Forgiving the Football Player

by Emma St Clair

  Pax clenched his fist under the table. “Everything’s changed. She doesn’t want me anymore.”

  Elton gave an exasperated bark of laughter. “You can’t be serious. Oh. You are serious.” Sighing, Elton sank into a chair across the table and leaned forward, catching Pax’s gaze. “I get that you had it rough growing up. A professional could probably say it better, but your family made you used to people leaving. Not loving you. Not caring, no matter what you did. That’s what you expect. Then you’ve got Mr. Worthington telling you that you aren’t good enough. Add in the guilt you feel and it’s one heck of a cocktail.”

  “What’s your hourly rate, doctor? Or is the head examination free with room and board?” Pax didn’t mean to sound so bitter. The words seemed to slide right off Elton, who relaxed back into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I watched the interview, man. Well, the version that went viral before it got pulled. How’d your PR guy like that, by the way?”

  “It did not go over well.”

  That was an understatement. Lawrence had spent a solid ten minutes yelling at him while Pax shaved. He didn’t know what Lawrence expected him to do when the idiot he’d sent to interview them had been an ignorant ableist. If Cilla hadn’t wanted to fight the battle herself with words, Pax would have slugged the guy two questions in.

  Only the bootlegged version had been made public, posted on YouTube only to be taken down one day and almost one million views later. Probably after threats from the entertainment company. Pax had heard that Kugs was given a temporary leave.

  “I’ll bet.” Elton grinned. “Nice job. Our girl sure gave it to him.”

  Pax bristled at the “our girl” comment but didn’t offer a correction. A few days with Cilla and his inner caveman was already coming out? Wow.

  “Anyway,” Elton said. “The point is that the chemistry between the two of you, even when she’s pushing you away and you’re hanging your head like a bad dog, is off the charts. The thing about you and Cilla is that when it comes down to it, you’re just alike. You’re in love with each other, hurt, and terrified to put yourself out there. So, your stupid solution is to shove each other away. She. Loves. You. The end.”

  “But I—”

  Elton held up his hands and stood, crossing the room to the back door. “Session’s over, man. I’ve done all I can. It’s time for you to man up. That dance should be a great opportunity. Enjoy. And whatever you do, don’t run again. Even if she tries to make you.”

  Pax had never been so nervous before a dance. His main goal while waiting for Cilla to arrive was not to throw up. Especially with Elton’s words spinning in his mind. He loved Cilla. No big revelation there. He’d known the truth for years, even if he had tried to pretend it wasn’t true. It was in every beat of his heart, most of the thoughts in his head, and under his skin by way of the ink across his chest.

  But did Cilla love him? In spite of the years between them, in spite of his walking away. Even if she did, was it possible to stop the cycle of push and pull they were on?

  He planned to do his part to break the unhealthy pattern. Starting tonight. Pacing the lobby again, Pax wished that Cilla would have let him pick her up. But he suspected she was trying to make this night as un-date-like as possible. Too bad. Because he intended to make every effort to sweep her off her feet. Literally, if she would let him.

  One thing he discovered in all his research on YouTube and Google was that some wheelchair users liked being held out of their chair for slow dances. He didn’t know if Cilla would go for it, but he intended to ask. He’d been able to work in a tux fitting and even picked up a rose wrist corsage.

  Now he just needed her to show up.

  The event was in full swing through the double doors, music and laughter trailing out into the lobby. Standing there while he waited meant that Pax constantly got stopped by fans on the way in. Some had even come prepared, hoping to see him after the uptick in press that week about him and Wheels Up. He’d signed photographs, footballs, and jerseys for people in their formal dresses and jewelry, all with one eye trained on the entrance.

  Pulling out his phone to check for messages, Pax noted that Cilla was forty-five minutes late. Maybe he should go.

  No sooner than the thought crossed his mind, the automatic doors whooshed open. And like a movie, Pax turned to see Cilla coming through the door. The air in the room shifted right along with his heart.

