Effortless.
That would be the perfect word to describe my relationship with him.
He’s handsome, charming, and so very British.
I’ve turned into something I never expected to be—a cliché. I could listen to him talk all day long. And I flipping love when he uses words like—bullocks, bloody, and knackered. It makes me laugh every time. And the guy knows it, which is exactly why he does it. He gets a little twinkle in his dark eyes when my lips start to twitch.
And he’s a footballer.
Well, I mean soccer player. In England, it’s called football, and it’s huge. Like nothing I could have imagined. One of the big rivalries is Arsenal versus Tottenham. Having been born and bred on American football, I never paid much attention to professional soccer. A few high school games here and there, but that was the extent of it.
When Jack realized I was totally clueless about the sport, he took the time to explain the rules, and over the months, I’ve grown to enjoy it. It’s fast-paced, and the fans are rabid. I would pit them against the most diehard football fans any day. He even bought me a scarf to hold at the matches we’ve attended when the team jogs onto the pitch.
And watching him sprint across the field certainly isn’t a hardship. He’s thick and muscular and reminds me nothing of a certain someone else.
We met at a pub while I was out with my roommate. Much to Jack’s chagrin, I friend-zoned him almost immediately. After that, I noticed we would end up at a lot of the same parties, and slowly, we started spending time together.
It’s been...nice.
Different than what I’m used to. I don’t have to chase Jack to get his attention. I already have it. He seems to have eyes only for me. From the very beginning, he’s made his intentions clear. He doesn’t play games, and he’s not out screwing every girl who spreads her legs.
It’s a refreshing change of pace.
We’ve been teetering on the brink of...something for the last couple of weeks, but I’m not ready to delve into another relationship just yet—especially when my time in London will be drawing to a close. Even though I try not to dwell on Colton, there are times when he invades my brain, slyly wrapping himself around my heart and squeezing tight. He’s turned out to be a difficult habit to kick—even when we’re an ocean apart.
But then again, what did I really expect? I’ve had feelings for the guy ever since my sophomore year of high school. It’s unrealistic to assume they would vanish over night simply because I wanted them to.
The moment I realize the direction my mind has wandered, I shove those thoughts away and squeeze Jack’s hand, wanting to ground myself in the moment. Colton has been relegated to my past, and that’s exactly where he needs to stay. Jack, on the other hand, is my present.
Possibly my future.
Even though everything remains uncertain, I’m excited to figure it out.
Chapter Thirteen
Colton
August of senior year...
“Hold the elevator!” I call out, forcing myself to jog through the lobby of our apartment building. Sure, I could take the stairs, we only live on the third floor, but I’m wiped. We’ve been practicing on the turf under the blazing, hot sun twice a day for the last couple of weeks. Every muscle in my body is screaming for mercy. A fifteen-minute soak in an ice bath wasn’t nearly enough to undo the damage Coach inflicted this morning.
The man is a total sadist.
Just as the metal doors are about to close, they bounce open again. I hasten my step, jumping on board, as a huff of relief escapes from my lips. My plans for the afternoon involve my queen-size bed and a long nap to recharge before heading back to the field for round two.
“Thanks.” I glance at the lone occupant inside. There are three oversized boxes stacked in her arms, concealing her face. All I’m able to make out are curvy hips and long, sun-kissed legs peeking out from the bottom of her black athletic shorts.
A quick glance at the control panel reveals that the button for the third floor has already been hit.
“No problem,” she says, shifting the boxes around in her arms to get a better grip.
As weary as I am, I can’t just stand here and let her struggle with the containers. Without a doubt, I can be an ass, but my stepmother, Jenna, did attempt to drill a few manners into my head. “Looks like you’ve got quite the load there. Want some help?”
“Nah,” she says with a soft grunt as she moves the boxes again, “I’m in the home-stretch.”
“You sure? I don’t mind giving you a hand,” I offer for the second time.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got them.”
I lean against the wall of the elevator and fold my arms across my chest. “Must be moving day.” Over the past week, there have been a number of Wesley students getting situated in the building for the upcoming academic year.