Page 62 of Goalie Secrets
“Ye-yes. My career won’t survive the fall out. I’ve worked so hard for this, Jeremy. If you want to walk out now, I understand,” she says.
And yet she hasn’t broken our contact. I rest my head on her stomach and let her stroking hands soothe my shoulders.
Ishouldwalk out now. There’s less damage if we stop before things go further. It’s one thing to want Dr. Kapur physically, but now it’s my stupid, foolish, optimistic heart at risk. I will not survive the rejection when Vanya inevitably discards me from her life.
“I’m sorry,” she says weakly before kissing the top of my head and dropping her hands from my shoulders. The loss of hertouch makes my situation crystal clear: if I walk away now, I’ll regret it forever.
My choice is between the torture of regret because I didn’t risk my heart, or the pain of rejection if she decides to break my heart.
I choose the latter.
To be honest, part of me expects the hurt.Welcomesit. I’m so accustomed to physical pain, the emotional knot isn’t a deal-breaker. It’s a test. Pain is a passenger in my life, but it has never stopped me from going where I want to go.
If she’s willing to have a fling, then that’s better than nothing. And maybe it goes somewhere we don’t expect. Who knows what the future brings? Maybe if I work hard enough to get past the heavy weight of loving a woman who already has an exit plan, she’ll reconsider staying.
And if she doesn’t stay? Well, at least we have tonight, tomorrow, and the months ahead.
She has me for as long as she wants me. And probably beyond that, too.
I apologized as if my words wouldn’t wound his pride and cause my shame. How could I expect Jeremy—a man worthy of being loved openly and fully—to be a dirty little secret?
Although we’re still touching, with his hands on my hips and my cheek leaning on his head, there’s a gauntlet between us. He deserves to shine and all I can give him is the darkness of a forbidden affair. Only selfishness explains my offer of temporary sexual satisfaction and nothing else.
Appalled at how badly I’m handling the circumstances, how little I’m considering his feelings, how horribly I’ve muddledeverything, I begin to pull away.
Jeremy keeps me close. “We have it your way, but I have one more condition.” Brown eyes hold me in place as much as his grip.
A slow nod is all I can manage.
“We’ll be discreet, and I won’t hold you back from your work, obviously, but we are together while you’re in Columbus.”
His statement makes me feel something like joy. And dread. “But why? Why would you sha-shackle yourself to someone like me when you could have anyone?”
“I don’t want anyone else.”
“But between now and October? Anything can happen. You could meet someone new. I don’t want to stop you from pursuing something more serious.”
The tiniest shrug is a small concession, like he barely registers the possibility. “I won’t.”
“What if you do?”
“You are the first woman I’ve wanted this much, Vanya. That’s no exaggeration. And if my entire adult life is any indication…” He pauses for a deep inhale. “No one else will do.”
Be still, my swooning heart.
“How about you? Are you planning to date someone else between now and October?” His question sounds more like a dare.
“You know the answer to that.”
He stands to cup my face with gentle hands. “I need to hear you say it, beautiful.”
“Wanting to be with you is the most unprecedented thing that’s happened in my very well-planned and laser-focused existence, Jeremy Lopez,” I state. “When I say you’re the only one who could ever tempt me to risk everything I’ve worked for, well,that’sno exaggeration.”
As if my words cast the spell that quiets all doubts and erases future consequences, Jeremy unleashes his passion. He places a strong grip at the back of my neck, pulling me till we’re melded. His mouth crashes on mine. A demanding tongue penetrates my depths with smooth, rhythmic glides. My sounds of pleasure are thoroughly devoured. Jeremy’s hands are everywhere, on my sides and cupping a breast, creeping lower to squeeze my ass, protecting me as he walks me backward to the bedroom.
Once inside, I’m suddenly conscious of how impersonal and plain the bedroom looks. The professor’s queen bed is framed by generic pinewood nightstands. The simple white duvet is rumpled, with my dark silk robe discarded carelessly over a corner. Other than a hairbrush and lip balm on top of a dresser and a laundry basket of dirty clothes, there’s almost nothing of me here.
It’s a reminder that whatever we’re starting has an end date.