  What he noticed first wasn’t the shimmering emerald gown or the way it caught the lights like it was beaded with diamonds. It wasn’t the way her arms flexed with every push against the wheels of her chair, showcasing her lean strength. Or her honey-colored hair, cascading in waves over her shoulders.

  He saw all those things but almost as though through an unfocused gaze. All his attention fell on the brilliant blue of her eyes. Cilla had always worn makeup, but it usually looked more natural. Tonight, she’d gone with something darker and more dramatic that set off her blue eyes even from across the lobby. Pax didn’t even realize his feet were moving at first, as though her eyes were a gravitational force, pulling him into their orbit.

  “Hi,” Cilla said, her voice soft. Almost shy. She spun her chair, doing a quick, full twirl as he neared her. The dress flared out around her feet, its beading sparkling under the lights.

  Pax swallowed, doing his best to admire without staring too long at her creamy skin and the shine on her full lips. The dress dipped in at the waist and hinted at the curves below. Enough that his mouth grew dry.

  “You look incredible.” Pax’s voice came out rough and raw, revealing far too much about how he felt. “Beautiful.”

  Cilla’s cheeks pinkened, and she fought back a smile. “Thank you. Is that for me? Looks like you’re taking out some frustration on it.” She pointed to the corsage, which Pax had almost crushed in his fist.

  “Yes. Sorry.” He grimaced and did his best to straighten it out. A few petals fell to the floor.

  Cilla giggled and held out her wrist. “I love it. What’s left of it. Just put it on, dummy.”

  Pax couldn’t believe that his hands were shaking so much. Shaking and sweating. He slipped the corsage over her wrist. His skin felt hyperaware, even noting the flutter of Cilla’s pulse under his fingertips. He wanted to lift her wrist to his mouth and press a kiss to the smooth skin.

  Cilla looked him up and down. “You look amazing in a tux. Wow. Almost as good as in those football pants.”

  A slow smile overtook Pax’s face. “You like the way I look in my football pants.”

  Shrugging, Cilla’s mouth tipped up into a smirk. “Not even going to try and deny it.”

  A flash startled them both. An event photographer stood close, Anita behind him. “We’d love to get some official shots of our celebrity founder for the website.”

  “Of course,” Cilla said, turning so that she was next to Pax, facing the photographer. He hated the interruption of what had turned into a sweet, flirty moment. But the sooner they paid their dues with Anita, hopefully they could escape her and head inside.

  Pax felt awkward towering over Cilla as the photographer took shot after shot. But would bending down make her feel like a child? He didn’t want to assume anything. Best to ask her.

  “Hang on,” Pax said, holding up a finger to the photographer. He bent toward Cilla and spoke quietly. “For something like this, what’s the best way for me to be? Should I stand or something else? You tell me what you’d like.”

  Cilla smiled and touched his hand. Her eyes were soft, appreciative. “I’m good with anything. Though you are kind of a giant. You could stand behind me with your hands on my shoulders. Or—” She paused and licked her lips. “You could tip me back and give me a kiss.”

  A kiss?

  The day before she’d been still punishing him. Then she ignored him. Now they were kissing?

  Pax wouldn’t say no to that. Whatever she offered, he would take. Completely ignoring both Anita and the photograp
her as the camera began to flash again, Pax bent down, tilting Cilla back with one hand behind her back and another holding the front of the chair.

  “You sure about this?” he murmured, pausing inches from her lips. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from them.

  “No. And yes.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

  That was enough for Paxton. Erasing the gap between them, he let his mouth cover hers. Their kiss a few days before had been tentative, testing and seeking. This one held all the passion that had been dancing just below Pax’s skin for days. Her lips answered his, and they moved together in a soft, heated dance. It felt like both a homecoming and a battle.

  “Might be a little much for the press release,” Anita said with a forced laugh.

  Pax pulled back, setting Cilla’s chair flat again and drawing up to his full height. His head felt light, and energy buzzed over his skin. Cilla blinked up at him, her eyes dark and her cheeks and neck flushed.

