Page 49 of Unfix Me

I couldn’t hide my grimace. “No. We’ve just talked.”

“Many men would offer you a sacrifice to trade places.”

“Would you?”

“Nah, I’m not into the overly bubbly type. Give me a girl who wants to stay home in sweatpants and eat pizza while we watch bad movies.”

I chuckled. “That does sound nice, but you never know. Maybe that’s what Kasey does on the weekends.”

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t really want to find out. Imagine having to scare off all those guys who ogle her.”

That did sound terrible. I knew there was more to her than just being a cheerleader, but I also wasn’t sure if I’d be able to handle all the attention she got. I could barely handle myself when someone talked to me at random.

What Brooks mentioned sounded great. I just wanted something easy. Comfortable, but not boring. Someone who understood me on a molecular level.

That was laughable. I couldn’t understand myself and even if I did, I’d just live in denial.

And there it was. It hadn’t come into my head so aggressively up to this point. Try as I might, these thoughts clearly weren’t going away. I could fight and fight, but I was so tired. I didn’t know if it made me weak to simply stop. If it did, then I guess I was weak.

For him. I was weak for him. That goddamn guy running onto the field right now was messing up my head. All of the things I’d been taught and the years of being normal were just demolished by a man with eyes the color of pine and the purest soul I’d ever encountered. And they wanted me to think there was something wrong with him? Had they fucking met him?

I wanted him to look at me. I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like I was going to do anything if he did. Admitting something in my head was nowhere near equivalent to telling him what I felt. Maybe I never would.

With my thoughts, I felt a wave of nausea, but it was tolerable. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, just letting my mind wander. It was harmless.

Like some conscious beast within me, the sick feeling subsided enough for me to focus on the game. I was only half paying attention, though. My eyes were on 43. He was put in after half time and he was driving the crowd wild. Every time he scored, he waved his arms in the air and captured people’s attention. He was a machine tonight, powerful and inimitable.

Until he wasn’t.

He got hit hard. I was on my feet immediately, my eyes locked on the field where he lay. He was on his back with his knees up and it was impossible to tell if he was just catching his breath or worse. West got to him first and knelt beside him. They seemed to be talking. After a moment, he clasped his hand and pulled him up.

The crowd cheered, but I just watched. He waved off the medics, instead heading for the locker room. West tried to go after him, but the coach grabbed his arm and pointed to the field. He wanted to put him in. I knew he must’ve been struggling with it, but he nodded and ran onto the field.

“Where are you going?” Brooks asked.

I raced down the steps. The game was already forgotten. I was never here to keep score anyway. No, I was here to settle a score with myself and my own stupidity. What was I going to do? I had no clue, but we were going to find out.

Since I couldn’t go onto the field, I moved around the building until I found the side door. When I opened it, I was hit with the familiar smell of sweat and stale air. It was even less appealing when I wasn’t contributing to the scent. Now I understood why my mom always complained about how I’d smell after a game. She would make me keep the windows rolled down while we drove home.

White brick made up the walls on either side of me. The hallway turned to the left, then opened up into the locker room. I glanced around but didn’t see anybody. Continuing further in, I moved past aisles of lockers and benches, looking and listening for some sign of life.

What if he hit his head on the field? He didn’t let anyone examine him. He could have passed out in here.

Before I could get too worked up, I saw him around another set of lockers. He was leaning against the wall with his head tipped back. His helmet was still on, so I couldn’t tell if he had his eyes open.

With his gear on, he looked like a different person. He was bulkier and his arms were covered by a black compression shirt. His gloves had been discarded and I found myself staring at his hands. The olive tone was darkened by dirt, probably from touching his jersey. I had the sudden urge to see how it felt on his skin- the grittiness against softer, slightly callused fingers.

I took another step and his head whipped down. Through the helmet, I could see bits of his face. He reached up to pull it off, then held it at his side.

“Sen?”

There was sweat rolling down his temple and dampening his hair, darkening it further. It curled around his ears, which were slightly red from the heat of his body. My gaze traveled across his sharp jaw, pausing where it curved under his ear. His lips were slightly parted and as I watched, he licked them, leaving them glistening.

Shit.

I took another step. His brow tightened as he waited.

“Are you okay?” I asked quietly.

---