Matt grabs my hand—he’s becoming really good at the PDA thing—and pulls me close to him. “I think I’ll be able to handle it.” With his free hand, he raises his arm and flexes his biceps.
“Do those guns actually work for anything other than catching footballs?”
Matt leans in and whispers in my ear. “You know full well they have other talents.”
After four days of countless rounds of handjobs, blowjobs, and fucking, I don’t think I’ve ever had this much sex in my life. This is where I’ve been going wrong. I’ve never been with an athlete before. Matt’s stamina is insane.
When my college boyfriend screwed me over, the only other guy I’d had regular sex with was Aron, and even then, our meet ups would be under my terms. Matt’s different. He’s always there and up for it. I thought it was a convenience thing for me, but the thought of him going back to Philly has me wanting to come up with ways to keep him in New York.
I tell myself it’s because of the sex, but a part of me thinks that’s a lie. I push that serious thought to the back of my mind and bury it as deep as possible in the part of my brain where I send rationality and maturity to die a slow and horrible death. Those bastards ruin everything for me, and right now I’m having fun with Matt. I don’t have to think when I’m with him.
When we reach my table of friends, all conversations come to a halt.
“Don’t worry,” I say, “this is my friends’ normal reaction to seeing me. My awesomeness renders them speechless.”
There’s a round of complaints from everyone and a chuckle from Matt.
“I think you’ve met everyone once before—the night you met Damon at my place,” I say.
“Uh. Right. Yeah.”
I get the feeling he has no recollection of that night, so I go around the table. “That’s Rebecca and her fiancée, Skylar. The blond guy is Wyatt, next to him is Aron, and you already know the two assholes on the end.”
“Hey,” Maddox whines.
Matt’s eyes linger on Aron for a second too long, and Aron’s the first to glance away. Even from here, I can feel the tense energy coming off him.
Everyone says Aron’s like the white version of me. We’re exactly the same height, and he’s toned and lanky like I am.
Matt takes the seat next to Damon, putting him three seats away from a pissed-off Aron. Brave man.
“I’ll get us drinks,” I say to Matt.
“Light beer,” he reminds me.
“Yeah, yeah, calories, wah, wah, wah.” Thank fuck I’m not a football player. No matter how many times I tell Matt to stop pushing himself while he’s on break, he won’t listen. He wasn’t as bad on the cruise, but now he’s determined to go back and prove himself if he gets a contract. He takes note of his calorie intake and exercises twice a day for hours at a time.
Screw that for a job.
At the bar, I’m half-expecting Aron to follow, but it’s Wyatt who appears beside me, and I cut him off before he can start whatever lecture he came over here to give me.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” I say.
“I know. And I don’t want to pick sides, but can you at least apologize to him for putting him through hell? You literally told him a month ago that you don’t do relationships, and now you’re parading Matt around. It’s not exactly fair to Aron.”
“I’m not parading Matt around. We’re just seeing each other. It might turn into something serious, it might not. Give us a few months to work it out for ourselves.” I realize now I definitely shouldn’t have brought Matt here, but it was the excuse I needed to ask him to stay.
“Maybe you should come with a warning label,” Wyatt says. His tone is light and joking, trying to make this less awkward, but I don’t think that’s a possibility now.
I huff. “Caution: acts like a dick because he’s an entitled asshole. Has a ring to it.”
Aron appears at our side. “I’m out.”
His eyes find mine, and he waits as if I’m supposed to try to stop him, but we have nothing left to say to each other. I said I was sorry and I meant it, and I get that’s not going to magically fix everything, but there’s nothing I could say now to make it better either.
Aron eventually gives up, and unsurprisingly, Wyatt follows him out of the bar.
When I get back to the table, I slide Matt’s drink in front of him and sip from mine.
“Thanks,” Matt says. His hand goes to my forearm, and it’s literally a two-second touch of gratitude that is nothing more than platonic, but the others don’t see it that way.
I sip my beer and pretend they’re not staring at me. I should know avoidance tactics won’t work with my friends, because they don’t stop. “So, yeah. Aron and I had a thing.”