“Yeah, I’d say so,” I reply with a laugh, studying the damage to his lip a little more closely. It looks tender and sore. But it doesn’t look like he needs stitches.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.
“Fine.”
“You’re sure?” I repeat, unconvinced. I take a fresh corner of the washcloth and run it beneath his nose. At least it isn’t bleeding anymore, but it’ll definitely be swollen for the next few days. Poor guy.
“Yeah, Blake. I’m sure.” He grabs my wrist and leans even more into my palm, soaking up my heat through the thin layer of nitrile of the glove separating us. I watch a drop of sweat trickle from his hairline down to his temple. It isn’t fair. How attractive this man is. All stubbled jaw and surfer boy with a side of arrogance I most definitely should not find endearing or charismatic. But it is. He is. Even when he’s covered in sweat and blood, he’s still the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid eyes on.
And those eyes?
Damn his eyes.
I swear they can see into my soul.
It isn’t fair.
What he does to me.
How he makes me feel.
His gaze softens as if he can read my thoughts. “Blake, I’m––”
“You did really well out there.” I murmur, desperate to temper our connection.
He chuckles. “Thanks. Now, if I could figure out how to do well in here, that’d be great.”
I don’t have to ask what he’s referring to. I already know. Things have been weird between us, and it’s been even more stilted and awkward since our little chat about the whore money in the locker room. But it isn’t his fault. It’s mine. He’s been trying. He’s been texting. He’s been wanting to talk, and all I’ve done is push him away.
I close my eyes. “Theo…”
“I’m really sorry, Blake.”
I meet his gaze and let out a sigh. “We’ve been through this. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I do,” he argues. “Let me make this right.”
“There’s nothing to make right. I’m fine.”
“Bullshit. Give me a chance. Let me make it up to you. To Colt.”
“Is that why you’re bringing this up?” My lungs constrict in my chest. “To make it up to Colt?”
“And you,” he repeats softly. “Let me take you out. Let’s get rid of this…awkwardness. It doesn’t have to be weird between you and me.”
“It’s always been weird between you and me,” I counter, biting back my annoyance. I try to move my hand away from his face, but he cups it with his own, forcing me to keep my hand in place.
“No, it hasn’t.”
“Yes, it has.” The washcloth in my opposite hand lands on the cushioned bench with a wet plop, and he lets me go. But I’m done pretending. I’m done hiding away from the reality of our relationship, no matter how rocky it’s been, just to keep up the ruse we’re…what exactly? I think this is the problem. I don’t know what we are. Enemies? Hardly. Sure, the bastard gets under my skin because he’s so damn overprotective, but I’ve never hated him.
Friends? I guess it’s closer, but I’ve never imagined any of my other friends naked. I’ve never wanted them to kiss me the way I want Theo to.
But lovers? I can’t even think the word without wanting to laugh. Theo doesn’t do lovers. Hell, I don’t do lovers, either. But Theo? He really doesn’t do them. Not that it matters. The fact is simple. It’s always been weird between us, and I’m done avoiding the truth and how much it slays me.
Theo touches my chin and tilts my head up until our gazes meet. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me how I can fix this. Because seeing you all torn up inside? Seeing how you refuse to look at me or answer my texts? It’s killing me, Blake.”
“You want the truth, Teddy?” I whisper.
“Yeah.”
“Fine.” I lean away from his touch. “Ever since my fifteenth birthday when you saw me in a dress for the first time, you made our relationship weird and you started treating me differently. And how weird is it that I can literally pinpoint the exact moment when you stopped treating me like a friend?”
“I didn’t––”
“Yes, you did,” I argue, poking him in the chest. “Which is why I refused to wear a dress for the next four years until Mia twisted my arm for the party a few months ago where––again––you made it weird.”
Desperate, he grabs my wrist to keep me from poking him and drags me closer, pulling me between his open thighs. He’s so close I can taste his breath. Smell his sweat. The pheromones radiate off him, soaking into me, teasing my senses until I’m desperate for a taste. A reminder of what it feels like to have his mouth on mine. His hands on my waist as he grabs my hips and pushes into me.
My breath hitches, but I stay quiet, my attention slipping to his mouth. It’s oh, so close. Oh, so tempting.
“Give me another chance to make it not weird,” he begs.
With a scoff, I pull my hand from his grasp and cross my arms. But we’re still close. Too close. If only I were strong enough to put more distance between us. But I’ve never been strong. Not when it comes to Teddy.
“Because it worked out so well all the other times,” I remind him.
“If you won’t do it for me, do it for Colt.”
“We both know I’m not selfless enough for that.”
His chuckle is low and throaty as he counters, “Yeah, I call bullshit on that too. But if you won’t do it for him, do it for you. The old you. The new you. Whoever you want. Just…give me a chance to make shit not weird between us.”
It’s his eyes that do me in. The sincerity. It reminds me of when we were kids, and he stole the last can of Crush from the refrigerator, not realizing I’d been saving it. The next day, he delivered a whole two-liter with my name scribbled across the front in black Sharpie along with a warning: That means don’t touch this, Colt, Knox, or Garett! I know where you live.
And even though it wasn’t a bag of cinnamon bears, I’d savored the two-liter of Crush for weeks, refusing to share with anyone but Theo. Colt and Logan were pissed, which only made the soda taste that much sweeter. I loved it more than anything. The memory makes me smile as I peek up at Theo again, my heart fluttering in my chest like a dying hummingbird.
“Please, Blake?” he repeats.
It would be so easy to give in. To give him another chance. To fall for him. But I can’t. Not without putting my internship in jeopardy. And I’d be insane to let a guy come between me and my future.
I pull away from his touch, choosing to stare at the split in his lip instead of his tempting gaze. But I stay quiet. Because I don’t know what to say or how to be strong enough to pull away.
“Come to the Taylor House again,” he murmurs.
I peek up at him.
“Come hang out. Sip a few beers. Play some pool. Let me make it up to you. Let me prove we can be in the same room together without me screwing it up. Please?”
Damn his eyes.
“What about Coach’s rule?” I ask, but my mouth snaps shut when Russ enters the room.