  She smoothed her hair and dress before she turned to address Anita. “If you don’t like them, then don’t use the photos. But please send me a link. I’ll happily buy copies. Ready to head inside, Pax?”

  He could only nod. The kiss had stolen all of his rational thoughts. He didn’t know how she could even be aware enough to spar with Anita, though he loved that she could. Letting his fingertips graze over her shoulder, he let Cilla lead him toward the open doors of the main ballroom of the event center. Her smooth skin broke out in goose bumps. He smiled, seeing the effect of his touch.

  Cilla paused inside the doorway. “Wow. This is amazing.”

  Pax wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t pointed it out. They could have been in a gas station for all he cared. His whole focus was on Cilla. He followed her gaze as it swept over the room. Silver helium balloons bobbed against the ceiling, reflecting the twinkling lights hanging across the room. White cloth-covered tables surrounded the large wooden dance floor at the center of the room, each with a spray of flowers and grouping of candles at the center. A band at the front transformed pop songs into something a little more sophisticated.

  “Was this your doing?” he asked, his attention unabashedly on her lips. As they curved into a teasing smile, his heart struggled to beat its way out of his chest.

  “Oh no. No one would ever put me in charge of a fancy ball. Shouldn’t you know me better than that, Pax?”

  Pax couldn’t stand here, making small talk and flirtatious banter. The kiss from a few moments ago had done nothing but crowd his mind. Now his thoughts were wild and tangled. His lips burned, aching for more of her. More than simply her touch, he yearned for her. In a primal way, he wanted to mark her, to know that she was his. The way he had marked himself as hers with the tattoo over his heart.

  Crouching next to Cilla, Pax took her hands, the flower petals on the corsage tickling his wrist. She glanced at him, eyes wide as they darted over his face.

  “Cilla. Before we go any further, I need to say this.” Pax licked his lips, which felt as dry as paper, ready to burn at a single touch from her. “This isn’t fake. Not for me. It’s hard for me to understand what it is that you want. From moment to moment, the signals seem to change. But I would like for this to be a real date. Tonight, this is real.”

  She blinked at him, and he could practically see the thoughts spinning behind her eyes. Her fingers felt so small in his. She was the most precious thing he had ever touched.

  He spoke quickly. “If you don’t want that as well, tell me now rather than stringing me along. I’ll still stay. I’ll pretend, like you wanted. But I’d like for this to be a real date.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed again. He waited, the seconds stretching out between them. “Yes,” she said finally. He thought she’d say more, but she simply gave a firm nod of her head and a tentative smile. “Yes. A real date it is.”

  Pax grinned, feeling tension releasing from where he carried it in his shoulders. He stood, and she pulled her hands away. Feeling bold and reckless, Pax stood held out his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

  “Oh, you dance now?” That teasing smile was back.

  “Still not well. But I will. For you.”

  Her smile was brilliant, making the light in her blue eyes shimmer. “It can be a little tricky with the chair.”

  Pax cleared his throat and stared down at her hands. They were so small and delicate in his. “I watched some YouTube videos.”

  “You did?” Her voice tilted up at the end with surprise or appreciation. Maybe both.

  “It may not help. My dancing skills have not improved.”

  “But think of it this way: you can’t step on my feet. Sorry. Wheelchair humor.”

  Pax laughed, a deep belly laugh that made a few people look over. Cilla’s laugh spilled out and she took one of her hands back to cover her mouth.

  “Get me out there on the floor, big guy. Let’s cut a rug. Where do you think that expression came from?”

  Pax stood, again letting her lead as his hands lingered on her bare shoulders. “I have no idea. We’ll Google it later. After the rug has been cut. Right now, that’s the last thing on my mind.”

  “Oh?” she said, spinning to face him as they reached a spot on the floor. “What is on your mind?”

  “You. Only you.”

