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“Oh, I absolutely will.” And I’m not even lying. Being around Roxy is such a breath of fresh air, I could do it every day. “Do you have plans?”
Her eyes meet mine. “I don’t.”
“I thought you’d be seeing Karl,” I venture, mentally slapping myself. Smooth, man.
She breathes out a heavy sigh, her gaze fixed on the rug. “No. We had a terrible fight.” She shakes her head. “Honestly, I’m not even sure I could ever be friends with him again, let alone anything more. That ship has sailed. Anyway . . .”
My breath hitches, and I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart. “What should we do, then? Since you’re free. And don’t say dinner in Rome.”
Her eyes light up. “Ha-ha, very funny. How about dinner in Brixton?”
My lips pull down in puzzlement.
“You see, my family spotted me on TV at the game. They’re huge football fans, so they’ve been pestering me to bring you ‘round . . .” She trails off with a shy smile.
“Wow, asking me to meet your family. Things are getting serious between us.” Or so I wish.
She rolls her eyes. “It wouldn’t have been necessary if you weren’t a footballer.”
“You mean, if I wasn’t a brilliant footballer?”
Her eyes are teasing with laughter. “Where’s that boy in need of self-assurance now, eh?”
“Touché.”
She tries to wave it off. “Anyway, never mind. You don’t—”
“I’d love to meet your family, Roxy.” Truth is, I’m always up for anything Roxy-related. Anything to get to know her better, to spend time with her.
Her eyes widen. “You would?”
“Of course.” Our eyes lock, and the room seems to close in on us. Just like that, I’m sucked into the myriad of layers in her arctic-blue eyes, trying to find a glimmer of hope.
“There are no paparazzi in Brixton.” Her voice is soft as a whisper.
“I know.” A long silence stretches between us. I’m grasping for something. Anything. Finally, I find it. “But there’s always social media.”
13
Only in Your Dreams
Roxy
“Maybe I should take my shirt off?” Wade flexes his muscles, showcasing his bare torso. It’s magnificent. His six pack, sharp and sculpted, glistens under the low studio lighting. I watch him from behind the camera.
“Yeah, much better,” I say, biting my lip. Wade holds various poses to show off his god-like body, then performs some freestyle tricks with a football. “Could you ditch the jeans as well?”
He smirks and unbuttons his jeans, his magnetic eyes raking my body. My white dress has a loose fit, but right now, it feels way too tight. “It’s not fair that I’m the only one undressing.”
“You’re the only one in the photos,” I state.
He’s now wearing only his boxers—white boxers. They reveal just enough to send my imagination into a frenzy.
“Get over here, Roxy,” he commands in a raspy voice I don’t recognise.
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. Seconds later, I’m wrapped in his arms. He’s kissing the crook of my neck as he removes the single, annoying piece of clothing I’m wearing. At last, it’s gone, and our bare bodies touch, the contact scalding hot. He cups my face in his hands, and our mouths clash, his hands travelling to the small of my back.
Loud music blasts in my ears, and all I want is to make it stop. It’s killing the mood. But to my displeasure, it’s only growing in intensity, forcing me to focus on the ruckus instead of the glorious man holding me. When I open my eyes, I realise I’m tangled between damp sheets, upside down on my bed.
