Page 6 of Hold Me Closer

Teo

" I s that Teo Kirby?"

"Holy shit. Did Teo Kirby just get into another fight?"

"Fuck," I mutter, shouldering my way through the crowd as my heart pounds like a jackhammer against my ribcage, fury still coursing through my veins with every hard thump.

I want to turn right back around, snatch that little prick off the ground, and keep hitting him until I forget the look in Nadia's eyes.

For a split second, she was afraid. The moment she looked up, seeking help dealing with him, I saw the fear and anxiety in her eyes. For the first time in years, I was standing in front of her, and she was afraid.

I didn't think. I just fucking reacted.

If he didn't want me to put my hands on him, he never should have called her a bitch. He never should have threatened her.

He never should have put that look on her face.

No one threatens her, least of all some drunk prick who can't comprehend that he'll never be good enough to kiss her shoes, let alone buy her a drink.

She's so goddamn beautiful it hurts. I should have expected that. She's been beautiful every damn day of her life, but up on that stage, she was something else. Her hazel eyes were bright, her dark hair gleaming under the lights. She looked like a little fairy princess.

I've only ever seen her glow like that once—right after I kissed her. Right before I crushed her.

She was in love up there, happier than ever.

I always knew she was meant to sing. She's loved doing it her entire life, but I don't think she ever let herself believe it was something she could do for her whole life. Back then, her desire to sing was a secret she only shared with me.

She's always been so damn smart—really fucking smart. Her parents had her working with tutors by the time she was in first grade because she was so far ahead of the rest of us. Everyone thought she'd be a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer or something. Not me.

I knew she was destined to sing. I was relieved as hell when she decided to pursue music in college.

I'd worried that she'd pick something she thought she should do—something to please everyone else—instead of following her heart.

But she didn't. She told her parents she was going for music, and they were thrilled.

When she didn't go, I couldn't wrap my mind around it. The girl who used to dream about college like most little girls dreamed about weddings was no longer going at all? It was unthinkable.

But that stage is where she belongs.

I didn't expect seeing her on it to feel like this, though.

Christ, I can't breathe.

I shove my way out of the club into the cool night air, trying to think through the chaos swirling through my mind. She was in front of me for the first time in years, and I just fucking…walked away.

Actually, I think I ran away like a goddam coward.

She's happy. She doesn't need an asshole like me swooping in to fuck it all up for her now, and that's precisely what I'd do—fuck it up for her.

It's what I did back then. I fucked it all up, sent her life into a tailspin.

If she's finally pulled herself out of it, the last thing she needs is for me to suck her right back into my tornado because my life is far from together. I'm a walking disaster.

"So this is how it's going to be with you, huh?" she asks from behind me as I stride through the parking lot across the street from the Rhinestone . "You're just going to keep walking away from me forever?"

I freeze midstep, her soft voice washing over me. Not even the anger in it does a damn thing to stop my body's reaction to her. My cock presses against my zipper, aching and desperate. Christ, she's the only damn thing he's ever wanted.

I may be the only twenty-four-year-old virgin left in Los Angeles. I'm positive I'm the only one left in the league. But I never could see past her long enough to see another woman. The thought of someone else's hands on me always made my fucking skin crawl. It still does.

I've been telling myself for six damn years that she isn't mine anymore—that she never really was to begin with—but my heart doesn't believe that shit.

It never did. That motherfucker is loyal to her, and only her and it's dragged the rest of me along with it.

Some days, I resented the hell out of it. I'm honest enough to admit that.

"Go back inside, Nadia," I say quietly.

"Don't tell me what to do, Mateo."

Fucking hell. She's always been so goddamn stubborn…

I turn to face her, my hands shoved in my pockets as if that'll convince me to keep them to myself instead of putting them all over her. I want her in my arms. I want her breath in my lungs. I just want her. Even now, that hasn't changed. I don't think it ever will.

But I'm the last damn thing she needs.

She glowers at me, her hands on her hips and her full lips pulled down into a fierce frown. I still want to bite that bottom lip. Hell, maybe I want to bite it more because she's scowling at me.

"You just show up after six years, beat people up, and then walk out?" she demands. "That's how things are going to be now?"

"You're the one who ran all the way to California to get away from me, butterfly," I remind her. "I'm just trying to give you the distance you want."

"Then why are you here?"

"Got traded." I shrug. "I'm sure they'll get sick of me and send me somewhere else soon." I flash her the ghost of a smile. "That's usually what happens with motherfuckers like me."

