I didn’t voice my concerns to Shaw when we rode back upstairs to his apartment. Instead, I attacked him in a frenzy, trying to drown out the negative voice in my head that listed why this relationship didn’t make sense.
We laughed and loved and licked and languished, and I fell asleep in his arms. But my fears and concerns only spread like a virus the rest of the weekend. No matter what I did, no matter how perfect everything was, the shadow of inevitable destruction was never far behind.
35
Kelcie
It was the day before game day, and Shaw got the call earlier that they were going to start him. As if they flipped a switch, his demeanor changed. Yes, he’d been back on the practice squad for a little over a week, but still, it seemed fast. His back straightened, and his face became locked in concentration. He was still affectionate and sweet, but he was focused, and his mind was on the game ahead.
Shaw geared up to head to the hotel for the night, a ritual the players all had to adhere to before a game. A pit formed in my stomach. I had never been the nervous type. Hell, I was an athlete myself and had been raised by a man who’d instilled toughness and perseverance in me. There hadn’t been any whining in my house. ‘Shake it off’ had been the household mantra long before Taylor Swift became a household name. And now, as an adult, my job was to help people regain strength, recover, and bounce back after injury.
So why did the idea of seeing him on that field cause such a knot in the pit of my stomach? I’d watched him get hit millions of times and rarely even winced. I’d seen him break his arm, twist an ankle—hell, I was there when he decimated his collarbone and saw what he went through to recover. I’d never been squeamish before. But that was the problem. I knew too much. I knew the impact the game would have on his spine. I was familiar with his medical record—the concussions, the injuries—and I knew the toll it was taking on his body.
I didn’t want to see him get hurt, and my fear was outweighing my excitement over seeing him play. Was it because of what was between us?
“Hey, hon, I need to get moving. I have to meet with the trainer and a few others before our team meeting,” he said. He came into the room wearing only a towel while water dripped down his muscular back. I sat on his bed cross-legged and watched the muscles in his rear flex as he walked into the closet, coming out with a few hangers and throwing them on his bed. “Don’t give me that look.” He went back into his closet and grabbed a duffel bag.
“What look?” I said, straightening and biting my bottom lip. I knew ‘what look.’
“The one that will make me very late to the stadium and in need of another shower,” he said, bending over and kissing me. I tried to grab onto him, but he pulled away, and I was only able to trace my hand down between his pecs. “You’ll be the death of me, I swear.”
He went to his dresser, discarded his towel, and grabbed a pair of boxer briefs, covering the evidence that I was very close to getting my way.
“Now, you’re not being fair,” I said, giving him my best pout and lying across his bed, my head propped up in my hand.
He side-eyed me and did a double-take, rolling his eyes heavenward. “You’re more tempting than the devil himself.” He drew on his briefs but not without needing a bit of tucking and maneuvering to get everything inside them. He pointed to his groin. “How am I supposed to get dressed like this?”
I shrugged. “You’re the one in the hurry.” I bit my lip again, looking up at him. “I could help you out with that.” I pushed up to my hands and knees.
He took a step back. “No. No. Get back, temptress. I need all my energy. That’s why they make the team stay in hotel rooms the night before a game.”
“It’s stupid. You’re here. You live literally a few blocks from the stadium. Hell, we can see it from your patio.”
“I know, but it’s their rules, and given the paycheck they give me, they’re allowed to make them,” he said, putting on his pants—as if to put another barrier between us. “I promise to make it up to you.”
I leaned back against the headboard, arms and legs crossed. “That’s fine.” I sighed. “I could use a little relaxation. In fact, I have a few hours before I have to meet Shyla. You have that fantastic, powerful handheld showerhead. I’m sure I could…” I stared up at him from under my lashes and lowered my voice, “Entertain myself.”
Dead stop. He was halfway into putting on his shirt and stood still, halfway turned away from me. “You wouldn’t.”
A dare? Did he not know me at all?
“Darling, I have years of entertaining myself to draw from. I’m well-versed. Don’t you worry about me.”
“It’s my job to…entertain…you. If that showerhead is going to be used to bring you pleasure, it will be in my hand. Use it without me and see what happens.”
I shrugged. “Okay. There are other ways I can relax, other places…”
“This unit has security cameras throughout so I can check on the place when I’m out of town. You’d be surprised what fans will try to do."
“Well, now you just made it more interesting.”
He pulled me up into his arms so quickly I gasped and let out a squeal when I felt his hardness between us, evidence that the idea was more than a little interesting to him.
He kissed me sweetly. “Wait for me?” he asked with the hint of a plea in his tone.
I traced his jaw. “Always.”
Those important three words were screaming out from inside me, but I refused to let them out. Even though he’d declared he loved me—in front of my father—neither of us had uttered those words to each other—at least not directly.
