Page 74 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“It won’t ruin my career. I still have one season of eligibility left and I’ll make the most of it. You can count on that.”

“What about the money? You need to go pro for the money for---”

“I’ll get the money. I know how to work hard and football isn’t the only thing I can do. Besides, Mom has enough for now. She got a job at a bakery.” There’s pride in my words and I let it sink in that my mom was excited about her job. I know in my heart she’ll be great at it and the idea sends a flood of warmth through me, the kind of joy like she must feel when she sees me doing well. Shit. “Never mind about the money. This isn’t even about money anymore.” She snorts.

“Spoken like a young boy with no bills—”

“I’m not that young. I know about bills. I’ve been helping my mom pay hers and I get the reality, learned that hard lesson this semester. The difference is now I know we have the money handled, so—”

“You’re willing to risk injury for another year playing college? To throw away the chance to cash in on the Heisman talk? You don’t care if you get a contract to play in the NFL? You’re not trying to tell me that lie, are you? Because I wouldn’t believe you if you did.” She tightens her arms across her chest. I can see tears threatening in her eyes and I’m not sure if she’s crying for me or for us.

“Of course I want to play pro ball and I will. A year later than planned maybe.” Because if I’m transferring I can’t declare for the draft this year as planned. Can’t cash in on the Heisman nomination while it’s hot, but it’ll still have a shot at the pros and I’ll get a good agent.

She stares at me, her face hot, her spectacular eyes sparkling and defiant and vulnerable by turns. Her arms are still folded like shields in front of her, but I take another step forward.

“These aren’t empty words, Amanda. It’s a done deal. I take us seriously and I chose you. I texted the Boston College coach while I stood outside your house because actions speak louder than words.” She shakes her head, her eyes speaking of tragedy.

“You stupid—”

“No. I’m not stupid. I’m falling for you,” I say, taking another step. We’re still so far apart, a few feet in distance, but miles apart in emotional commitment.

“You’re thinking,” she says, “that when you transfer, we can…” she waves a hand, “carry on an affair?”

“No. I think we can carry on a relationship. No affair. No under the radar shit, no hiding like we’re guilty of something. Because we’re not. And I refuse to allow circumstances to dictate—”

“What about our age gap? We’re years apart in every sense…” I can’t help my half smile because I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. Six years isn’t a lot and I’m older and wiser than my years. Hell, I feel I’ve aged ten years this past semester.

I close the distance between us and with my mouth close to her ear, I say, “I don’t give a fuck about a lousy six years. Here’s what it means to me.” I trail my tongue from her earlobe down the perfect curve of her jaw to her mouth, teasing the seam of her lips until she opens them in a gasp of need.

The house is quiet and all I can hear is our ragged breathing, all I know is the intimacy of our mouths melting together and tongues tangling, my hands moving down her back, pressing her against me.

Somewhere in the background, there’s a noise, but it barely penetrates and I dismiss it immediately as Paul getting into mischief, something to be taken care of later when we’re not so… engaged, so hot and—

“What the fuck is going on here?” The voice shrieks and it’s close. We come apart and I automatically shove Amanda behind me, shielding her from whatever the exposure is, from whoever it is.

It takes two full heart beats, two blinks of my disbelieving eyes before the entire picture registers and I realize that someone walked in on us, catching us red-handed, and before I realize who that someone is…

“Emily,” Amanda says.

All the breath leaves her and as I feel her knees buckle and she sinks, I catch her and hold on, pulling her into my pounding chest, keeping her upright. Hoping to hell I can stand up straight for both of us under the weight of the damning accusation being thrown at us by Emily Winiski’s angry stare.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Amanda

“Emily.” I don’t know what else to say after that, almost collapse into him as the reality of her discovering our secret sinks in. Dylan stands in front of me, shielding me as Emily approaches.

“What are you doing? What’s going on? Are you kidding me?” Her eyes look wild. I start to say something and her hands fly up to stop me.

”Don’t say a thing. You betrayed me. You’re… having an affair with him, a student.” She chokes out the words. “I have to report you to Dean Lassiter—you’re says sleeping with a fucking student!” she screams and tears stream down her face.

“We’re not sleeping together,” Dylan says. He’s a terrible liar. “This isn’t what it looks like, Emily.” She gives him a withering stare and laughs humorlessly. But he goes on, undaunted. “It’s all my fault. I forced the kiss on her. She wanted no part of me.” He licks his lips and I’m too shocked and horrified to speak. “I’m just a horny jock who couldn’t take no for an answer.”

“No—” I can’t let him take the blame. Cold horror shrieks through me as I see the mean smug look on Emily’s face. She’s buying his bullshit.

“You’re lying to cover for her. Why should I believe you?”

“Everything he said is a lie—” I try to speak and she whirls on me.