“Thanks, Shelley,” he says as he breaks it in half and hands me a piece. “This is Bex, my girlfriend.”
Shelley holds out her hand for a shake, her eyes crinkling when James drops a kiss to the top of my head. I’m blushing, but I don’t mind much. I can’t stop staring at the incredible marble countertops and the industrial-sized refrigerator.
He takes me upstairs, walking past a series of doors. Sebastian’s room, Cooper’s room, Izzy’s room. Two guest bedrooms. I peer into one of them. It looks cozy enough to spend a few nights in, piled with throw pillows and a thick quilt. For some reason, there’s a painting of a cow on the wall opposite the bed. I’d gotten more of a coastal-chic vibe from the rest of the decor, which feels fitting for a house only minutes from the beach.
James reaches around me to shut the door. “You’re not sleeping there.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What about your parents?”
“We’re adults. They know we’re sleeping together.” He entwines his fingers in mine and tugs me down to the end of the hallway. “No point in pretending.”
He opens the door to his own bedroom, revealing a neat space with light blue walls and tons of football posters on the walls. I smile, looking around at every inch. There are trophies on a shelf above the bed, and a bookcase filled to the brim with novels. The sheets and bedspread are a creamy white, but there’s a threadbare plaid throw laid over the end of the bed.
“This is nice,” I say. “Did they change anything after you left for college?”
“It’s definitely missing something,” he says.
I suppose I should be expecting it, but I still squeak when he pushes me back onto the bed.
He looks down at me, eyes dancing, and swipes my hair away from my face. “Ah, that’s better.”
I shove at his stomach. “Your parents want us downstairs.”
“In a minute.” He pushes me back gently, covering my body with his as he kisses me. “I didn’t get a chance to kiss you congratulations for getting the press pass.”
I can’t help myself; I kiss back. His lips are chapped from the cold, and he has a tiny bit of stubble that he needs to shave; the friction has me swallowing back a moan. We stay like that for a few minutes, pressed tightly together, kissing until we’re breathless and have to break apart for air before going at it again. His hands don’t wander, but I can feel his growing hard-on, and I’m on the verge of giving in to a quick blowjob if he wants it when the door opens.
“Found them!”
Izzy walks into the room with a shit-eating grin on her face. “You two are such dorks.”
32
JAMES
In the morning, it’s torture getting up. I’m forced to leave a stunning, gorgeous, naked Bex in my childhood bed to go run in the cold. On the morning of Christmas Eve.
And I’m not even the first one downstairs.
My father looks up from his stretching as I sit down on the last step to put on my sneakers. “Nice of you to join us, son.”
“Slug,” Izzy says, poking my cheek as she walks by. “Were you up late getting frisky with Bexy?”
I roll my eyes. “One, she doesn’t like to be called that. Her name is Bex. And two, on the list of things I’m not discussing with my little sister, my sex life is in the top three.”
Seb stifles a laugh as he stretches out into a lunge. “Getting frisky. Nice one, Iz.”
“We were just about to leave without you,” Coop says, shaking his head solemnly. “The Heisman winner is getting sloppy.”
Dad straightens up and claps his hands. “Troops! Your mother insisted on sleeping in because of the holiday. Coop, Seb, Izzy, you start on Amberly, James and I will tackle Greenwich. First ones back get to pick the first movie of the day.”
I race my brothers out of the house.
Even as a much older man who hasn’t laced up his cleats in years, my dad nearly smokes me for the first couple of blocks. With the cold morning air stinging my cheeks, I pick up the pace, weaving in between cars parked on the side of the street.
“So,” he says eventually. “You brought her home for Christmas.”
I swipe at my forehead. “Yep.”
“After we agreed no girlfriends.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just… evolved.”
“After you pretended to be with her. I could have told you how well that was going to go.”
“She’s not like Sara.” I sidestep a pothole. “She’s nothing like her, actually. And I really care about her.”
He stops suddenly, and I nearly bump into him. He eyes me, chest heaving. “Christ. You’re in love with her.”
I’ve been trying to avoid saying it, even to myself, but there’s no point in denying it. It may have started out as a fake relationship, but Bex has worked her way into my life so thoroughly that I can’t imagine a version of it without her being mine. She’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. I dream about her. If I thought I could convince her, I’d move her into my house, so I don’t have to spend even one night without her in my arms.
And my father can see those thoughts running through my mind, as clear as if they were written on my forehead in fucking Sharpie.
“James,” he says heavily.
“It’s different this time.”
“Until she gets in the way.”
“Sara didn’t—” I pause, scrubbing a hand over my face. “She didn’t get in the way. She was sick. I made the choices I did because I cared about her.”
“Exactly.” He reaches out, squeezing my shoulder. “Beckett seems like a nice girl. I’m not saying she isn’t. But we talked about needing to choose the game. I thought you understood that.”
“I’ve been choosing the game all season.”
“And what happens when she wants you to choose her, but it gets in the way of the game?”
I swallow hard. I’ve thought about it myself, not that I’m about to admit that to my father. If the diner fire had happened during game day? I’d have gone with Bex no matter where I was supposed to be right then. All I knew was that the moment I saw the panic on her face, I was going to be by her side through whatever she was facing. “It’s almost the end of the season.”
“What about when this becomes your full-time job? Would she be willing to move with you?”
“Mom moved with you.”
“Your mother and I had a unique understanding,” he says. “It’s very hard for most people to understand and accept the sacrifices necessary to succeed in this world.”
“And despite not knowing Bex, you think she’s like that?”
I want to look away, but his eyes search mine, keeping me in place with the force of his gaze. “I’m just reminding you to be careful. If you play the way you’ve been playing, in a few days you’ll be a national champ. But then comes the draft. Graduating. Reporting to your first training camp. Your first season, likely in Philly or San Francisco.”
“And I see Bex by my side for all of that. Just like I’ll be at her side for everything she needs and wants to do.”
“Does she?”
I don’t say anything. I think so, but I don’t know. Bex should be a visual arts major; I know she’s lukewarm at best about her business degree. She should be looking at careers that utilize photography. If I asked her to come with me to San Francisco right now, I don’t know what her answer would be; she’s been steadfast about sticking with her mother’s diner. Long distance? I’ve never tried it and I’m not sure I could make myself. There’s a hell of a difference between away games or a couple weeks of training camp and living across the country from your girlfriend.
“I know you love her,” Dad says into the silence. “I know you think you’re going to be with her forever. But you thought that about Sara too, son, and look how that turned out.”
He rubs my shoulder. I blink, swallowing even though my throat is dry. I should tell him off, but the words don’t come.
“Let’s keep going,” I finally say. “Izzy’s going to pick The Family Stone and I can’t put myself through that shit again.”
33
BEX
I’m kind of in love with James’ mother.
When I walked downstairs half an hour ago, the house was quiet. Even in such a big space, I could tell that James and his siblings weren’t around. I tiptoed to the kitchen anyway, hoping to find some coffee, and ran into Sandra instead.
She made me pour-over and insisted on us eating cookies for breakfast. What an icon.
Now she leans back in her chair, bare feet tucked underneath her, and takes another sip of coffee as she looks at me. I have the sense some sort of interrogation is coming. The first and only time I met Darryl’s parents, his mother immediately asked how many children I was planning to have. Sandra could say practically anything and would instantly be better than her.
“You’re wearing my son’s sweater,” she says.