  She beamed up at him and took one of his hands again. It took a few minutes to find their rhythm—who was Pax kidding? He still had no rhythm—and how to move together. Pax had always hated dancing. On the football field or in the ring, he had full control of his body. Dance moves looked awkward and wrong on him. And with his size, he always drew attention, making him all-too aware of his terrible dancing. In high school they had always gone in groups so she could dance with friends to the fast songs, while Pax talked to other guys on the team, waiting for the slow songs.

  Tonight, he couldn’t find it in him to care if he looked stupid and couldn’t find the beat to save his life. He ignored the eyes on them, whether people watched because of who he was, how poorly they danced, or because Cilla drew their attention. She certainly captured all of his.

  Cilla smiled at him, using one hand to maneuver her chair. He held her hand, following her lead. Maybe dancing wasn’t so bad. Not when he got to hold her hand and see her smile. She had invited him to kiss her. She had said yes to a real date. Nothing could dampen his joy in these simple, yet enormous, facts.

  They couldn’t really talk over the music, but Pax didn’t mind the reprieve from conversation. Her smile held none of the shadows or sharpness that he’d seen earlier in the week. But he wouldn’t be surprised if she flipped back to her default setting of anger. She felt like a wild animal to him, ready to flee or fight at the slightest provocation. Pax wanted to believe that this smiling and happy version wasn’t some mask she had slipped on.

  Could he believe in this moment? Could he trust this to be real? Too long he had been doing just what Elton had said—punishing himself. He knew a big part of him didn’t feel that he deserved good things. He certainly didn’t deserve Cilla.

  When a slow song came on, Pax’s hands clenched at his sides. He had told himself he would at least ask if she wanted to dance in his arms. At worst, Cilla would say no or find his question offensive. He’d already put himself out there when they walked in.

  He took a deep breath. Leaning close, he met her gaze and asked, “Would you be willing to dance with me?”

  She glanced around the floor. “We are dancing.”

  “No,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “Could I hold you? Um, out of the chair.”

  Cilla’s shoulders dipped, and Pax couldn’t quite read the expression on her face as her chin tipped forward. Finally, she nodded. “Let me leave my chair by a table.”

  Pax followed as she wheeled to an empty table nearby. Her hands fluttered in her lap, clasping and unclasping. “We don’t have to,” Pax said. “It’s your choice.”

  “No,” she said.

  His stomach dropped to his fe
et. “That’s fine.”

  Cilla touched his arm and met his gaze, her eyes soft. “I meant, no—it’s fine. I’d like to. Sorry. I’m a grown-up. I can use words. Sometimes.”

  Pax chuckled and then realized he didn’t know exactly how to pick her up. As if realizing his dilemma, she leaned forward, lifting her arms toward him. “Let me grab you around the neck. You can, um, put an arm around my waist or below my butt. Kind of like earlier this week when I threw myself at you. You know, when this whole fake dating thing started.”

  “But it’s real tonight,” Pax said, holding her gaze until she nodded.

  Swallowing down his nerves, Pax bent down, letting her clasp her hands around his neck. When she had a firm hold, he scooped a hand under her legs to carry her to the edge of the dance floor. When they reached it, Pax shifted his hold so that Cilla’s body aligned with the front of his. He kept one arm around her lower back and his other forearm just below her backside. The position was less awkward than he imagined, and the way her body molded to his sent memories cascading through his mind.

  Homecoming, late October their sophomore year. It was their first official public date, only a few weeks after Cilla found him pummeling the tree with his fists. She had been planning to go with someone else as friends but explained the situation and managed to set the guy up with Adele. Pax remembered the way his breath caught when he picked Cilla up, and the way his pulse raced when he held her close during the very first slow dance. She had kissed his neck, just once, and the memory of that kiss still stayed with him.

  Almost as much as the memory of their kiss from earlier, which still had his skin buzzing.

  There were two more Homecomings after the first, plus senior prom. A couple of random dances whose names Pax couldn’t remember, but Cilla probably would. She had led the movement on the floor with the sway of her hips. Pax simply followed her. Since that moment they met, that’s how it had been. Where Cilla went, he followed.