I turn my head to find his blue eyes piercing mine. “I see it now. The TA thing. I can see why they all loved you.”
His gaze drops to my lips. I want to kiss him, and it’s getting harder and harder to remember why I shouldn’t. But when he shifts, my immediate reflex is to break the connection and turn away.
“What are you doing on the weekend?” Did I swallow a chunk of dirt in the last five seconds? My mouth is dry and my voice comes out rough.
He sighs, probably because I’ve rejected him again. “Have to head back to PA. Crazy aunt’s visiting.”
“Right. You said that. Need your fake boyfriend to tag along?” What am I doing? I can’t survive another weekend with him.
“You’ve got finals coming up. You need to study.”
The disappointment is heavier than I expect. I do need to study, but I can’t make myself care about it. I’d rather be in Pennsylvania, pretending to be Maddox’s boyfriend.
“I can study anywhere, but if you don’t want me to go—”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
He doesn’t.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MADDOX
Philadelphia is out of my way, but I figure I’m already making the long-ass trip to see my parents, and a small detour won’t hurt.
I catch the train, but when I arrive in Philly, I wonder if I’m making a huge mistake. Against my better judgment, I messaged Matt the night his news leaked. The way he was outed was harsh, and I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. Or something. I don’t know. My gut told me to message him. Now I’m wondering if this is a dumb idea. He gave me his address when I told him I’m coming home this weekend and said we should catch up.
My GPS app on my phone says Matt’s place is around this corner, and for some reason, I feel sick. And when I see the media circus outside his building, my gut churns more.
The news broke six days ago, and they’re still camped outside. I’d hate to be Matt right now.
Matt’s doorman stops me and asks my name and who I’m there to see. When I mumble it so the vultures behind me can’t hear, he repeats it into a two-way loud enough for the whole building to hear.
Thanks, dude.
That’s when I realize he’s not a doorman but hired security. For Matt.
The back of my neck burns as cameras go off behind me. My ass might be in some tabloids tomorrow, but I refuse to turn around and give them a money shot of my face. I’m not ashamed to be here, or for them to speculate who I am or what I’m doing, but I don’t want to bring more shit to Matt’s life. And considering I’m holding my duffel bag for the weekend, they might print Matt and I are getting married. Because duffel bag equals serious relationship in the tabloid world.
The security guy waves me through, and I head up to Matt’s apartment on the top floor. When he opens the door, the late afternoon sun pours into his huge-ass loft. His brown hair sticks up at all angles as if he just crawled out of bed. He hasn’t shaved in God knows how long, and his tight wife-beater and sweats are dirty.
We stare each other down, and then wordlessly, he steps aside to let me in. His apartment is the size of my entire floor which has nine studio apartments on it.
“Damn. The NFL must pay the big bucks, huh?”
“Something like that. What are you doing here, Maddox? Are you here to yell at me too? I actually deserve it coming from you, so go ahead and get it out of your system and then leave.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m here to make sure you’re okay. Who yelled at you?”
“Let’s just say not all of my teammates were happy when the news broke last week.”
“Are you serious? Like … serious, serious? Who was it? That’s not okay.”
“Doesn’t matter now. It’s done. My career is done. They win.”
“Why is your career done?”
Matt stares in disbelief and he asks again, “Why are you here?”
“Because we were roommates? Because of … what happened between us? Getting outed the way you did, it’s got to suck.”
“But I—but we—and … you don’t hate me for misleading you years ago?”
“Did you do it on purpose?”
“I-I … Shit, I don’t know. I think I was in denial when you and I hooked up, even though I did mess around with a high school buddy too—I didn’t lie about that. I wanted to be straight but I just … wasn’t.”
“So how was I to know if you didn’t know?”
“I’ve always felt guilty. Like I took advantage or—”
“Uh, pretty sure I never told you stop. Or returned the favor. If anyone was taking advantage, it was me. I enjoyed myself. A lot.”