Page 15

Chapter Fifteen

Scott

I didn’t sleep a wink on the overnight flight back to Boston.

We lost.

I played with a headache and felt like shit, my mind reeling with thoughts of Ivy, and Boston, and my birth mother. The briefest of mention of her and I was completely thrown off. I don’t blame my mom. I could tell when the question had all but fallen out of her mouth the other night that she was worried and wanting to ask for a while. I avoided their calls after the whole situation with Ivy and I had no doubt that it had sparked Mom’s anxiety. That’s on me.

Ivy.

Fuck, I miss her.

I can’t get her out of my head and it is messing with my focus. My throws are getting sloppy. I’m disconnected from the receivers, missing their route changes and their cues. The loss was entirely on me and everyone knows it. I am never one to scroll through social media, especially after a game, but in an effort to distract myself from my own thoughts on the way home I do exactly that. The comments from the fans are brutal.

Scott Harvey needs to get his head out of his own ass and learn the plays.

We want a ring; Harvey isn’t the man to get us there.

Scott Harvey just played the shittest game of football in the history of the sport … trade him, please!

Football fans are savage but there is nothing they can say that could make me feel worse.

I’m the first to beat myself up after a loss .

“You okay over there?” I look up from my phone, slowing my pace as Flynn catches up with me on the way to the parking lot. His gaze flickers between me and my phone. “You shouldn’t read that shit. It fucks with your focus.”

“My focus is already fucked.” I lock my phone screen and shove it in my pocket.

“You told Ivy, huh?” Flynn sighs, clapping a hand to my shoulder as we approach my Mercedes.

“Yep.”

“What did she say?”

“That’s the problem. I talked, she had some sort of silent reaction, told me I lied to her and then asked me to leave. No idea what happened in her head,” I tell him as I dig in my backpack for my keys. Again the way her eyes glazed and how she looked like a ghost crossed my mind. I want to know what had gone through her head. I want to talk to her, and for her to actually talk to me.

“Do you think her reaction was because you lied about playing football or?”

“There’s something else here. It cannot be just because I didn’t tell her that I actually play for the team, not just work for them. She didn’t seem mad. More like she was holding back? I don’t know.” I feel the brain fog start to take over as I try to remember every detail of her expression that day.

“Have you talked since?” he asks.

I shake my head. Before I can stop it, the embarrassing confession falls from my mouth. “I’ve texted her pretty much every week since I told her four weeks ago and she hasn’t replied to a single one.”

“Ouch.” Flynn flinches. I open the back seat of the car, lifting my small case in and throwing in my backpack.

“It’s whatever.” It’s not. But what else am I supposed to say ?

“Well, you obviously know what you have to do now, right?” He leans against the car, staring at me like whatever he’s talking about is obvious. I stare blankly at him. “God, women are not your forte,” he mutters.

I frown. That pisses me off. Of course they aren’t. No woman has caught my eye since college and no woman has held my interest since high school until Ivy.

And now she is fucking with my head.

“You have to talk to her. In person.” He waves a hand out in front of him to lay out the steps for me. “Apologize, beg for forgiveness, and grovel.”

“That’s your advice?” I ask. Flynn just smirks and nods his head.

Idiot.

“I want to talk to her but she won’t reply to me.”

“So show up on her doorstep.” He shrugs.

“Creepy much?” I shove my hands in pockets, thinking it over.

“If you really want to talk to her, you have to commit. Show up. Explain, say you’re sorry, and grovel like your life depends on it.”

“She’s at school right now.” I mumble, pulling my phone out of my pocket to check the time.

“So? Show up at the school. Ask to see her for a minute. Go knock on her classroom door.” My head shoots up, seriously thinking the idea over. Huh. Show up at her classroom. She will have to talk to me. She won’t want to cause a scene and I know she’ll want to get me out of there. I can make her promise to meet me for dinner.

At the very least and even if she refuses, I get to see her.

And I really, really want to see her.

Flynn eyes me suspiciously. “Oh my god, you’re gonna do it aren’t you?”

I give him a light shove off the car before smacking his shoulder and opening the door to hop in. As I start the car, I roll the window down and call out to him. “Thanks for the advice.”

He salutes me out of the parking lot .

I don’t stop to think about how stupid this idea is. I focus on the road. My fingers tap along to the radio on the steering wheel.

Thirty minutes, ten songs, nothing but what I’m going to say to Ivy running through my mind.

I drive into the parking lot of the school, pull into a spot and make my way to the school’s administration office.

“Good morning, how are you to—” The lady sitting behind the administration desk begins, looking up at me before finishing her sentence. Her tortoise shell framed glasses slip down her nose, mouth opening and the pen she holds drops onto the desk.

“Good morning …” I glance at the nameplate on the counter. “Brenda.”

“You—oh my lord, my husband won’t believe me when I tell him. You’re Scott Harvey.”

“I am, yes.” I nod. I tap my fingers along the counter top. “I’m looking for one of your teachers. Do you think you can help me out?”

