignored the things he said about how much football means to him because I didn’t want it to be true. He was clear that he wasn’t interested in making money off of his art. Just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t respect it. At the moment, I don’t have much respect for myself.
Was he right? Was I selling pieces of my soul away?
I’ve never liked looking at my own work. I can’t help but be critical; I’m not bad, but I can always get better. More than that, it’s that looking at my own paintings makes me think of the pieces of myself I scraped off or broke away in order to make the work possible. The thoughts and feelings that fill a landscape with energy, or intensity, or yearning. I let myself feel them, feel every brutal centimeter of those emotions, so I can remove them from myself. Once a painting is done, I want it gone.
But Riley is wrong if he thinks it’s inherently wrong to make money off my paintings. Those paintings kept food on our table when Gamma couldn’t work and the medical bills were looming. How dare he judge me for that? I want him here, so I can yell at him for it.
