Page 91 of Relationship Goals

“What if I told you I wanted to move back to Seattle?” The question is so low it’s barely audible. His blue eyes are full of emotion.

“I would say that makes perfect sense.” I squint at him. “Is that what has you all torn up?” Butterflies take flight in my stomach, because gosh darn it he’s cute. “You’re worried about…me? Being in LA?”

He shrugs.

My mouth twitches to one side. “So no. All right, spill. Whatever it is, I can handle it. I’m a big girl.”

“My mom is part of it,” he says slowly, the words clearly unwilling to come out. “What if I told you that you’re going to find out that I’m an asshole? That I’m not worth your time, or your care, or your beautiful smile?”

I frown at him, confused, a million questions on the tip of my tongue that I somehow manage to quash. I told him I’d listen.

I’m going to listen, dammit. This is not the Abigail Fills the Awkward Silence Show.

“Why would you say that?” I ask him, trying to lead him to wherever it is he’s heading. Patiently.

“Because Iaman asshole, Abigail. People get tired of me, they leave me, and I’m not worth the trouble because I’m rude, I pick fights, and maybe I should just…” He gives me a bewildered, pain-filled look, and it takes my breath away. “You don’t want me. You shouldn’t want me.”

“Well, I think I get a say in that,” I tell him. So much for shutting up, I guess. “Where is this coming from?”

That’s what I get for thinking things were going so well.

“It’s who I am, Abigail. This is who I am. Everyone knows it on the field, that’s how I’ve been able to play as long as I have—because they’re afraid to start shit with me.”

Oh. I see. “Luke,” I hold out my hands, the universal sign of surrender, and he blows out a breath, some of that hard-fought tension leaving his shoulders. “Luke, I see you. I see therealyou. Not the soccer-star bad-boy image that you have. I see Luke, who did a mating dance to make me laugh. Luke, who suffered with me through Pilates, which I’m pretty sure is banned in many countries thanks to the Geneva Conventions.”

That wins me a small smile.

“You pulled up through your anus,” I tell him softly, putting my hands on his hips, unable to keep from touching him. “Like a champion.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“Ah-ah!” I bark, interrupting him. “You aren’t this person that you pretend to be on the field. That’s part of you, sure, but it isn’t all of you. Trust me. I’m a different person for every job. My whole line of work is putting on someone else’s life and taking it off like clothes at the end of the day. Some days are harder than others. But I’m not the characters I play. You are also not just Luke Wolfe, bad boy of soccer. You are Luke Wolfe, kitten rescuer. Luke Wolfe, Pilates survivor. Luke Wolfe, giver of multiple orgasms and Mexican food orderer extraordinaire. The press? They don’t control who we are. They might control the narrative, but they don’t control this.” I poke his chest, then lay my palm over where his heart thuds under his skin. “No one controls this but you.”

His arms circle around me, and it feels like relief.

“I just need you to be you,” he finally says gently. “I need you, and I need you to remember what you just said. For me.”

Then he swats my bare ass, and I yelp in surprise.

“Want to swim?” His expression’s turned mischievous, and I’m glad to see whatever darkness he’s struggling with has receded for the moment.

“Mmm, definitely.” I waggle my eyebrows. “Suits optional?”

“We won’t be swimming if you don’t wear something.”

That makes me laugh, and I wrap myself tighter around him, nuzzling against the crook of his shoulder. My eyes close as I inhale the masculine musk of his skin, sweatier now but still tinged with the spicy scent of his bodywash.

“I like how you smell,” I mutter.

“You wouldn’t say that to me after a game,” he says, and the rumble of his laugh tickles my skin.

“Maybe I’m into that. Maybe stinky men are my kink.”

“That can definitely be arranged,” he says, caressing my butt playfully. But when he grasps it firmly, then pins me underneath him and ravages me with a kiss, it’s anything but playful.

We don’t make it to the pool.

Chapter Twenty-four