I take the spot beside him, resting my hand on his back in a silent show to let him know I’m here for him.
Glancing up at the case on the other side of the room, his body stiffens. “I hate the game, Irie.”
I’m digging deep for the right thing to say in this moment, but I’m coming up empty-handed.
“Dinner’s ready,” a young voice interrupts us, and we turn toward the door. A petite girl with straight dark hair leans against the jamb. “They told me to come get you guys.”
“Thanks, Kels,” Talon says, climbing up from the bed. He reaches for my hand and leads me out of the room, but all I can think about is that bombshell he just dropped.
I never would have seen that coming in a million years.
He always seemed so sure of himself, so confident in his talent and his goals and ambitions, but was it all for show? All for nothing? And what does it say about a man who can work so hard for so long, obsessively chasing after a single objective … only to have a change of heart and throw it all away?
Chapter 24
Talon
I wake to the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen Sunday morning. Reaching over, I find the spot beside me cold and vacant. Flinging the covers off, I head to the bathroom to clean up.
We left my parents’ house last night and came back to my place to chill for a bit. She talked me into watching the cheesiest show she could possibly find on Netflix. We were one and a half episodes in when out of nowhere, she climbed into my lap, threw her arms around my shoulders, and crushed her petal soft lips against mine.
She kissed me hard and recklessly, zero abandon, and the way things were headed, I thought for sure last night was going to be the night, but she wasted no time pumping the brakes the second I slid my hand up her shirt.
Regardless of that setback, I convinced her to stay the night …
I guess you could say we’ve slept together now—even if we were fully clothed.
I find Irie in the kitchen, along with two of my roommates who are perched on counter stools waiting for their breakfast like a couple of begging mutts.
“No, they never should have traded Voxley,” Irie says, standing over a pan of sizzling bacon in nothing but one of my jersey-thin t-shirts. “And I say that as a retired Chiefs fan.”
“Wrong,” Carter shoots back. “I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. Voxley’s been worthless ever since he tore his ACL two seasons ago. Never been the same. Dude needs to hang it up.”
“What?” She turns to shoot him a dirty look. “He scored more touchdowns last season than he did in the two seasons before that combined.”
“Look who’s up,” Rylan interrupts their argument when he sees me. “Morning, angel face. Sleep well?”
He’s wearing a shit-eating grin and I’m positive he thinks I fucked Irie last night, but it’s none of his fucking business so whatever.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I tell Irie as she plates a few slices of bacon. I slip my hands around her waist from behind, leaning down to kiss her neck. “These guys might talk football like morons, but they’re perfectly capable of making their own breakfast.”
She smiles. “It’s fine. I was up. And I was starving. Rylan’s the one who went the store to get everything.”
“Jesus. What time is it?” I check the clock on the microwave. It’s half past nine. I don’t remember the last time I slept in this late, but I must have needed it. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I slept this hard. Something about having Irie beside me, lying in my arms, put me out like a light last night, despite the freight train of thoughts clouding my head.
Ever since the conversation we had over the display case at my mom’s house yesterday, I can’t stop thinking about what I said.
I mean, I’ve felt that way for years … but saying it out loud made it real.
Irie casually tried to bring it up last night between episodes of Jane the Virgin or whatever the hell she had us watching, but I brushed it off every time.
I’m not ready to talk about it.
Talking about it means making a decision—a decision I’ve been avoiding for weeks now.
I still haven’t signed the Richmond contract.
And honestly … I don’t know that I will.
Chapter 25
Irie
“A lot of girls hate you right now.”
I peer across the table in my lighting class Monday morning and find a girl who’s never said more than three words to me all semester.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
“You’re dating Talon Gold, right?” she asks. “A lot of girls hate you. That, or they want to be you. You’re pretty much the most infamous name on campus right now. I think someone even started a hashtag about you.”