Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

Ivy

I missed cooking for more than just me.

When I was little Nan and I would cook all the time. I’d come home from school, run off the bus and into the house to find the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies or Pops’ favorite red velvet cupcakes or double fudge brownies on the kitchen bench. In no time, the kitchen would smell like sugar and chocolate.

Eventually Nan taught me to peel the potatoes and carrots for dinner. Then how to marinate the chicken. Suddenly I was the one cooking while she sat at the island listening to how my day went.

It was my favorite time of the day, just being in the kitchen with her while we laughed and fended off Pops whenever he’d come to steal a taste.

I couldn’t give it up after she passed. I felt connected to her when I cooked, especially when it was still in the same kitchen I’d grown up in. I imagined that other girls grew up learning to cook and to bake from their mothers. I guess I may have too. But it was special to me that I had something to hold on to with Nan.

I put the pasta bake in the oven when Scott texts that he’s only about ten minutes away. It will be in there for at least twenty-five minutes but that gives us the perfect amount of time for him to give me a proper, delicious kiss hello.

I have missed him the last few days.

He has been away with the team and I am determined to finally find out his actual role with the organization. He still doesn’t talk about his job much and, as he works for a football team, I’m not all that fussed about knowing the ins and outs of his role in the football world but I should at least know his role title. Right?

Yes. I need to know.

At the very least, I need to know so that when someone asks me what my boyfriend does for a living I can give them an answer.

I spent the last few nights lying in bed alone, dreaming up all sorts of different scenarios in my head. All of them involve Scott. All of them end up with us in bed, or on a kitchen counter, or the couch, or the back seat of his car.

All without clothes.

But some did involve meeting his parents, and a wedding and kids someday, and how we might celebrate birthdays and holidays.

Okay, I may have got a little carried away but without him physically here to distract me I let my thoughts run away with themselves. Just for a little while, I indulged myself in what a future with Scott might be like.

Not to mention, he gave me multiple orgasms the morning before he left on this work trip of his. I’ve never been so horny in my life.

Just thinking about him and his hands on body and his lips on my neck gives me shivers.

A knock at the door echoes down the front corridor, pulling me out of my day dream.

Scott leans on the door frame. Jeans tight around his thighs, black shirt stretched against his muscled biceps, faded black cap pulled down over his head. There are dark circles under his eyes and the ends of his hair poke out of the edges of his cap. He needs a good night's sleep and a haircut.

His tall frame invades my space.

“Hi.” I breathe out. The hand clutching the door tightens, holding me steady. I glance up into his face, smile spreading across mine as the blush starts to heat up my neck.

I am weak for this man .

“Hi, you.” He sweeps the cap off his head and dips down, his lips capturing mine. His hands creep around my waist, locking me in his arms and I let mine drape over his shoulders as I stand on my toes.

The kiss is soft and gentle and the perfect hello.

My body relaxes into his. He pulls back, trailing his lips along my jaw lightly before he drops down and buries his face into my neck.

I laugh as his hot breath caresses my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

“Missed you,” he mumbles into my neck.

“Oh?” I tease, my fingers finding his hair and gliding themselves through it.

“Yeah.” He pulls his face back, a feigned pout on his expression. “Say it back.”

Shaking my head, I barely hold myself back. “I missed you, too.”

He kisses me again.

“Smells good in here.” He toes off his sneakers at the door, tangling our fingers together and letting me lead him toward the kitchen.

“It’s the pasta bake. One of my nan’s recipes.”

“Fuck yes,” he groans.

I laugh, pulling my hand away from his and walking around the island to check the oven. The cheese is starting to bubble and my stomach growls.

“Do you want wine? It’ll be done in another ten or so.” I open the fridge to pull out the bottle of rosé I picked up on my way home from seeing Pops after school today.

“I’m okay.” Scott shakes his head when I look up at him.

He is still standing, hands on the back of the stool he stands in front of. He is clutching the stool so tightly that his knuckles begin to turn white. I tug on a strand of hair that's fallen over my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I—” He clears his throat. “Can we talk? I have to tell you something. ”

Dread drips into my stomach, slow and steady, weighing me down.

All my fantasies, all the scenarios I dreamt up over the past few days come rushing back through my head. One by one, burning from the outside in. The pictures I see in my head shriveling up and falling into a pile ash in the forefront of my mind.

God. I feel like an idiot.

My cheeks burn, my arms feel heavy at my sides, my stomach turns over, and over, and over.

“Sure,” I choke out, swallowing down the rock that has lodged in my throat.

He goes over to the couch in the living room and I wish he didn’t.

I am already emotionally invested in this man. I want him. If I can’t have him, the decent thing to do is to stay standing and not soil the memories I have of him on that couch. Reluctantly, I sink into the couch cushions next to him. He drops his head and runs his hands over his jaw, rubbing at the same spot. He sighs, his voice sounding almost defeated when he speaks.

“I should’ve told you this from the beginning, but fuck did I love that you had no idea who I was when we met.”

Confusion courses through me but I stay silent, letting him talk.