“What are—who are you looking for? Here?” She rises from her seat, fiddling with the lanyard hanging around her neck.

“Uh, I’m looking for Ivy Booker.” Brenda’s eyes widen.

“Ivy? Our Ivy?!”

I chuckle. “You know her?”

“Well, of course I know her.” She glances over her shoulder at the closed door behind her. “I can’t just let you go wandering the school grounds.”

My chest begins to tighten. The desperate need to speak to Ivy coursing through my veins. I convinced myself on the drive over that I would be able to see her now. I inhale deeply and plaster on my best, most charming smile.

“I promise to only be a minute. I really need to see her.”

She purses her lips and her eyes track me from head to toe as if she’s sizing me up. Then she lifts the phone on her desk to her ear, punching in numbers on the keypad. We both wait, her still sizing me and me just trying to keep my cool.

“Cheryl, can you please come and cover the office for a few minutes? I have to walk a visitor to Ms. Booker’s classroom,” Brenda says into the phone. She smiles and nods. “Thanks sweetheart.”

Cheryl shows up and I notice that they have the same style tortoise shell glasses. I don’t miss the not so subtle looks the ladies share before I follow Brenda out of the administration office and through the corridors.

I remember the way from when I was here in the summer but I don’t let on. The last thing I want is to get Ivy in trouble and my guess is that Brenda and Cheryl don’t miss much. Brenda slows down as we get to Ivy’s classroom door.

“Thanks, Brenda.” I smile down at her, pasting on the charming smile I muster up through my nerves. I glance through the window in the door and see Ivy’s chestnut, honey hair swaying behind her as she wanders through the clusters of tiny desks.

“Not a problem, dear. Just a minute though, we didn’t sign you in properly.” She winks at me and steps away.

I steal my spine, suck air into my lungs and knock gently on the door.

Ivy whips around. Her hair settles over her shoulders, her cheeks flush and her eyes shine.

Fuck me.

How the hell did I forget how beautiful she is?

A small child tugs on her dress but her attention is locked on me. My heart races and I can feel the blood pumping in my ears. I want to burst through the door, thread my fingers through her hair and kiss her so badly. I want it more than I want my next breath.

Adrenaline spikes as she says something to her class while walking my way. I don’t take my eyes off her.

The door opens, her body between it and the door frame. She glares up at me. “What the hell are you doing here? ”

“I need to talk to you.” I lean against the door frame and the position brings me a little closer to her.

“So you decided to turn up at my school? How did you even get in here during the day?” she whispers angrily. The flush begins to run up her neck, painting her soft skin red. She pokes her head further out the door frame, looking around until she see’s Brenda lurking a few steps away. Her eyes roll.

“You didn’t text me back.”

“I know.” She glances over her shoulder before sagging into the door frame opposite me.

“Can we please talk?” I ask.

“I’m literally at work, Scott. No. We cannot talk right now.” Her words sting but I hear the strain, the sadness lacing them. It matches my own and that’s enough to keep me going.

“Tonight? Can I come over? Can we talk tonight?” I press. I let go. I let the desperation seep into my words. I need her to see how badly I want this. How badly I want her.

She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brenda step closer to us. She’s doing a pretty shit job at masking her eavesdropping efforts but I’m past the point of caring.

“Please,” I beg her quietly. “Please can we just talk?”

Ivy closes her eyes and I watch her chest rise and fall with the deep breaths she takes.

“Okay,” she finally whispers. Relief floods me. “Tonight. Come by tonight and we can talk.”

***

I turn up at Ivy’s door armed with tacos.

And not just any tacos. The tacos from the truck we went to on our first date after mini golf. Am I trying to appeal to Ivy’s sentimental side? Yes. Do I think it’s going to work? Probably not but a guy has to try .

The front door swings open. Ivy stands in front of me, hair still hanging down her back and still in the dress she was wearing earlier. Except now, instead of the boots she was wearing, she wears a pair of thick fluffy socks and an oversized zip up hoodie that hangs loosely off her shoulders. I can’t help the relieved smile that breaks out on my face when she looks up at me.

“Hi,” she whispers, her hands clutching the door as if she is using it for support.

My body burns with the need to touch her but I keep one hand tightly wrapped around the handle of the take-out bag and then the other shoved deep in my pocket.

“Hi, yourself,” I say. She steps back, giving me space to get past her.

“You didn’t have to bring dinner,” she says, glancing at the take-out bag in my hand as I step over the threshold.

“Of course I did.” I hold up the bag as she closes the door and we start down the hallway. “I brought tacos from that taco truck I took you to. You said you really liked them.”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, chewing on her lip. When she looks back at me, her words are softer than before. “You remembered.”

I feel a little offended that she thinks I could forget anything about her but then again, I don’t think she really knows what she does to me.

How much space she’s taken up in my head.

How in a little over two months of seeing her, she’s pretty much become my central focus.

It scares the shit out of me.

For as long as I remember, football has been my focus and wetting my dick is something I did when the opportunity arose and I needed a release. Otherwise, I was content with my right hand.

