His thoughts turned more vivid, and he closed his eyes and imagined her standing in front of him, her ass pressing back against his groin. Running soap-slicked hands up and over her breasts as he licked the beads of water from her neck. He’d tell her to put her hands against the wall and she’d do it, bending over, pushing her hips back even more, begging him to take her from behind.
Blood throbbed through his erection and he groaned, resting his forehead against the tile. So much for a cold shower.
He’d never felt this way, shouldn’t feel this way now, but he did. When he looked into Paige’s ocean-blue eyes, he wanted everything. But even if she changed her mind about fairy tales, he sure as hell was no prince.
He stood there another few minutes before getting out. Then, still damp from the shower, he pulled on boxers and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. No matter how many times he replayed his past, trying to conjure up a different outcome, it was always the same. Even eight years later he could still hear the church bells ringing, still feel the tie of his tux choking his neck as he’d jogged down the steps outside Saint Sebastian’s after Matt and Abby’s wedding.
The sun burned bright in a blue sky, the January air was crisp and cool. He’d needed to crank up some music, have a moment to himself before talking to his billion relatives.
He cleared the last step, turned right down the sidewalk, and—Shit. Rachel, his very much ex-girlfriend, stood, leaning against his red Mazda. Double shit. She’d be good and pissed he hadn’t caved in time to take her to his brother’s wedding. She had a thing for weddings.
A year behind him in school, they’d taken an angry break when he’d gone off to college last fall. The end of a long battle because he’d refused to turn down a football scholarship to a D1 college instead of staying local and waiting for her to graduate. As if he’d ever consider doing something so stupid.
But six weeks ago he’d come home for Christmas break and they’d gotten together, all the way together.
For about ten seconds he’d thought a long-distance thing might actually work. But as soon as their clothes were back on, Rachel’s claws came out, and it was right back to where they’d left off.
“Have you been with other girls since you left? You’re cheating on me, aren’t you?”
He wasn’t a cheater, but they’d been broken up. Wrong answer.
“I’ll forgive you if you come home,” she’d said, like she was doing him a favor.
She really thought he’d quit football? Transfer schools? Was she crazy? He’d choked out a laugh, not because it was funny, but just from shock.
“We’re never getting back together!” she’d screamed. “Ever! I mean it!” Then she’d slapped him across the face.
That had pissed him off. The slap, not the words, because he was done with this shit. He’d never made her promises, never led her on. They’d been high school sweethearts, teenagers with a teenage love who did the breakup, makeup every other weekend.
But now here she was, waiting for him, two months after that ultimatum, Christmas break throwdown, and she didn’t even look mad. A trickle of unease slid down his spine as he stopped in front of her.
“Hey,” she said, looking up at him with an almost shy smile.
He slipped off the tie and released the top button. “Hey. What’s up?”
“I wanted to talk to you.” She brushed back her long, dark hair that he knew to be silky soft. “My sister dropped me off. I told her you’d take me home.”
Nope, she definitely didn’t look mad. She looked hot in tight jeans and a tighter red sweater, and, as always, it was hard to say no to her. “Sure.” She was already halfway around to the passenger side before he hit the unlock button.
Hot or not, they were not getting back together. No way. College classes were too hard, winter workouts were kicking his ass. He was done with drama. Done with girls for a while. He slid behind the wheel and she got in beside him.
“How was the wedding?”
“Good. Long.” He started the car, revved the engine once, then pulled out, wondering what her game was. Maybe she wanted to apologize for slapping him. Rachel could be sweet, but she was also spoiled and conceited, and so beautiful he hadn’t cared.
“How’s football?”
“It’s good.” Great, actually.
Stephen and Matt had seen him play in the last game, which was cool, and next fall chances were good they’d see him take the field as a starter. See him do something big, like maybe be the first wide receiver in nineteen years to win the Heisman. Even his coaches thought it was possible if he worked hard enough. He was one step closer to his dreams of playing pro football.
She fiddled with her purse strap. “That’s good. I’m really proud of you.”
He made the turn that wound through the woods to Rachel’s house. They were both quiet a minute. Another thing not at all like her.
“I have something to tell you,” she finally said.
Okay. He drew the word out in his mind, gave her a sideways glance, no idea what to expect. I’m sorry? I’m moving? I’m going to UNC instead of South Carolina?