Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hunter
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Lucas all week. I’ve looked at his text a million times but can’t seem to make myself respond.
I’m sorry.
I need to answer but don’t know what to say… I liked what we did. You felt good. I like spending time with you. I’m sorry I walked out.
All those are true, but they don’t feel like what I should be saying. What’s even the point of this? It won’t go anywhere. How can it? Coach Blake would never understand. It’s all people would talk about—Coach Blake’s second son is now fucking Hunter King just like the first one did? I’d be a joke.
But even more important is what it would do to my brain, to my heart. How can I touch Lucas the way I used to touch Ellis? And what does it say about me that I want to?
I don’t know how I’ve managed to keep my head in football all week, but somehow, I have. Through film and practice and studying for our upcoming game this Sunday, there have only been two things on my mind: football and Lucas.
Now it’s Saturday, and we’re flying out for our next game, his text pulled up on my screen. I owe him a response, even if it’s just that I can’t do that again, but then I worry we won’t spend time together anymore, and I don’t want that either. Being with Lucas has made me feel more like myself than I have in a long time, but he also makes me feel like I’m discovering aspects of myself I didn’t know existed, ones I’m curious to learn more about.
I put my phone away just as Oakley shifts position in the seat beside me. “Do you ever fucking sleep?” he asks, his voice husky and playful.
“I’ve been playing with you for years, and you’re still not used to the fact that I don’t sleep on planes?” I tease, trying to hide how my head’s all fucked up.
“I don’t get it, man. As soon as I sit down, I’m out like a baby.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. You’ve got a busier life at home than me, though,” I say. “How’s Tiana?” I ask about his daughter, and Oakley beams.
“She’s so cool, man. She started in this flag football league, and she’s a little terror. No one fucks with her.”
I laugh. “And Serena.”
His gaze darts away unexpectedly. “She’s good too,” is all he says, and I can’t help but wonder if everything is okay with them.
He tries to stay awake for the rest of the flight, but it doesn’t work. When we get to the hotel, the team shares a meal, and then we have a team meeting and go over film one more time before the game tomorrow.
“You’re not texting,” Oakley says from the bed next to mine. He just got done talking to Serena and Tiana, and everything seemed okay, so I figured I was imagining things earlier.
“Huh?”
“The past few weeks, you’ve been texting a lot. You’re not now. I thought maybe you…” He lets the words hang in the air, like he’s unsure if he should set them free.
My gut knots up, tangles in a big fucking ball. Not only did he notice, but it’s like he knows there’s something more there.
“No. I’m not,” I say, the words not completely honest, considering I walked out on Lucas and know I can’t touch him like that again. I don’t even know what I would want from him. Just sex and friendship? That thought is…nice. Different from my friendship and hookups with Haven, though, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.
“Shit, man. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Everyone thinks I should move on, but I don’t know how to do that, not after everything. “I’m gonna hit the sack.”
Oakley opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. I say a quiet thank-you for that.
*
I’m completely in the zone. It’s like my brain understands the assignment in a way it hasn’t for a long time and is able to compartmentalize Lucas as something to deal with after these four quarters of football.
We start out on defense, and unfortunately, Miami scores their first time down the field, then ends the play with the extra point, leaving us at 0–7. Adrenaline pumps through my body, making me feel jittery but also somehow laser-focused. I need this game tonight. I need to be able to play, despite the way I’ve royally fucked up my personal life.
I end up on the block for our QB as he passes the ball to our tight end, who barrels through the defense for an addition of seven yards. We run a similar play the second time, chipping at the yards, working our way down the field. On the third, there’s a long pass to one of our wide receivers, the ball slipping through his fingers, just slightly short. “Motherfucker!” I shout, not at anyone, but at the situation. Miami doesn’t let up, and we end the run with only a field goal.