That all changed when I saw Ivy .

When I saw her smile, and laugh, and when I realized she knew nothing about who I was or what I do. I relish in the fact that she seems to like me, for me. Not for the millions I make throwing a ball down a field.

But in my efforts to feel normal for once, I almost lost her.

I refuse to lose her again.

“You wanted to talk?” she asks as I place the takeout on the counter.

“You didn’t text me back.” I repeat my words from earlier.

She holds her hands clasped together, wringing her fingers. “I didn’t really have anything to say.”

“Ivy, I like you.” I practiced a whole speech about why I lied and how I just want to feel normal but standing in front of her now, I only want to lay my heart on the table and pray she’ll take it despite everything.

She doesn’t say anything so I start again. “Ivy, I like you. For the longest time, I didn’t care about anything else other than football and my parents. I lived in a bubble of my own making. Ignored the outside world and just wanted to play ball. But then I saw you through that dirty window at Pats and it was like the world titled and started to spin again. Or I guess, for the first time.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you who I really was but I’m not sorry for taking you on those dates, for getting to know you and telling you about me.” I inhale, continuing as I cross the room and into her space. Ivy looks up at me, not moving away but not making a move to touch or get closer to me either. “I’m not sorry that I was able to be there for you when your pops went into surgery. I’m not sorry for kissing you. For touching you.”

Ivy’s breathing hitches and it’s the only indicator I need to tell me she is as much affected by me as I am by her.

I take the gamble.

I run a hand down her arm, pushing the sweatshirt down her shoulders and exposing more of her silky-smooth skin. “And I am really, really not sorry for fucking you. I mean, damn it Ivy. I haven’t been able to focus on anything else since you made me walk away from you four weeks ago. ”

“I didn’t—”

“You did. You told me to leave. I would’ve stayed right in that moment if you had wanted to yell, and scream, and fight with me about it but you didn’t. You asked me to leave. So I did. But I realize it was the biggest mistake I could’ve made.” She begins to shake her head and that glazed look she got last time I was here starts to take over her expression again. I lift my hands to her face, stroking my thumbs against her cheeks and keeping her eyes on me.

“I can’t claim to understand why you pushed me away. I know I lied. I’m sorry about that but I don’t think that’s the whole reason. Am I right?”

She nods her head, chewing on her lip again. I tug it from between her teeth with a thumb, stoking the slightly swollen pink lip.

“Give me a chance, Ivy,” I beg her, my face so close to hers now, our lips inches apart. “Let’s talk it out. Work through whatever is scaring you.”

“I can’t …” Her words are rough, broken and she sounds terrified. “I can’t have more of my life splashed across the news. In magazines. On gossip websites. Every time something happens to Pops, they run the story of my family and I am constantly reminded of exactly what I lost. What I have to share with the stupid, football world. I won’t—I can’t do that anymore. I just … I want them to forget about me, about my family.”

My heart breaks for her.

I lean my forehead against hers. “I don’t understand Ives. Football has nothing to do with your mom and dad’s death. How can you—”

She pulls out of my grasp, shaking her hands out by her sides before pulling the sweatshirt up and over her shoulders. She crosses her arms over her front.

A wall goes up between Ivy and I.

Her on one side, upset and grieving.

Me on the other, confused .

I need time. Time to understand her. Time to break the misconceptions she’s got in her head. Time to change her mind about the game I love. I want to try and to try, I need more time.

“What if we just … keep it private?” I almost hate myself for saying the words aloud. There is nothing in me that wants to keep her—to keep us—private.

“You would do that? Private?”

“Yeah …” Something lodges in my throat, trying to stop the words leaving my mouth. “What if we just kept this between us? No public dates, no press or media, just you and me. See where it goes?”

I want her.

This isn’t a permanent solution. I know that. But I need time to figure one out and walking away again isn’t an option.

She gapes at me. “How can you want that?”

“I want you.”

“No one could know, Scott.” She throws her hands up in disbelief. “I won’t risk it. I don’t want my name, my face, my family history splashed all over SportsCenter night after night anymore. You are one of the most successful quarterbacks in America right now, you really think you can keep this—” She waves a hand between us, “a secret?”

“If this is how you’ll have me, then yes.”

Ivy scoffs, her hands running through her long hair. “I don’t believe you.”

I invade her space again, not caring about her walls anymore. I smash through, framing her face in my hands again and forcing her to meet my eyes.

“Look at me,” I say. She does, navy eyes darkening as she gazes into the soul I bare to her. “I. Want. You.”

The air between us turns heavy. I can feel her chest rising and falling against my own. I hold her stare waiting, and when her gaze finally breaks and she glances at my mouth, I dive in .

I kiss her. Hard and hungry. I kiss her for the last four weeks. For every day that I woke up wishing she was there beside me. I kiss her for every night that I wanted her in my bed.

Threading my fingers through her hair, I tilt her head, angling so I can go deeper.

Ivy whimpers, her mouth opens and she kisses me back.

Thank. Fuck.