I needed to relate to her, be intrigued by her, be comforted by her.
And for that, I blamed the first girl who ever made me feel that way.
I dragged my ass down the stadium hallway, passing by the locker room and heading straight for the weight room, instead. I barely warmed up before I set up at the angled leg press, stacking three-hundred pounds of plates on the machine before I sat down and huffed out the first set of reps. I felt some of the tension melt out of me, but my thoughts didn’t quiet.
I let my head fall back against the bench, staring at my sneakers as I caught my breath.
I didn’t even know her name.
That was what bothered me most all these years later. It made me sick that she ghosted me. It coiled my guts to think that something might have happened to her. It made me furious that I didn’t push harder to meet in person, to put a face to the girl who had permanent residence in my head and my heart.
But not knowing her name?
That meant I didn’t have a prayer of ever finding her.
I shook my head. “Stop being such a fucking pu—”
The word died on my lips, and I paused before a little laugh exhaled out of me remembering how Mary had slapped me the last time I’d used that word as an insult.
Pulling the latches at my side, I focused on my core and my breathing as I repped out another set, and then I locked the weight back into place, legs burning.
I didn’t want to think about my past anymore, about the fact that I was hung up on someone who likely never thought of me now. She would be in college, too — or maybe graduated already. Or maybe she didn’t go to college at all.
Maybe she had a boyfriend. Maybe she was already married and knocked up.
I’d never know.
“Let it go, man,” I urged myself, and then I unlocked the weight again, prepping my breath before I brought my knees to my chest and then powered them straight again. Over and over, I pushed until my heart was racing and my legs were on fire.
And finally, my thoughts drifted away.
For the next hour, it was just me and the weight room. I was the only player in there, and I didn’t even put on headphones like I typically did. I savored the silence, savored the way my body took the pain and pressure off my heart.
One day, I’d wake up and not even think of her at all.
One day, I’d meet someone new, someone who made me feel the way she did, but stronger.
One day.
Until then, I had football.
That was all I needed.
I was exhausted by the time I dragged my ass back to The Pit. Between the early morning conditioning, the whipping from Coach, the punishment I self-inflicted in the weight room and an entire afternoon of Pee Wee practice, I was ready to collapse before I even made it through the door.
When I did, I ran smack into Mary.
I opened the front door and blew through it, and when I turned to the left to immediately toss my gym bag onto the disgusting cushion under our bay window, I collided with her, knocking her so hard she nearly toppled over the arm of the couch. My bag and her purse both crashed onto the old hardwood floor, but I focused on making sure she didn’t join them.
My hands shot out, catching her by the hips just as the back of her knees hit the couch. She angled back with a surprised squeak, arms windmilling, but I kept her from going down, pulling her back up onto her feet.
Her eyes were wide when she was upright again, chest heaving a bit like I’d scared the shit out of her. I guessed I probably had, swinging through the door like a bat out of hell and nearly tackling her. I kept my hands braced on her waist, making sure she was steady, and her hands had found my shoulders once they stopped flailing about.
Now, we were about two inches apart, and I took the lack of distance as an excuse to soak her in.
I was so used to being kept at a distance, but now, I could see every curve the burnt orange dress she was wearing hugged, and every little tattoo peeking out from under the fabric. I noted the flowers wrapping her shoulders, the little bumble bee nestled under her collarbone, the impressive sternum piece that spanned her chest and disappeared under her dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra, either, her breasts gaping enough for me to see how that tattoo dipped between them. I followed the black lines of that ink until I couldn’t see any farther, and then lingered on the outline of the metal piercing her nipples.
Fuck me.
My eyes dropped to where my hands held her hips, continuing down to where the ink began again under the hem of her dress, coloring her thighs and knees and shins all the way to her black boots.
I took my time trailing my gaze back up, and when my eyes met hers, she lifted her chin marginally, as if I were a predator and she wanted to prove she wasn’t afraid of me. Her septum piercing glinted in the light, and I noted how her throat constricted with a thick swallow before she pressed her hands into my chest and shoved me away.
“Can you watch where you’re going?” she said, annoyance evident in her voice. Then she looked down to where the contents of her purse had spilled out, sighing as she dropped to her knees to start picking it all up.
I was really tempted to stand there and enjoy that view, but good sense found me and I bent to help her.
“Sorry,” I said, scooping up a lipstick and mascara and dumping them into her bag. “I didn’t expect anyone to be home.”
We finished gathering her belongings off the floor, and I held out a hand to help her stand. She looked at it, scoffed, and used the couch, instead.
“Where are you off to?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, are you my daddy now?”
“In every single one of my dreams.”
Mary folded her arms over her chest, that usual bored expression she loved to wear settling in and erasing any trace of that curiosity that had been there before. I’d felt it, though — the way her breath hitched when I had my hands on her.
It gave me the confidence to pin her with a cocky grin that told her I saw right through the act.
She flattened her lips. “You look like hell, by the way.”
“And you look like a snack,” I shot back. “We haven’t given you a proper tour of the house yet, have we? We could do that now, start with my bedroom…”
I thought I saw a flicker of something in her eyes — amusement, maybe? Desire? The temptation to say yes to my offer just to see if I made good on it?
But she just shook her head, pressing her tongue into her cheek as she scrutinized me. “That actually works for you, doesn’t it?”
She looked almost sorry for me as she pushed past, and all the playfulness died with that look. I closed my eyes, internally groaning at the idiotic comment as my hand shot out, catching the crook of her elbow and spinning her back around before she could reach the door.
“Wait,” I said.
She shook me off. “Stop touching me.”
“Sorry.” I threw my hands up in surrender. “For the bedroom comment, too. It’s been a long day and I was just—”
“Joking. Yes, I’m aware,” she said, folding her arms over her chest again. I thought she was going to lay into me, but she just fell silent, her eyes flicking between mine.
I shifted under that lingering gaze.
“What happened?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You said it’s been a long day. What happened?”