Julie picked a few stray cat hairs off the fuzzy purple fabric. “Funny enough, I often eat ice cream in them, and I think the chunks of kitty fur add a super authentic feel.”
Gavin placed his index finger and raised thumb on his chin in the classic thinker position. “Yes, yes, I see. Very authentic. That’s how I choose my jammies, too. After all, what’s more authentic than stripping down to my skivvies?”
She giggled and did her best not to fret over why he was only talking about the pants portion of her PJs. Not that she’d know how to react if he mentioned the nightie. Too many thoughts and emotions swirled under the surface, crashing into each other and ratcheting her anxiety to the next level.
Gavin lay back, the lower half of his legs dangling off the futon, and she mimicked the motion. Although she swung her feet—sitting still had never been part of her skillset. Normally, she’d fill the quiet with random “fun facts,” but that’d get in the way of whatever he’d come in here to say. With Gavin, the less she pried, the more information he’d freely give.
After a second or two of silence, he began talking. His injury was a Type I shoulder separation, which meant it was only a partial tear of AC ligaments with no injury to the CC ligaments.
With that news hanging in the air, Julie breathed a sigh of relief. As far as shoulder separations went, it was the least intensive and the quickest recovery.
As he continued on with what his coaches and teammates had said, Julie rolled onto her side so she could study his face. That way, as he transitioned to discussing his hopes and concerns, she could see the thoughts and feelings underlying what he didn’t say aloud.
“With any luck, I’ll only be out one game. Worst case scenario, it takes longer than it should to heal and I can’t play till next season. I’m sure plenty of people would attempt to soothe me by saying things like it’s only half a year, but the Mustangs were the joke of the NFL when I signed my contract. Now, we’re second in our league. Not that I’m solely responsible—the entire team’s worked their asses off. And the thought of letting them all down…” He swallowed hard, twisting his head enough to lock eyes with her.
“If anyone can defy the odds, it’s you. This is just a minor setback, and I…” She hesitated, not because she didn’t believe in Gavin with her whole heart, but because she was a woman of science and didn’t want to make promises she didn’t have control over keeping.
But every once in a while, logical problems didn’t need logical answers. Hope and faith were powerful emotions, ones that had been scientifically proven when it came to faster recovery.
Julie took hold of the hand not resting on his torso and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s focus on the here and now, and what we can control. If you rush to jump back in, you could end up with a full tear and injure the CC ligaments as well. That’s why we’re going to listen to your trainers and coaches and take this week to rest and heal.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, and she pursed her lips. Then she transitioned back into his peppy personal cheerleader.
“Do that, and I have no doubt that when playoffs come, you’ll be out there on the field with the rest of the team, blowing everyone away. The crowd, anyone involved with the Mustangs, all the doubters and haters, and most importantly, me.”
One corner of his mouth kicked up, forming a groove in his cheek. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, so the faint outline of a mustache and a five o’ clock shadow dusted his upper lip and jawline. Not that she’d ever questioned the tastes of the list makers of the hottest football players, but as she took in Gavin’s profile and separated the boy she’d known forever from the kickass quarterback he’d become, she couldn’t help thinking he deserved not just to be on the list, but at the tippy-top.
“Thanks, Jules. I needed to hear that. Especially from my friend who’s right most of the time.”
“Most?” She made an offended noise in the back of her throat. “What’s all this most nonsense?”
His laugh soothed her worries and had her settling deeper into the futon. Then he rolled to fully face her, his left shoulder the one bearing his weight. “Enough of my pity party. What’s going on with you?”
To tell or not to tell, that was the question. “Okay, so don’t make fun of me, but…” She sat up and wrung her hands together. “I want—no need—to try something against the norm for me, and I…
“The truth is, I could use a whole heap of help in order to… Ugh, it’s honestly so embarrassing that I’m not sure if I can even…” Suddenly, the temperature in the room shot up at least a dozen degrees. Sweat beaded her brow and she fought the urge to yank off her stifling pants. Bonus, she could then use them to cover her undoubtedly bright red face.
Gavin sat up and nudged her. “Gonna finish any of those sentences?”
She sank her teeth into her lower lip. “Yes. No. Maybe?”
He rolled a finger, prompting her to spit it out already. If she continued to peer into his questioning eyes, she’d never be able to, so she dropped her head into her hands. “Remember Brad?”
His voice dropped low and markedly even. “It’s hard to forget about Brad the bastard.”
“Well, when he dumped me, he…” Her words came out muffled, but she couldn’t bring herself to lower her hands. That stupid stab in her chest returned with a vengeance, too, chipping away more of her confidence. “He told me I was boring, and yes, that included in the bedroom. So what little sexual prowess I had is completely gone, and I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but anyway, I’m going to prove to myself that I’m not boring. By having a fling over the holidays—it’s a present to myself, really.”
She spread her fingers enough to peek through them. “And, since that Kory guy is handsome and, as everyone heard my mom say several times, single, I’m considering attempting having that fling with him.”
…
How in the hell was Gavin supposed to respond to that? Especially since he was still trying to rearrange all the pieces so that the picture made sense.
A fling? With that scrawny dude she met tonight?
Also, Brad the bastard told her she was boring and bad at sex?
Gavin curled his hands into fists. What a fucking asshole—he’d never been a fan, but now he wanted to hunt him down and pummel him to a bloody pulp. With one arm literally tied down, it’d help Brad’s chances of survival, but no promises.
Worse, he’d heard the hurt as she’d confessed that part, and now she was lowering her hands to her lap, clearly expecting a response. Instances like these were the reason he preferred she do the bulk of the talking. He never knew the right thing to say.