Page 67 of Forever Offsides

Rhett: Why was he hugging and kissing you?

Rhett: You don’t have to respond. Maybe it’s better if you don’t.

My heart takes flight. I roll onto my back and take my phone with me, holding it over my face as I respond, and it makes me smile despite the conversation topic. I’ve missed texting with him. It’s what I used to do in this same place in this same position during those months.

Me: It’s not supposed to matter to you.

Rhett: But it does so tell me. Are you still in love with him? Are you two dating again? He doesn’t tell me anything, before you start with that. He hardly talks to me outside of work, and even then, it’s only about work.

My heart aches for him. I can’t imagine not talking to my parents. Russel has no clue how good he has it with his father. How lucky he is to have him.

Me: We’re not dating, and I haven’t talked to him, let alone hugged him, until tonight. He ambushed me and asked if we could be friends. That’s what that was. I don’t know if he knew the cameras would see us or not.

Rhett: I’m sitting on my front steps, desperately talking myself out of walking the few houses down to your door.

My heart picks up beats until it’s pounding like a drum.

Me: Don’t. You shouldn’t.

Rhett: Why not? Because you might answer?

Me: Yes.

Rhett: Fuck. That’s all it took for me. That’s how close I was. If you hear a knock, don’t open your door.

Me: If I let you in, what happens next?

Rhett: I don’t stop. I prove to you whose fucking girl you are. Who you belong to. And it’s sick, Quinn. It’s so wrong. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Or watching you all the goddamn time. I don’t understand it. How do I make it stop?

My eyes close, and I release a shaky breath.

He didn’t look at me again tonight. Not once after Russel hugged me, and it annoyed me all night. I love his eyes on me. I live for the moments when I surreptitiously catch him watching me. He’s going to ruin me, and I’m letting it happen. Hell, I’m doing nothing to stop it.

If he knocked right now, I’d run down those stairs and throw myself at him. I hate that. I hate that I feel so tethered to a man I had one night, followed by only a text world with. It feels weak and pathetic, but it’s also the most real thing I’ve ever had.

Rhett: I’m not going to knock. But do one thing for me?

Me: What’s that?

Rhett: Come to your window. Just for a minute. I want to see your face. The street is empty.

I bite into my lip but climb out of bed anyway. I reach my window and finger the edge of the shade. It’s more than my face he’ll see. I wonder if he remembers what I like to sleep in—or not sleep in, as the case may be. After a long moment of half-assed deliberation, I pull up the shade and stand before my window in nothing but a thong.

My heart races and my skin tingles, especially as I glance down and find him standing at the base of the sidewalk with his phone in his hand and a worn expression on his face.

His hand meets the top of his head, and I can see his ragged breathing from here with the rise and fall of his shoulders. He jerks toward my door only to stop himself. His struggle is such a turn-on, but I can’t play this game.

I’ll fall for him. I will. And then what?

Apprehension takes hold, and I shake my head at him before I lower the shade.

I crawl back into my bed and take my phone in my hand.

Me: Go home. Show’s over.

Rhett: Yet you live rent-free in my head, and tonight is just another image adding fuel to my never-ceasing fire.

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