Page 44 of A Quarterback for Christmas

He only kissed me because I kissed him.

That horny sexual tension that I’ve been grappling with is all in my head.

He still sees me as the bitchy, annoying girl that chose his best friend in high school.

I stumble backward, still feeling the tingle of the kiss across my lips. Although, I doubt that feeling will ever go away. It’s like it’s been seared into my subconscious. “I’m good.” My voice is almost as high-pitched as when I caught him in the gym shirtless, and this whole mess of my imagination started.

Wiping my brow, I fall across the hall, just trying to get some space. “You know what? I don’t feel too great. I’m going to head downstairs.” Turning on my cast, I stumble down the hallway, refusing to look back because if I see pity in Drew’s eyes, I’ll die of embarrassment.

Before I can get far, Drew clutches my arm. “Here, let me help you. I don’t want you falling down the stairs.” I cringe.

That kiss was supposed to stop all this magical thinking, but it’s only increased it. Why is his thumb caressing my arm? Why did he talk in those low husky tones? Why am I intent on making myself feel worse?

I shake him off, staring at the mission in front of me, which is getting down these steps without any help. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. Have you tried walking downhill with your boot on?”

I peer over the edge, trying to mentally count the steps because that does look like a big fall, and this is a big boot. I curse myself, because he’s right. I probably do need his help, but I refuse to take it. “You should be more concerned about the fart holes I saw in your boxers than helping me down the stairs.”

There we go. The way I deal with anything that gets a little too raw, vitriol. It hasn’t failed me yet.

Drew’s lips quirk, and I can tell he’s forcing back a smile, so I take that moment as an opportunity to get a head start on the stairs.

“Bell, please,” he huffs out, but I don’t look back. I just drag my big, old boot down the stairs one step at a time like it’s a dead body, and the cops are chasing me.

What the hell was I thinking?!

Even as I clutch the banister, I realize this is a lot harder than it looks. He quickly hops down a few steps as he tries to help me again.

“Don’t worry about me, Drew. I’m fine.” He takes the hint and lets me go, but following so close behind me, he might as well be my shadow.

Will this moment ever end? Or am I destined to have Drew watching me forever?

I take a sharp breath, hoping he didn’t notice the little hitch because I’m holding back tears of embarrassment. The rational part of my brain must have taken a permanent vacation, leaving me with just the horny side that’s been locked up without a key for far too long.

When I’m at the bottom of the steps, Drew finally takes the hint that I need some alone time and leaves me to wallow in my own misery.

I limp to the sofa and sit on the couch and my makeshift bed; I relive the moment, feeling the humiliation wash over me again.

I just kissed Drew McCallister, and it wasn’t a peck like he was expecting. I forced him to make out with me.

The blood was pumping too fast around my body to fully take it in earlier, but now that I’m alone downstairs in the silence, my thoughts have become deafening. My center is throbbing withneed because I want Drew. I really, really want Drew, but he doesn’t want me.

And why would he?

I’m not a nice person. I want to be, I just don’t know how.

When I check the time, my anxiety rises. It’s seven o’clock, and I’m supposed to be making lasagna, bread, and honey butter, but the desire to do anything other than wallow in shame is non-existent. If I make him dinner now, there will be noLady and The Trampmoment (I know it was spaghetti and meatballs, but I’m going with what I got). There will be just awkward silences and avoiding glances as we try to ignore the giant elephant in the room. Just like we did when he saw me naked.

Sitting on the couch, I lie back and close my eyes. Maybe if they’re closed hard enough, I will finally wake up from this nightmare and be lying on a beach in Tampa.

Why didn’t I take the fact that he saw me naked and hadn’t tried to put the moves on me as a sign? He would have flung me over his shoulder and taken me to his bedroom like any other college guy if he wanted me.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear the stairs creaking. Drew’s coming down. Without thinking, I fling my bedsheet over my body and hide under the blanket. If we try to talk this out, there’s no way that this will end well.

“Bella?” he whispers. It’s almost like he believes I’ve managed to fall asleep in the five minutes he was up there alone. “Are you awake?”

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