Page 26 of A Quarterback for Christmas

Suppressing a smirk, I sit up. The vitriol coming out of this girl’s mouth is such a turn-on.

I tense my jaw, not backing down, and stand.

She watches my every move, the pizza now cold because the only thing she seems to care about is me. Her eyes drag over my arm muscles, to my chest, and then back to my face. Does she like what she sees? I hope so.

Her eyes widen when I rest my hands on the pillows beside her and lean in. We’re close enough that I can smell the pineapple on her breath, and even though I’m allergic, I’d seriously consider anaphylactic shock for the opportunity to touch her lips with mine.

“Believe me, B. Touching the sides isn’t a problem for me. Hitting the back wall too much on the other hand...” I leave it hanging and watch her imagination start to run wild. Her collarbone flushes and her ears turn pink. Am I turning her on with just a few simple words? Either way, I’m going to let that thought linger.

I stand, backing away but refusing to take my eyes off her. “Be careful, B. Girls lie, and you may think you’ve been satisfied before, but that’s because you’ve never had the opportunity to be pleasured by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

She gulps and shifts but has nowhere to go. I like watching her squirm.

Turning on my heel, I say over my shoulder, “Now that you’re fed, I’m going to head to my bedroom.”

“Bu- Bu- But…”

“But what? Still having an unhealthy amount of thoughts over my high school crushes? Funny because I’m having an unhealthy amount of thoughts about earlier. Guess I’m better at hiding my emotions.”

She doesn’t flinch. Barely moves a muscle while I stare her down. Is she really not going to challenge me?

“I’ll see you in the morning, B.” Forcing myself away from her, I turn toward the dark hallway, not wanting to leave her but knowing I have to for my own sanity.

I don’t know what I was thinking when I threatened Bella with a good time, but there must be something in the snowy air because I’m kind of hoping she takes me up on the offer, which is exactly why I need to leave.

One of the fondest memories of my dad was when he’d ‘lecture’ me. If I asked him a question, I’d be prepared to sit there for at least an hour while he’d tell me everything he knew about the answer. Literally everything, especially sports. St. Michael’s football was his favorite, of course. At the time, I’d moan about how long he could talk, but if I’d have known that those lectures had an expiration date, I’d have asked him to talk for every hour of every day, so I could record them and listen to them for the rest of my life.

Blinking, I try to relieve my tired eyes, knowing it’s pointless. I scrub my hand across my face and hear my dad’s voice playing in my head.

Sleep and recovery are the foundations of an effective athlete.

If only he were alive to see how far I’ve come. Long gone are my teenage days when I’d want to sleep away my depression, replaced with determination to make my dad proud.

I blink a few more times and force my eyes to water. Usually, I can fall asleep faster than a narcoleptic on sleeping pills, but tonight has been trickier. That’s because, tonight, my mind has been preoccupied with Bella, and she doesn’t even realize it.She’s out there snoring louder than a foghorn, and I’m stuck in my room listening to it. There are at least four thick walls and two wooden doors between us, but she’s so loud it feels like she’s in the room.

With every snore comes a small, breathy little mewl and then a short, sharp inhale. My brain starts to kick in at the end of every breath because it’s not just her snores keeping me up. It’s the thoughts. The little sparks of curiosity that I know I should drown out, but I don’t. I just leave them there to fill the back of my mind, slowly causing me to drown.

Does she sound as breathless when she’s about to come?

Has she ever felt anything close to what I could do?

Would she want me to show her?

Kicking the sheets off, I roll off the bed with the howling wind as my backdrop. Any hopes of the storm getting better before Christmas are dashed by the giant balls of hail smacking against the window.

Flexing my toes, I feel the soft carpet beneath my feet and know I need to do something about my Bella situation. I’m not the kind of guy to sit and think endlessly about a girl whose only interest is to hail abuse at him. Instead, I stand, pick up my workout gear, and head to the gym opposite my room.

Part of the reason Jacob relegated me to the room downstairs is because I’m always on the weights, training at hours our other roommates didn’t know existed. This way, at least I can train in peace.

Stepping across the hall, I toy with the handle of the gym door, but the loud snoring from the living room stops me. I lean over, peeking in, and smile.

Bella’s head teeters off the edge of the sofa. Her mouth is gaped open, and I’m almost certain no amount of grunting during my workout will wake her up; because if her own snoring can’t wake her, nothing will. Her casted leg rests high on theback of the sofa, and her other limbs starfish in every direction. I tilt my head because that position looks beyond uncomfortable, but she seems content, which is always an achievement for her.

Dissatisfaction goes along with her feisty attitude. Never happy with anything, I thought she would disappear to London after prom like her dad said, and after that disastrous ending to high school, I thought it was best to get rid of her.

By the time I got to St. Michael’s, I’d managed to push Bella to the dark recesses of my mind, only to be reminded of her when Coach mentioned her name. That I could handle. Her strutting into St. Michael’s my sophomore year acting like she owned the joint, I couldn’t. To this day, I still have no idea why she came to Indiana to hang out with her football coach dad for another four years.

She doesn’t even realize how taunting her presence is. And here she is, looking less than regal, still provoking me with her presence.

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