Her scowl deepens. "You mean players who fight all the time."

She's been keeping tabs on me. Something a lot like satisfaction swirls through me. "You been keeping up with me, baby?"

"No," she snaps. "But the truth is hard to miss when it's splashed all over the news every week, Mateo. And stop calling me that. I'm not your baby." She pauses. "I'm not your butterfly, either. I'm not anything to you anymore."

"Well, damn. Why don't you tell me how you really feel?" I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, trying to control the way they shake.

"I just did."

She's lying. I know it the second her gaze drifts from mine. She's never been able to look me in the eyes and lie to me. She always felt too damn guilty to do it.

"And I didn't mean why are you in Los Angeles," she says before I can call her on it. "I meant, why are you here tonight?"

"Came to see the show," I lie, taking a step toward her. She immediately scurries backward. "Now, who's running?"

"I'm not running."

"Oh, really?" I take another step toward her, and she immediately steps back. I smirk, pretending that shit isn't going to rip my heart out of my chest. "You always were a terrible liar, Nadia."

"Yeah, well, that makes one of us," she snaps, scowling at me.

"I've never lied to you."

"Right." She rolls her eyes.

"What did I lie about? Tell me," I growl.

"Everything, Mateo. Every damn thing," she says, shaking her head. The sad accusation in her eyes fucking kills me. "Thanks for intervening in there, but do me a favor. Stay the hell away from me. You've managed it for years with no problem. Surely you can manage it until you switch teams again."

"Not until you answer the question, butterfly. What did I lie about?"

She stares at me for a long, silent moment, and then she sighs quietly, turning away from me.

"As if you don't already know," she whispers, a tremor in her voice that breaks my heart.

Fuck me. Was Tyson right? Is there a chance she isn't over it, either?

"You made your choice, Mateo. It wasn't me. Live with it and leave me alone."

She's halfway back to the bar before I catch up to her, spinning her around with my hand on her arm. She collides against my chest, crying out softly. Her fingers twist into the fabric of my jacket. I think she means to shove me away from her, but I don't give her the opportunity.

"I never lied to you. Every single time I told you that I loved you, I fucking meant it," I growl, slanting my mouth down over hers in a hard kiss. Even after all these years, she's still so soft, so sweet.

I taste the vodka on her breath as she opens for me with a whimper, letting me in. I take full advantage, consuming her like the long-denied addict I am. Christ, the taste she gave me back then sealed my fate. And this one only reminds me how little I've recovered.

I'm still hers, even if she isn't mine. I always have been.

Her teeth sink into my bottom lip in a sharp bite.

She jerks herself from my arms, breathing hard. Her eyes meet mine, something dangerously wild in them. "Don't do that again," she whispers, her voice shaking. "Don't t-touch me again."

"Or what, butterfly? You already ripped my goddamn heart out of my chest when you cut me out of your life," I mutter, reaching out slowly, carefully, like I'm soothing a frightened deer.

I touch her cheek, fighting a groan as electricity surges through me.

"There is no pain worse than being forced to watch your life from afar, knowing I'll never be home to you again.

There's no pain worse than knowing what I did to you. "

"Teo…"

It's the first time she's called me Teo all night. I've been Mateo since she set eyes on me. But now, I'm Teo. Hearing it is heaven and hell. I want to be Teo every moment of the day to her. I want back what we had, back before she decided I was the devil. Back before I destroyed her.

Christ, I just want my best friend back—the one who looks at me like I'm her hero. I fucking miss her. Half the world looks at me like that, but it's not the same because they aren't her. They'll never be her.

"Go back inside," I murmur, brushing my lips across her forehead.

"Teo."

"Go back inside, Nadia. Before someone sees us together." The last thing she needs is to be linked to me in the press. They'd tear her reputation to shreds. A good girl like her with a motherfucker like me? The headlines practically write themselves.

Hurt flashes in her eyes, and I realize a second too late that she misunderstood.

But she doesn't give me time to explain.

"Of course," she mutters, spinning on her heel.

"Who cares if you're called aggressive or violent, just so long as you aren't linked to me?

God forbid your football groupies think you have a girlfriend. "

Football groupies? What the fuck has she been reading?

"That's not what I–""Save it for someone who cares, Mateo!" she yells, storming toward the building, her round ass swaying in those jeans.

"Fuck," I mutter, watching her go. Because, of fucking course, I do. And then I scrub a hand down my face, wondering how it's possible to screw things up as badly as I do as often as I do. I mean, Jesus Christ. At this point, I deserve a goddam award for it.