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14

BODHI

It’s been a month since Navy officially moved into the house and made Cal’s old room her new sanctuary. I say that because I never knew women had so many things.

Growing up with my sister, Penelope, she had things—makeup, hair stuff, and clothes, but never this extensive.

Since Navy’s room is on the same floor as mine, I get to witness what that woman lives in.

Portable clothing racks line a wall—she seems to have outgrown the walk-in closet. Shoes litter the hardwood floor, a different lipstick color is staked on every flat surface, and random spiral notebooks are tossed around the room.

I can smell the overwhelming scent of hairspray lingering in the air. It’s overpowering, but makes sense for the amount of product I’m sure Navy has to put in her hair to tame those wild red curls.

Not to mention the diffuser she keeps on regularly that emits eucalyptus, what I’ve come to learn is her signature scent.

I wonder if Navy realizes that she’s canceling the other out. She runs the diffuser to purify the air, but it’s useless because the chemicals overpower it. That’s a pointless thought I will choose to keep to myself, but again, her room.

I’d like to say I’ve had many opportunities to spend time with Navy, but I haven’t. I’ve been in the gym daily, especially with it being the offseason, and Navy has been working. I never realized how much reporters actually work postseason. It seems like every day I hear from either Gus or Mack that Navy has either an interview with Leggins, someone from human resources, or she’s working on the upcoming season content and potential player matchups.

I do miss seeing her in action.

There were so many times I caught players from the opposing team catching an eyeful of the goddess on my mind as she was interviewing the Strikers. I fucking hated it, but I was forced to stay silent.

I’m getting back to the house after a session with Dr. Banks, and my stomach immediately drops as I see that Navy’s red Mercedes is the only car parked in the driveway.

Great.

We’ve managed to miss each other for a month now, so I guess it was only a matter of time before we faced each other again.

I park my black pickup truck next to Navy’s before gathering my backpack and heading to the front door. I don’t know why the hell I feel timid entering my own house.

Actually, I do know why—it’s because of the untouchable beauty that waits on the other side. The one I can’t have and continue to make a fool of myself around.

The more I look at this house, the more I realize how much it lacks a woman’s touch. Not that I expect Navy to shower us with feminism, but the house definitely lacks the hominess that women bring.

That Navy brings.

At least, that’s what I think. I’ve been missing a mother for so long now that I think I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be nurtured by a woman.

The guys and I have mentioned hiring a designer to spruce the inside up a little or even a gardener to plant some plants to liven up the black mulch flying solo in the flower beds.

Those things can happen in time.

As soon as my feet meet the entryway, I’m greeted with the sight of Navy bent over in a downward dog. Fuck. She’s doing yoga. Her living here is setting me up to fail.

I’ve always known Navy does yoga, but I’ve never had the pleasure of witnessing her in action.

I only know what a downward dog is because Penelope loves that yoga shit too. She still does it, which pulls at my stupidly smitten heart, thinking about how much Penelope would love Navy.

The view right now, however, is one I could never complain about. Navy’s tight body is squeezed into the tiniest pair of hot pink yoga shorts with a matching sports bra. The bra has all those twisty strings on the back of it that look like they should be cutting her circulation off, but Navy looks like the epitome of comfort. She’s barefoot, and her untamed curls are tossed around her head, giving me a front-row seat to admire the curve of her ass and the sexiness of her elongated spine.

She’s stunning.

I let the door shut behind me, and that catches Navy’s attention.

She stands quickly, tossing her hair behind her as she attempts to balance herself. I watch from a distance as her eyes find me quickly before she reaches for the television remote and stops her workout.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be home for a while.” She reaches for her water bottle and takes a long chug. Jesus. Navy is sweaty and flushed, and I have to practically knock my dick with my backpack to get it to calm the fuck down.

Taking a deep breath, I respond, “All good. I was at therapy and figured I would head home.”

I set my backpack on the dining room table and walk to the kitchen to make my protein shake and a bowl of cereal.

“You’re not going to dinner?” Navy asks as she walks past me to the fridge to grab another water bottle.

