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I nudge his thigh. “So what happened next?”
“A few months after the bowl game, I ran into Colt over spring break at a bar in Gulf Shores, and it’s like our fight was over. We’d finally grown up some. We did some shots, and shit was good. So good that he showed up at my apartment later that March to talk more, but Reese was there, so we couldn’t. We played beer pong instead. He got chummy with Reese, too, and we got hammered and passed out.
“Then Colt showed up again a month later.” Beau sighs. “That’s not true. I invited him over when I knew Reese went home for the weekend. I don’t know what I thought would happen… ”
He squirms like something’s scratching inside him.
“Fuck, that’s not true, either. I missed him. A lot,” he confesses. “My roommates were at a party. It was just us, and we caught up about our families and the coming draft. He was hoping for Arizona. I knew I was gonna get Atlanta. It’s like we were so good again; we found ourselves kissing.”
I watch Beau’s body, his face too. He’s tense, but I swear he’s getting hard remembering.
“It’s like we need each other so much,” he says, “we kinda go crazy whenever we’re alone. So, we did our thing like we did in high school—frotting.” He glances at me. “You know what that is?”
I nod, aroused by the image of him rubbing his hard cock against Colton’s until they come.
“Well, Colt wanted more. He wanted us to be each other’s firsts, and fuck, I wanted it, too, but I knew there’d be no going back. I love him too much. I can’t be with him once and then not have him again.”
My heart wrenches.
It hurts.
I understand.
It’s exactly how I feel about what happened between Beau and me on Valentine’s Night. It hurts too much to have love for a night and never again.
“So,” Beau mutters, “I turned him down again. He knows it’s us or football, so we got in a big fight. That’s what brought me to your door.”
“Why me?” I ask. “Why did you know you could come to me?”
Beau’s deep blue eyes with those thick black lashes study me for a long, aching beat. They make my heart feel like cracking glass when he tenderly answers, “I can’t explain it, Blair. I’ve always felt like I belong with you, too. Like you’re the other one I can’t have. Like I have to pick between having you or him or my dream.” He’s so honest and hurting. “Am I wrong?”
“No.” I want to hold his hand, but there’d be no going back for us either. I can’t touch him and not get lost in him. “I feel it, too. But I understand. I’m a distraction.”
My honesty silences him, but Beau won’t look away. So, I let him see how much the truth hurts, how much that one word hurts me—distraction.
It reduces the tears we’ve shed when he was last inside me to an annoying gnat.
Yeah, it really fucking hurts.
And when Beau mumbles, “Blair, I’m sorry. It’s just with you? Or with him? I’m not a perfect football machine. I’m a really fucking flawed human who feels a lot, and I don’t work.”
See? I understand that, too.
We share a look so heavy with passion, honesty, and pain that it’s hard to breathe. The future can’t be ours, so I ask about the past. “But the Iron Bowl was eight years ago. What happened before the Super Bowl this year?”
His lip curls. “Hurricane Amber.”
I nod. “That woman is pure destruction.”
“In a way, she cost us the game.”
“How?”
He studies the ceiling again.
“I can’t blame her.” He sighs, “Me and Colt and our… whatever… it goes way back. But three years ago, he got traded to Atlanta, and it was weird. It was as if we never fought, we never kissed. We just started playing like we were eighteen again, and it was fucking magic. Coach was ecstatic. Our owner, too. It’s like they found lightning in a bottle, putting us back together, and we were. We were perfect and best friends again til the night before the Super Bowl.”
“So where’s Amber in this?”
