Page 9 of Hold Me Closer

"Crap," I whisper, my heart sinking. I didn't know he was at risk of being dropped from the league over his behavior.

I shouldn't feel sorry for him. He did it to himself, after all.

But…I feel sorry for him anyway. Football is the only thing in his life that seems to be going right.

Everything else is a mess. What happens if he loses it?

"What is she saying?" Zoya whispers, sitting beside me to lean in. I angle the phone so she can hear too.

"Starting bar fights isn't going to help keep him on the roster," Olive continues.

"You know I love you, so this comes from a place of concern, but are you really sure you want your name linked to his like this, Nadia?

You've made it this far without courting scandal or bad press.

Getting involved with someone like him is a surefire way to break the image you've built for yourself. "

"We aren't involved," I mutter defensively.

"You were making out in a parking lot, hon. That seems pretty involved to me."

"It's complicated." I expel a sharp breath, squeezing my eyes closed. "I'll take care of it, Olive."

"You sure? I can put out a statement, say he was just messing with the paps to get a rise out of them, and you two are just old friends…"

"No," I say quickly. "Let me handle it."

The last thing I need is for them to realize that there's more to the story than we're saying.

At this point, the press figuring out that Teo and I grew up together feels inevitable.

But I don't want my own damn manager to be the one shining a light on the whole pathetic story of the pop princess who got left behind and never got over it.

I don't need her to be the reason they find out about the accident and the PTSD and rehab.

Those are pieces of my past I never wanted to share—things that are my business and no one else's.

I do not need them coming out because of my own damn manager.

"Okay," Olive says reluctantly. "But be careful with him, Nadia. You don't want Teo Kirby to be your defining moment after all the work you've put in."

Where was she when I was three? Because her advice is about twenty years too late. Loving him has been the defining moment of my entire life. And trying to forget him has been my own personal purgatory.

I disconnect the call, dropping my phone onto my lap with a heavy sigh. For six damn years, he's kept his distance. Why is he back now? What does he want? And why in the hell is he telling the world that we're dating? I don't know the answers to any of those questions, but I intend to find out.

I glance over at Zoya. "Do you have his phone number?"

She hesitates for a long moment.

"Zoya, I'm not in the mood," I warn her. "Please just answer the question."

"I have his new one," she whispers, guilt flickering in her eyes. "But you don't need it, Nadia. He still has the old one."

I stare at her levelly. "Why does he need two numbers?"

"Seriously?" She rolls her eyes. "He kept it for you, Nadia.

In case you ever decided you needed him.

Just like you still have your old phone number on the off chance that he ever decided to pick up the phone and call you.

The two of you have been pushing each other away for years, but you still cling so hard that you're the only two who don't see what's right in front of you. "

"There's nothing in front of me," I mutter, my heart in a vise.

"Right." She hops up from the floor, tossing her head angrily.

"Just like you've never dated because you're focused on the music.

And he's never dated because he's focused on the game.

It's all bullshit. You two never got over one another, and you never will.

" She glances down at me, scowling. "Honestly, I don't know what's sadder.

The fact that you'd both rather punish yourselves than forgive yourselves for being stupid kids.

Or the fact that you've done it for so long that you don't know how to stop. "

"I'm not punishing myself."

"Yeah, you are. You pushed him away because you were hurt, and part of you hates yourself for doing it. And he let you do it, and he'll never forgive himself for that, either." She shakes her head at me, her expression sad. "You two never stopped loving each other, even after six years apart."

"He never loved me, Zoya," I snap, my voice raw. "He picked football and didn't have the nerve to tell me. And then he didn't even freaking show up at the hospital when I was dying."

She gapes at me. "Is that really what you think happened?"

"It is what happened."

"No, it isn't," she says sadly.

"I was there. I remember! Everyone was there except him."

"You were dying, Nadia. You may think you remember, but I promise you, you don't," she says.

"What are you talking about?"

She hesitates for a minute and then shakes her head.

"We tried to tell you back then, but you didn't want to hear anything about him.

If we brought him up, you shut down. And you shut us down, too.

You freaking moved out to prove your point.

So I'm not doing it now. If you want to know, ask him.

" She turns toward the door. "I'm getting an Uber back to your place.

I'll see you back there when you're done here. "

"Zoya, wait." My face falls. "I didn't mean to make you run off."

"You didn't. But you have something else to do right now, and I think you need to do it more than you need to hang out with me." She gives me a tiny smile. "Please, for your sake, do it. You're never getting past this until you face it."

I hesitate for a long moment and then nod reluctantly. She's right, dammit. The only way I get over him is by facing him. I tried running. I tried hiding. I tried pretending he didn't exist. None of that worked. The only thing left to do…is deal with him.

So why the hell is that thought so terrifying?

T wenty minutes later, I'm still sitting on the floor, staring at my phone, afraid to pick it up and dial his number.

Part of me is afraid Zoya was wrong about him keeping his old number.

And I think part of me is afraid she wasn't kidding.

I'm not sure I'm ready to face the implications if he really does still have it.

For years, I've been hurt and angry because he didn't show up when I needed him. Only to come face to face with the possibility that he's been holding onto guilt for just as long.