I shake my head without looking at her, focusing on the task before me. “No. I had plans after training and it would have been too late by the time I finished up. Don’t feel up to it anyway.”

Navy nods like she understands. I think she does.

One thing I’ve noticed about Navy over the last year is that although she’s extroverted and knows no stranger, she enjoys her quiet time—her isolated peace.

We’re the same in that way.

I turn to look at her and find her bright green eyes already on me. “Let me eat real quick, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

We’re tiptoeing around each other, and I hate it.

It feels abnormal for us. Navy has been a solid ground for me this last year. I look to her when I need to recenter my thoughts and take a breather. Being around her feels fresh and new—even today.

I hate that the comfort we’ve always had as friends is missing.

Her lean body is perched on the kitchen countertop as she soaks in my every word. “Oh, you don’t have to. I was almost finished anyway. I’m probably gonna shower and then head to bed,” she tells me.

God, we’re being so fucking formal around each other, and I want it to stop. I need to cool the air between us.

I stare at her intently. “Listen, Navy, I’m sorry about that night at Boone. I don’t know what came over me, but I had no right to corner you like that and demand things of you. It’s not my place, and I’m sorry if I hurt you. I have difficulty not interfering when people I care about are at risk.”

“Or staying in a roach infested motel.”

I raise a brow. “At risk. My point exactly.”

She sends me a slight smile, not enough to show happiness but to express appreciation and acknowledgment. “Thanks for saying that. I know how much you care, Bodhi. But without mentioning the past, you made it clear where you stand, and I’m trying to move on. All I ask is that you respect that, and let’s try to be friends if possible.”

I question where she gets her ability to forgive without restraint. She gives it to me without compromise, making it available no matter the cost.

Her compassion is one more reason why I don’t deserve her.

Yet, hearing her say she wants to move on stings like a bitch. I don’t want her to move on, but it needs to be done to make sure Cal never finds out about Fiji and her feelings for me fade—my feelings too.

It hurts more than I expected.

Now I’m going to be forced to put on a fake smile and pretend I’m happy for her as she dates other guys, introduces them to the team, and fucking brings them home for the night.

I groan at the thought. Goddammit. I can’t handle seeing anyone touch her the way I long to. But I’ll do it for her and Callaway.

I shake my head to rid my thoughts and clear my throat. “Of course. I can do that for you.”

This is the way things have to be.

I’ll be fine. I’ll channel my focus into therapy and bettering myself. I’ll work my tail off in the gym to release the frustration I’m predicting to be in my near future, and I’ll be Navy’s friend.

However, since the lines between us have been blurred, I have forgotten what that looks like.

I finish my cereal and stand to wash my dish in the sink. “Do you always do that?” Her soft voice stops me.

“Do what?”

Navy replies, “Wash your dish as soon as you’re done using it?”

I nod. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She sends me a small smile as a look of confusion settles across her face. “You never just leave it for later because you’re too tired to do it now?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I don’t see the point when I’m already here and able.”

Navy groans loudly, “Ugh. Such a travesty. Do you ever get messy?”

I raise a brow. “Um…” My smirk causes her to blush, and I know now she finally realized how her question sounded.

Mud pools. Yes, I get messy.

She waves me off. “You know what, forget it. I’m glad we talked. I’ll see you in the morning, Bodhi.”

“Goodnight,” I call out as she walks toward the staircase. I take her departure as my sign to grab my book from the shelf in the media room downstairs and read on the couch until I crash.

Thankfully, I showered and changed into gym shorts and a Strikers T-shirt, so I won’t need to change.

The house is quiet for a Thursday night, and for once, the silence feels lonely. I usually prefer being alone to being surrounded by others, but tonight feels different.

I’m not sure if it’s because my mind knows that Navy is upstairs or because I’ve been working hard on myself lately. The magnitude of how alone I really am is weighing heavily on my mind.

I want to be better.

I wish there were some magic pill to save me.

Although I’m thankful for the progress I’ve made, I can’t help but think maybe I’m already too fucked up for a resurrection.

With my thriller secured, I find a spot on the living room sectional and let my mind finally turn off for the night.