“Yeah. Life of an athlete.”
His tone suggested he'd already grown bored. He probably wanted me out of his room just as badly as I wanted to stay. I sat up so I could dress and get out of his hair, but—
Beau surprised me again.
Chapter 20
Straight and Narrow
Beau
“Wait,” I said. I caught Camille around the waist and pulled her back into bed with me. “Don't go yet.”
“But Hunter's coming back soon. I should get dressed and leave you—”
I hoped she wasn't regretting this like she did the other night. But the fact she was in such a hurry to leave told me she probably was.
“Just a few more minutes,” I asked. Quietly, I mumbled, “I wish you didn't have to go.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Really.”
She looked relieved. “I thought you were sick of me.”
“Sick of you? Ha. No.” I stroked her hair. “Camille, I don't know how to explain it. When I'm with you, it's like … man.”
I tried to find the words, but they didn't come. A long silence filled the air instead.
She laughed. “You reallydon'tknow how to explain it.”
“You're right. I don't. Maybe I can say it like this: when you texted me that I played like a goon now? That struck me deep.”
“So that'stwiceI've hurt you,” she said shamefully.
“No, I don't mean it hurt me. I mean, you'reright.Those words resonated in my head and I came backsofired up to be the hero of the game.I used to score goals, Camille. I used to be a better player. You know? Hell, Leroux said that in his pre-game quote, too. Somewhere along the way, I got so focused on being thispesttype of player. Well, Iknowwhy: I do it well, and my coaches have always seen that, and they put me in that role because I'm effective at it.”
I stroked my chin, hoping to coax out the right words.
“But … I'm realizing how I've let that role sort of consume me, and define me as a player. But I don't haveto be a pest, and only a pest. And I don't wantto be, either! I have more to give to this game. And I owe that to you. When you texted me, and it was obvious that you were actually worried I was hurt? Hell. Something inside me clicked. I didn't want you to think I was just this goon who went around hitting people. I wanted to impress you. I wanted you to see that I could score, like I used to. And I just felt this inspiration, this motivation, to go out and be the hero—something I hadn't felt since my high-scoring high school days, before I wasBeau Bradford, Career Pest.”
“Wow,” she stammered. “I um, I don't know what to say?”
I grabbed her hand and held it in mine. We locked eyes.
“Say you'll see me again.”
“What?” she let out a high-pitched laugh, the laugh of someone who doesn't believe the words they're hearing. “You arenotserious right now, Beau.”
“Dead serious.”
“Wow, um. See you again—when?”
“After we play Montreal, we swing back to play New York one last time before we head back home to Colorado. So we'll be back in the city seven days from now.”
“A week,” she said contemplatively.
Her features were heavy and serious and I wassureI'd overplayed my hand, and she was only figuring out how to gently let me down. Had I really expected otherwise? After all the shit I put her through?