What happened to us? How did we get here?

For years, I've tried to figure out how things got so messed up between us, but I've never been able to pinpoint exactly what went wrong. One day, we were happy—kids with our whole lives ahead of us—and the next, it all fell apart.

Did he resent me for always hanging around him?

Was he tired of me? I just don't get it, and I never have.

Why tell me that he loves me and then break my heart?

Why ask me to tell him how I felt about him if he was just going to leave?

Why didn't he show up at the hospital after spending months fighting, trying to convince me to give him another chance?

He was never cruel, but that felt particularly vicious.

I guess the only way to find out is to ask him.

I swipe to his number, my finger hovering over the dial button.

The door opens behind me, the roar of the reporters camped outside rolling into the studio in a wave.

"Jesus Christ," Teo mutters.

I whip around so fast I topple over backward.

I land on my back, staring up at him.

"Well," he says, his lips twitching as he stares down at me, those piercing blue eyes locked on my face. Even upside down, he looks damn good with a scruffy jaw and his hair all wild. "This is not what I envisioned when I imagined you in a recording studio, butterfly."

"You," I manage to stutter.

"Me," he confirms, that damn smirk growing. He leans down, holding a hand out to me to help me up, but I quickly roll to the side, scrambling to my feet about as gracefully as a freaking panda.

I slap hair out of my face, scowling when he chuckles, clearly amused at the free show I'm giving him, the big jerk. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to see you. Is that a crime?"

"Should be."

"So you're still mad, I take it?"

Still mad? Is he kidding right now?

"You kissed me in a freaking parking lot, Mateo," I growl.

"Is this a bad time to remind you that you kissed me back?"

I stomp on his foot. Hard.

He just chuckles. "That's one, butterfly."

I don't ask why he's counting. I don't even want to know. Instead, I poke him in his ridiculously hard chest.

"Two," he murmurs.

"And then when the photos leaked, you told the paparazzi that we're dating," I snap. "Have you lost your freaking mind?"

"Baby, I lost it six goddamn years ago."

I growl and poke him again.

"And that's three," he says ominously.

Someone his size really should not be able to move as fast as he does. Before I can even tell him to stop counting— or congratulate him for knowing how—he has me backed up against the wall, his body pressed to mine.

"Let me go," I whisper, my heart thundering against my ribcage.

"Not until you kiss me and say sorry."

"I'm not kissi–"

He cuts me off, slanting his mouth down over mine. And even though I'm determined not to kiss him again, as soon as I feel his lips on mine, my resolve evaporates. His tongue touches mine, stealing what little sanity I have, and my hands fist in his hair, anchoring him to me.

He consumes me with his kiss again, drinking from my lips like I'm the best thing he's ever tasted. The way he growls as he licks into my mouth has my core clenching.

I whimper, flows of heat coursing through me in powerful waves.

No one should be allowed to kiss like this.

It's not fair. There are no defenses strong enough to withstand this kind of sensual assault.

Especially when his hands are everywhere, running across my body like he knows every damn curve.

He brands me with his touch, searing me all the way to my freaking soul.

"Goddamn, butterfly," he rasps, gripping my ass in both hands to boost me up into his arms. "My dreams don't even compare to the real thing.

You're so fucking soft." His lips touch the side of my throat, his rough stubble a delicious counterpoint to their softness.

"So sweet." He bucks his hips into mine, the ridge of his erection pressing against my sex.

I jolt in his arms, sobbing his name.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" His wicked chuckle is my undoing.

I should stop this, stop him…but I don't. I don't want him to pull back. I don't want to lose the feel of his arms around me, his body sheltering me, his lips and hands on me. I want to drown just like this for a while longer.

"Please," I plead. "Please, Teo."

He rocks his hips into mine again, his lips against my ear. "Take what you need, butterfly. Pretend you're alone in your bed, dreaming about me. We both know you still do, don't you?"

I dig my nails into his shoulders, refusing to answer that question.

"I dream about you every fucking night. It's always you on my cock. You, letting me taste that perfect pussy." His tongue wraps around the shell of my ear. "It's you, screaming my name while you shatter around me."

Oh, my god. That mouth…

"Every fucking night, in my dreams, you're in my bed where you belong, Nadia." He rocks his hips into me again, nipping my ear at the same time. The dual sensation sends me careening over the edge without warning. I gasp his name, shattering with a tiny cry.

"That's it," he breathes, nuzzling my throat. "You say sorry by falling apart in my arms just like this, butterfly."

I lift my head, trying to scowl at him. Apparently, I don't succeed because he chuckles, pressing his lips to my forehead.

"Be pissed again in a minute, baby," he says quietly. "Just let me hold you now, all right?" It's not really a question. It's a plea, as if he needs this more than he needs his next breath.

I should tell him no. We need to talk. But…I've never been good at telling him no. My whole damn life, I was never very good at that. So I simply nod and rest my head against his shoulder.

He sighs quietly, wrapping his arms around me. "Christ, I missed you."

Tears sting my eyes. I missed him, too. So damn badly. But he's the one who broke us. He's the one who broke me.

So why have I always felt like the one who did everything wrong?