I’m telling him this, begging him for more, but he’s aware of the world around us in ways I’m not because my first thought when he slides me off the counter and drops me back onto the stool is the sharp sting of rejection, but that’s gone in a flash when the door to the kitchen swings open and Cook steps out to wave hello.
“You eaten?” he asks Ben.
“Birdie made me something,” Ben says, and I swear his voice has a husky edge to it.
“Better not have messed up my kitchen,” Cook says with a good-natured shake of his head before disappearing back behind the door. Thankfully, I think he’s none the wiser to what he almost walked in on.
A laugh bubbles out of me, and I let my forehead sink down onto the edge of the counter.
Ben leans over and kisses my hair.
“I have to get to practice anyway. I lost track of time. Sorry I can’t stay and help you open like I said I would.”
I don’t miss the despair in his tone.
“Are you kidding me?” I say, tilting my head to get a good look at him. “Do you think I care about that? That’s not what I’m upset about.”
Even sideways, he’s gorgeous.
He reaches out to run the back of his pointer finger up the back of my arm. “I’ll come to your trailer later. Wait up for me.”
“Maybe,” I say cheekily.
He leans down to give me a love bite on my shoulder before sliding off the stool and dropping cash on the counter.
I growl in protest.
“Don’t fight me on it,” he says, nodding toward the money. “Give it all to Cook if you want, but I’m not eating for free.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah, well…that makes two of us.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ben
There’s a persistent drum of the basketball as I dribble downcourt, my sneakers screeching as I fake left around LaMarcus, spin right, and then take the open shot from the right wing. The basketball brushes the net, nearly lost, but Anthony tips it in then Coach Dalton blows his whistle. We walk to the sidelines, exhausted. Anthony bumps his fist against mine—a silent agreement that the two of us are as unstoppable as ever. When Coach’s back is to us, I shoot LaMarcus a wink just to needle him. He flips me the bird.
It’s been a long day in the weight room and on the court. My muscles are already aching as I take a seat on the sidelines, but I have an endless fount of energy knowing that soon we’ll break for the day and I’ll drive out to see Raelynn. She’s been on my mind constantly. Short reprieves only come when I’m in the middle of play—too focused on winning and racking up points to worry about anything else.
Now, I find it hard to focus on Coach as he delivers his daily debrief. He can tell, apparently, because when he asks me a question and I don’t have a good answer for him, the whole team laughs.
He shakes his head and tells us to go, eat well, rest up. There are only a few more practices here before we leave for Tokyo.
I stand to grab my stuff and head out before anyone else. I’m in a rush and I want to get to Raelynn as soon as possible. Her days are as long as mine. She’ll be tired, and I don’t want her to have to wait up for me. I wonder if she’s already eaten dinner. Even if she has, she could save whatever I bring her for later. I worry about her. At certain angles, she seems too thin to me. Too slight for the amount of work she has to do. I wish I could fix that, wave a wand and end her hardships.
I race back to my cabin after practice. I shower quickly and dress quickly, reaching for some black sweats and a t-shirt. Then, as I grab my keys, my gaze catches on my laptop and I remember that I was supposed to call my agent back tonight, and on top of that, my manager has been hounding me to reply to some emails for brand partnerships. Apparently, I’ve been slacking with communication lately.
I groan in protest as I reroute, grab my laptop, and get to work, hoping to slog through everything in under an hour. It ends up taking me almost three. My agent keeps me on the phone forever, and it’s good and dark by the time I have a chance to escape.
I’m starving, so I swing by and grab some dinner to-go from the main house, making sure to grab extra for Raelynn. The kitchen’s closed and I’m not surprised. Everyone else would have already eaten by now. I eat on the way to Raelynn’s, racing down the dark highway at breakneck speeds. It’s stupid, but I can’t lay off the gas. I’m chasing a high. I expect to see flashing blue and red lights cut into my rearview at any moment, but even that thought doesn’t slow me down.
Off the highway, onto a gravel road, I park beside Raelynn’s old car. I’m outside, carrying to-go food and knocking on her door before I realize I accidentally left my engine running. I double back, turn the car off, grab my keys, and knock again. Still, no answer.
“Raelynn?” I ask to the chirping cicadas and frogs.
I try the handle on the trailer door, and it gives. I tug it open and step inside to find it dead quiet. There’s a dull light over the sink, just enough that when I glance down the narrow hall, past the small galley kitchen and the bathroom, I spot Raelynn asleep on her bed.
Without a second thought, I slip off my shoes, walk quietly to her refrigerator, and pull it open so I can put the extra food I brought on an empty shelf. On the other side of the kitchen, I dip into the bathroom, wash my hands, and use some of her toothpaste with my finger then top it off with mouthwash. I try to stay as quiet as possible as I finish up and step into her tiny bedroom at the end of the trailer.
Raelynn is on her side in the middle of the bed, a tangle of blonde hair spread out over her pillow. Her blankets are bunched around her waist and her loose pajama top has ridden up to reveal the cinched part of her waist.
She must be exhausted if all my clatter didn’t wake her up. I consider leaving her to rest, but I can’t do it. I’m too greedy, too tempted now that I’m here with her. We have so few days left that I can’t give up this opportunity. I slink around the side of her bed, and she finally stirs.
“Ben?” she asks, her voice scratchy with sleep. “I left the door unlocked for you.”
I smile. “I know. Can I stay?”
She nods, but she still doesn’t open her eyes, as if she’s too tired to bother. She starts to scoot over to make room for me, and I sink down onto the stiff mattress and crawl under the blankets. Her bed is only a queen, which means it’s a tight fit once I lie down beside her.
For a moment, I hold perfectly still. I’m so rigid, so aware of how much room I’m taking up, how uncomfortable I am. I want to adjust my head on the pillow, fit myself better against her, but I don’t want to keep moving around and wake her up even more. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until she turns and nestles into my side, tugging me closer with her arm around my stomach. I never sleep with a shirt on, and it’s already warm in here.
“Hold on,” I say, lifting up enough to tug my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor.
I lie back down and find Raelynn looking at me.
“Sorry I was late.”
She smiles. “It’s okay.”
“Go back to sleep.”
She doesn’t argue, her heavy lids closing quickly. I finally relax, scoot closer to her, and get comfortable. It won’t be the best night’s sleep of my life, but even if we were on a plush California king, I wouldn’t sleep well. I’m so aware of Raelynn: her shallow breathing, her small hand resting on my chest, her bare legs brushing mine underneath the blankets. I want to do a million things to her, but I won’t be that selfish. I’ll let her sleep for now, and I’ll lie here with her and tell myself it’s enough. Truthfully though, holding her in my arms is the strangest sort of torture.