Page 24 of Catching Kyle (Football Heartthrobs #1)

Kyle Weaver

As we take the highway back to my place, the sun is setting.

Oranges, pinks, reds, and purples dance across the sky.

God, I love sunsets. I want to talk to Michael about what I’m seeing, but he’s acting all depressed like Eeyore.

He’s just slouched in his seat, staring away from me like I’m the last person he’d like to see, giving me one-word answers.

“Are you upset?” I ask.

He straightens a bit, adjusting his hot pink shorts that make his legs look goddamn perfect. “No. Why?”

Finally, a two-word answer. “You’ve been acting all sad ever since I told you what management’s making me do,” I say. Making me find a girlfriend. Sheesh. My new therapist, Neeti, agreed that it’s bullshit. Business, but bullshit all the same.

He doesn’t answer. He’s just playing with his fingers.

“Hey,” I say. “I asked you a question.”

His head whips toward me. “Is it not obvious?”

I get that anxious feeling in my chest. Neeti says this is normal. I just gotta breathe. “Obvious how?”

He scoffs. “You have to find a girlfriend to keeping playing for the Tigers,” he says. “And you just took me on a date. Don’t you see how those two things are at odds? ”

I take another deep breath, the pain in my chest getting worse. “I told you I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“But you want to play football again next year, right?”

I tighten my grip around the steering wheel. I told Neeti, my therapist, everything—how my dad asked me to continue on the family name. How I compromised and decided to win the Championship Game instead. That was the only way I could think to honor him then, and that hasn’t changed.

“I do,” I say. “I made a promise.”

He shakes his head and folds his arms, looking out the window again, his gaze as far away from me as possible. “Seems like you already made your decision.”

I huff out a breath. “I haven’t made it fully yet,” I say. “Michael, I like you. I wanna keep seeing you. Isn’t that enough?”

He lets out a sharp breath this time. “Okay, let’s say we continue seeing each other. In secret like we just did. What happens when you decide you need a girlfriend so you can continue playing? What happens to us? To me?”

I release one hand off of the steering wheel and press my aching chest. I gotta keep remembering to breathe. Neeti said that the choice was mine, regardless of the pressure from outside. Regardless of Dad.

“I don’t want to let you down,” I say. “But this is all new to me.”

“It’s great that you came out,” Michael says, wiping his face. “But I can’t be a casualty of the process. I’ve been hurt enough.”

I picture his douchebag ex and tighten my grip even harder around the wheel ‘til my knuckles get white. “I won’t treat you like him. I promise I’ll be better.”

He sighs. “I don’t think that’s a promise you can make.”

The rest of the car ride home goes in silence. Because he’s right. I can’t promise him that I won’t hurt him. And out of all my problems, I think that I hate that the most.

Storm clouds come out of nowhere, blocking the fading sunset and giving us a light drizzle. The patter on windshield begins to loosen my tightened chest.

When we make it to my house, I see Michael’s dented up little Acura, and the pain returns to my chest. This might be the last day I see it in my driveway.

I park in the garage, and Michael can’t get out fast enough .

“Careful,” I say before he shuts the car door. “Don’t want the rain to—”

But he slams it before I finish.

I get out, and he’s walking to his car.

“Damn rain,” I hear him mutter. It’s coming down harder now.

I make my way to my front porch. “You can stay,” I say. “Until it lets up. I know driving city traffic is bad when it’s wet.”

“I’ll be fine,” he grunts. He reaches his car and opens the door, but he’s soaked now.

All the fantasies I’ve had of us—both in bed and in real life—flash before me. I never get that dark feeling around him, and I feel so seen by him. He’s so kind. And now I feel like he’s running away. Will I see him again?

“Michael,” I say.

He hesitates before he gets in the car.

“Thank you for bringing me all the books, for showing me how inspiring the romance genre actually is,” I say. I reflect on that Cat Sebastian book I read at the lesbian café. “Because it definitely has inspired me. No matter what I choose, I’ll always be grateful for that.”

He pauses, rain coming down hard now. His mullet is soaked to his neck, and water drips off his chin. He stands there leaning on his car door, still, and I can’t read his face. For a moment, I think he might come to me.

But then he gets in his car and shuts the door.

My eyes get all hot as he starts his car. I make my way through my front door and slam it behind me. I prop myself up on my banister and hold my aching chest.

What kind of God is there that brings the man of my dreams to my doorstep and then has him go? Sure, I discovered part of my true self because of him, but is that it? Can’t there be a little more?

Rain is falling hard now, and I’m tempted to text Michael, or even call him, to be safe. But I don’t think I can do that anymore.

I swear under my breath and untie the noose of a tie around my neck.

Some tears even stain my cheeks. I hate how damn much I’m crying these days.

I throw the tie on the ground and keep myself held up by the banister, needing it more than ever to keep myself up.

When I get my bearings, I sigh, and then I make my way upstairs.

There’s a crash of thunder that almost sounds like a knock. I stop myself. That can’t be…

I turn around and look at my door. Just out the side window, I can see a flash of bright pink, the same color as his shorts.

I race down the stairs and open my door.

And there he is.

Michael, completely drenched.

And he’s holding a book and some of my old clothes in his hand.

I stare at him, my jaw heavy and hanging. “What are—” I don’t even know what to ask.

“Sorry,” he says, shrinking into himself like he always does.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” I say.

He wipes rain—or tears, I don’t know—away from his eyes. “I thought about what you said, and—”

Lightning crashes, followed quickly by earthshattering thunder. A gust of wind blows rain onto the porch. Without thinking, I grab the handsome man on my porch and pull him into the house before he gets even more soaked.

I hold him his wet body against me, probably ruining my suit, but I couldn’t give two shits. I slam the door with one hand, but I keep my other wrapped tight around him.

He gulps so loud I can hear it. “I—”

“Why did you come back?” I say, pulling away and looking into his hazel eyes. My lips are dangerously close to his.

He looks at my lips, giving me all the answer I need. But I wanna hear him say it.

“Tell me,” I say so low it shakes us both. I rub my nose against his, and I feel him shiver, so I hold him tighter. I’m hardening down south, and I can feel he is too.

Good. After years of watching him, I might just get him to myself .

His lips pull away from mine slowly, and for a second, I panic. Does he want me to let go? Did he really just want to give me my book and then go?

“Because you’re too much of a good guy to let go,” he says. And then he presses his lips against mine, and my worries drip off me like rain.