Page 36 of Trick Play (Playing the Field #4)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

Zeke

Then

I love him.

I know it hasn’t been that long since we’ve been official, but we spent a year hooking up as friends before that. I know it’s crazy since I’m supposed to be the playboy who’s never had a serious relationship before. I know we haven’t even told our best friends we’re dating yet. I know .

None of that changes how I feel.

None of it stops my heart from jumping a hundred miles an hour every time he smiles at me. Or when he sends me a link to a new charity to post. Or when he’s late to our date because he babysat a stranger’s kid at the supermarket claw machine because the child cried every time the parents tried to pull them further into the store. Or when he drops everything to speak to Hendrix, even though Rix isn’t the type to return the favor and ask Micah about his life. Or when we lie in bed after an amazing round of sex and admit our deepest secrets and fears.

I feel like I know everything about him, and I want him to know the most important thing about me.

My feelings for him.

Right now, he’s in my arms, both of us sweaty and breathing hard. This is our moment, the vulnerable minutes where we share the things we don’t tell anyone else, even our best friends. Sometimes, it’s stupid stuff like our opinion of a poorly rated movie or a favorite meme. Sometimes, it’s important, like political views or how we can help the newest scandalized athlete or promote a worthy charity.

I look down, watching my hand graze up and down his toned, tan back, tracing the divot of his spine and the curves of his shoulder blades. Bloodred hair falls gently on my bicep. He dyed it to support my team as the regular season draws to a close and playoffs loom. He comes to every game. Sits in my family seats. Wears my jersey. Cheers for me.

What more could I ask for?

Micah is too kind, too generous, too selfless, but also a firecracker, confident in himself. Easily excited and adorable when he climbs things he shouldn’t. Willing to stand up for what he believes in.

And sexy as fuck.

I stay in shape because of my strict diet and rigorous training, but where I build muscle, Micah’s body is accentuated by it. I don’t know his workout routine, but his strength isn’t bulky, it’s toned. He’s small and lithe, but I swear the petite man can take me in an arm wrestle. I’ve seen the way he holds himself in difficult positions during sex. I know how he can ride me without getting winded or his muscles trembling. He’s a work of art from his delicate features to his round, perky ass.

He’s, for lack of a better word, perfect.

I can tell he wants to say something. Beneath my hand, he keeps taking a breath as if working himself up to speak, pauses, then exhales like he’s lost the conviction. Whatever it is, I don’t know if it will ruin our afterglow or our peaceful moment. I don’t want to find out. I want to tell him my truth first. I need to. This is the right time. This is our time.

Micah’s palm flattens in the center of my chest, red nails glinting in the lamplight. “Your heart is beating so fast,” he whispers.

The apple in my throat catches as I swallow roughly. “I need to tell you something.” My voice is all thick and gritty with emotion. It’s enough to have Micah sitting up, flipping his hair messily to one side, body held aloft by his hand on my chest.

He studies me intensely, and he must see the desperation in my eyes because his widen, lips parting to draw in a deep breath. “Zeke . . .”

I’m panting, heart racing like I’ve run the length of a football field. “I need to tell you something,” I repeat, confidence and nervousness growing.

“Zeke . . .” His perfect brows, waxed like every other part of him, pull together. He sounds hesitant. Worried.

“It isn’t bad,” I promise in a rush.

He pushes on my chest, gaze darting side to side before focusing on the bathroom. “I think I need to?—”

“Wait.” I stop him with a gentle hold on the back of his neck. “I just need to tell you. It isn’t bad, I promise. It’s good . It’s so good, bunny, because it’s you , and you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known. That’s why I have to tell you that I’m in?—”

“Stop!” he shouts, hands flying up, palms out, between us. “Don’t. I—I can’t do this, Zeke. I can’t . . .” Sniffling, he turns his head away, eyes squeezed tight.

What does he mean he can’t do this?

I sit up, reaching for him, but he only pulls further away. Hurt by his rejection, I ball my fists and set my jaw. “Micah. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that this has—” His voice cracks, just barely, and he clears his throat. “It’s been fun, hasn’t it?”

My entire body stills. My lungs, my heart, the blood in my veins, even the seconds on the wall clock—it all freezes as he slips off the bed and quickly pulls on his pants from earlier. “What?” I croak, barely audible.

Micah makes a show of checking the time, which continues on despite my body’s insistence it doesn’t. “Look at that. I’ve got to go. I have that thing, remember? Gotta feed the neighbor’s dog.”

Right. The same thing that keeps him from sleeping over nine out of ten nights we’re together.

“I’m just gonna . . .” Dressed, he jerks a thumb toward the door.

“You can’t just go, Micah,” I say once I’ve finally found my voice, though it’s low and full of hurt. “Not after I just . . . and you . . . What do you mean, it’s been fun? What are you trying to say?”

Sighing, he slams his hands on his hips, but no amount of feigned attitude can hide the wetness glimmering in his eyes. “I’m saying, why ruin a good thing, you know?”

His voice trembles.

Mine does, too. “Micah. Bunny. Why would me being— Why would that ruin anything?”

“I think—” He looks away, rolling his lips between his teeth. “I think what we had before was good. Before the, uh. This .”

“Our relationship?” I ask, appalled.

He hardens his resolve, and I know it’s all about to go fully ass over tits. One implosion to end everything we’ve been working toward. “You can’t tell me it wasn’t easier before we had to hide a relationship, Zeke. We’re lying to everyone—our friends, family, your teammates, your fans, the people who look up to you. I hate lies. You know this. Everything was easier before .”

“So you want to go back to . . .” I can’t believe this. I was about to tell him I’m in love with him, and he’s breaking up with me.

Fuck. My first-ever breakup.

“Friends with benefits,” he suggests, and I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces. If the tears in his eyes are any indication, I think his does, too.

I don’t know what’s going on with him. I don’t know why he’s spooked or if his excuse is truly what has him freaking out.

But I do know he wouldn’t be crying if he didn’t feel something more than just convenience and lust for me.

So, idiotically, I numbly agree to the breakup, but this isn’t forever. I know there’s something else going on, and I’m convinced that with time, I’ll figure it out. He’ll come around. Eventually.

And once I’m sure he feels the same way, I’ll tell him.

I’ll tell him I love him, and I’ll make sure that when I do, he says it back.

He’s winning this battle—because I’d rather step back than lose him entirely—but I’m gearing up for the war.

A war for his heart.

A war I plan to win .