AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And you’re a fucking liar. Nice to meet you, Amara. I may not have been the best boyfriend in the world, but I never,” he said, grabbing the sides of her face and forcing her to look at him, “I never lied to you about how I felt. Ever. I know there’s something more going on between you two.”
She threw her hands up. “And what if there is, huh? Then what, Ryan?”
“Then Amara? You can both go fuck yourselves.”
They walked back home, fighting the freezing wind the entire time. And though it was in complete silence, when he reached his arm around her and rested it on her shoulder, she didn’t push it away.
She groaned, flopping angrily onto her side and squeezing her eyes shut, wondering how the hell they’d become this obscure version of themselves, and more importantly, if things could ever go back to the way they were before.
It couldn’t have been more than a minute later when she got up and went to her bedroom door, sensing that he was there. Before she could even get it all the way open, his hands were around the back of her head, with hers clutching either side of his torso as their lips mashed together chaotically.
Within seconds, he had her flat against the mattress, pinned under him, his hips rocking slowly into hers. She knew they couldn’t keep doing this; they were on course to destroy each other, but she’d reached that pivotal point where it was beyond her capabilities to tell him no.
He ran a hand up to her throat. Squeezing gently, he moved his other hand between her legs, then whispered into her ear, “You know you’re always gonna end up right back here with me.”
And as far as she knew, he was right.
Amara McDonough (2)
“You’re not serious. Right? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“What do you mean? The timing is perfect.”
“Right,” Amara said, scrolling through the browser on her phone while she chatted with her cousin on speaker. “I’m literally staring at something called Elite Prospects right now, which says he signed a 1.8 million, two-year contract. Tell me again why the hell he even needs a roommate.”
“Because it’s a two-way, entry-level contract, and he was just assigned to us two days ago, last-minute. He didn’t make the final cut. On a two-way contract, they only make the big money if and when they’re called up. If they’re assigned to the minors, their salaries drop dramatically.”
She sighed. “Nick: he’s a kid. He’s…” she scrolled to his birthdate, paused for a quick bit of mental math, and then snickered. “He’s 23? He’s 23, Nick!”
“And?”
“This is insane. Isn’t there a teammate he can room with?”
“It was a last-minute decision. Everyone else is already living somewhere. I helped him find a place, completely turnkey, but he wants to split it with someone. You literally just show up, sign the contract, and drop your bags. No stress.”
She hung her head, running her fingers through her hair. “This is such a bad idea.”
“Mar, you’re impossible,” he replied, frustrated.
“That’s the word on the street.”
“Look: you wanted out? This is your out. You come here, you start over. Yes, parts of Bridgeport are a dump, but this is Downtown. It's up-and-coming. There are plenty of bars in the area. You’ll have no issue finding a bartending job, if that’s what you wanna do, and you can still write on the side. Listen, you asked me to help you find a place to live. Well, I found you one.”
“No, you found me a fuckin’ frat boy to shack up with. You do understand that I’m 41 years old, right? Like, you remember that part?”
“Don’t make this difficult. This is your do-over. I know some athletes have a reputation for being scumbags…”
“Some?” she sneered, mentally running through the list of all the athletes she’d dated.
Yep. All scumbags.
“Yes. Some. And trust me: some of them are. OK, a lot of them are. But I promise you, you won’t meet a more down-to-earth guy than Baylor, honest to God. He’s easy to talk to and kinda goofy. You’ll really like him. And I know your history. You gotta trust that I wouldn’t put you in a dicey situation. Amara, he’s nice.”
“Yup,” she said, scrolling through the Google image search she’d just run on him. “That’s uh, certainly one way to describe him.” Gorgeous, blonde, blue-eyed, tatted, and built like a brick shithouse would be another, she thought. “And you’re sure he knows he’s getting a baggage-hauling divorced woman who’s literally old enough to be his mother?
“Yes.”
“And he’s cool with all of this?”
