Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I eye her, not liking that she’s making sense. I don’t want to agree with her because, what if she’s right? What if that’s the reason I feel so lost? A lot of the people I know who are my age are either married or in a committed relationship. I’m the only one who is just fucking around, and it isn’t because I have trust issues or trauma. I was honest when I said no one has ever made me want more. I have never given anyone the chance to get close because I am too focused on my career.
I have only ever had the love of my family, and never have I wished for more.
What if I need more to figure out my future?
Not liking that thought at all, I say, “I thought you didn’t know me.”
She waves me off, sighing in exasperation. “I don’t know you, but I know of you.” She takes a swig of her drink, eyeing me over the lid. “And you know I’m right.”
I shrug. “Somewhat,” I admit. “I agree that my family has been very instrumental in my life and has given me the confidence to succeed. But I don’t know that I’d agree I need a partner to move forward in my career.”
She puts her cup down, her fingers almost brushing mine. Once more, our eyes lock, and everything fades away as I memorize the slope of her nose, the roundness of her cheeks, and how she has a little scar along her lip. I want to know where that came from, but she asks, “What is holding you back from making a choice?”
As badly as I want to look away, I don’t allow myself. There is something so safe about her eyes, the way she is looking at me, almost like I can trust her. I’ve never trusted anyone except for family. Without really thinking, I admit, “I don’t know if I want either.”
Her eyes widen in shock, and hell, even I feel dizzy from admitting that. She leans in, her knuckles brushing mine, and my heart stops. Heat gathers in my gut, my balls tingle, and I don’t dare look away. “Is there something else you want to do?”
I roll my lips, my mouth going dry. Am I really going to tell her? “I’m getting my master’s in sports ethics. I want to help keep athletes from being abused, physically and emotionally.”
She blinks, surprised, before compassion floods her dark irises. “That’s incredible. When I was younger, I did gymnastics, and I was verbally abused by my coach ’cause I wasn’t the right size. My parents reported the gym, but because the coach was on the safety board, they were able to contain it and not get in trouble.” She looks down, exhaling. “Instead, I got kicked out of the gym.”
Anger burns like a wildfire through my soul. “See, that shit is wrong. Why was that coach allowed to be a coach and be on the board? That’s not right. I want to be an advocate for athletes like you. To eliminate the corruption. To make a difference. It’s such shit, and no one really protects the kids. Louis was also abused.”
She looks up, and I’m surprised by the anger in her eyes. “I read about that. I can’t believe a coach, an adult who is meant to protect kids, would abuse someone for who they love.”
My stomach coils in on itself at the thought of that coach, how he continually made fun of Louis and made him feel small. He would sit Louis if my brother wanted to tell, but it all stopped when I heard him calling my brother names for loving another guy. Telling him that he’d never make it to the NHL because they don’t like his kind. “It’s unfair.”
“It is,” she agrees, our eyes locking once more. Understanding moving between us…and maybe more. I don’t know, but I love having her eyes on me.
“You know that’s okay,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving mine. “Your life is yours. You don’t owe anyone anything. You don’t have to go pro.”
You know how in the movie Inside Out, when the girl starts feeling everything all at once and all the emotions are running around screaming as alarms go off and there is complete mayhem?
That’s what I feel right now.
Between hearing how she was verbally abused, talking briefly about Louis, and now her telling me that it’s okay not to want what I’ve worked for, it’s all too much. Which is why I think I say what I do. “You know I know you want me.”
Her brows pull together, and gone is the sincere look, replaced by annoyance in two seconds flat. “You’re such a taint-licker,” she mutters as she moves out of the booth. I want to laugh, but I feel like a fucking idiot. I was doing so well. I had her in my grasp, and I ruined it because…because why?