“My name is Scott Harvey; you already know that. I work for the Boston Broncos. You know that too.” I nod, reaching up to play with the ring that hangs around my neck. “I have been avoiding work related conversations because the first time we really spoke, back at the bar, you told me you didn’t like football. It made sense that you had no idea who I was when you said you didn’t like watching it or like anything to do with it. I used that to my advantage and decided not to tell you the whole truth.”

“You don’t work for the team?” My brows crush together, the confusion surely written all over my face.

So he lied? About working for the team? Was that it?

“No. I do. I just … I’m more involved than I’ve really let on. ”

“Okay,” I say slowly. My breathing becomes shallow and my heart pounds in my chest.

What the fuck is going on?

“I’m the starting quarterback for the Boston Broncos.” He stares at me but my vision starts to blur from the outside in. Just like the fantasies had, the sight of him is turning to ash as he keeps talking.

“I got traded to the team at the beginning of the year. When I walked into the bar two months ago, I’d been in Boston for a few days, and was miserable about being here and moping around. I saw you through the windows of the bar and I—I just had to meet you. When you didn’t know who I was to begin with, I thought I’d got lucky. This line of work, we’re told to be careful from the moment we get some level of success playing college ball.”

I can’t breathe.

I can barely register his words anymore. My throat is closing, my stomach still turning over and over.

“I should’ve told you that night I came to the party at the bar,” he continues. “When I saw you again, I just … I don’t know. I wanted to know you. Then you told me you weren’t a fan of football, that you pretty much hated anything to do with the sport. So, I played off my job as something minor with the team.”

So he lied.

Dread fills me. My stomach is churning and my nerves are shot. All the questions he dodged. All the times he shut down whenever I asked about work. It was because he’s lying to me.

Oh my god.

I barely see Scott still sitting in front of me. His voice sounds so far away now, my eyes unfocused.

“When you told me about your family and your connection to the game, I felt like shit. I don’t want to put you in a position to be forced back into my world but then I almost ran into you at the stadium—”

“What?” I snap out of my haze.

“You were at the stadium last week with the coach's daughter. I almost ran into you coming out of his office.”

“Oh my god.” A little bit of bile rises in my throat and I struggle to swallow.

I feel sick.

“You should’ve told me.” I get up from the couch, moving around it so that there is something between us.

My skin crawls and I feel like I should take a shower.

“I know.” He stands too.

My head is pounding. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“We slept together,” I whisper, unable to look at him. “We had sex. Oh my god.”

“I’m sorry. I know I should have told you before we—”

“You knew. You knew I didn’t want anything to do with that world. You dragged me in regardless. I trusted you and you lied anyway.” I feel like throwing something at him. My fists ball at my sides and I struggle to keep myself together. What kind of relationship begins like this? With lying and deception?

Even if we do this, what does that mean for me?

Do I have to go to games? Do I have to pay attention to his world?

No. No .

I swore to keep that particular box closed and I won’t open it. I can’t— won’t —go there.

“I think you should go,” I hear myself whisper.

“Please, Ivy. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but—”

“You should have. I can’t trust … I would never have …” I suck in air, trying to keep my voice steady. I can’t break in front of him.

Not now.

If I do, I will let him wrap me up and pull me close. I will let him kiss my hair and whisper promises he can’t possibly keep .

If I let him in, I’ll lose him. No matter how hard he’ll try, he will suck me in then send me spinning. I don’t even want to imagine the aftermath.

“Please don’t regret me,” I hear him beg. He moves around the couch, moving toward me slowly. “Give me a chance. Give me a chance to—”

“You touched me. You held me. It was all a lie. It wasn’t real.” Scott reaches for me but I step away. “Please, go. I can’t do this.”

Tears sting as we stand there, only at opposite ends of the couch but it feels as if the chasm between us grows with every passing second.

“Please go.” My voice rings out louder, more defiant.

He has to leave before I break completely and I can feel it coming. His deception is only the beginning and I don’t want to deep dive into the locked box of feelings tonight.

He nods, face falling in defeat.

“Okay. I’ll go. But I’m going to text you later.” He waits a beat before he stands taller. “I won’t let you go without a fight.”

“I won’t … I can’t.” I shake my head. He comes toward me, stepping into my space and crossing the chasm but he may as well be miles away.

“I am sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s my job and I should’ve been honest. But nothing I’ve said about you or about how I feel about you is a lie. It’s real. Because, Ivy …” He lifts my chin, his piercing green eyes seeing deep down into my soul. “Whatever this is, it’s fucking special and I’ll be damned if I give you up without a fight.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead and turns to leave.

I don’t stop him.

When the front door closes behind him and the oven timer beeps for my attention, I close my eyes. I take a deep breath, and then another.

I move over to the oven, turn the dials and use the mitts to pull out the dish inside. I place it on the stove before turning to the cupboard, pulling out some foil and covering the dish.

I go upstairs and pull back the covers on my bed .

I send a SOS text to Katie and crawl between the sheets. Pressing my nose into the pillows, I swear I can still smell him. Later I feel Katie crawl into bed and pull me into her arms.

That’s when the tears finally come.