Page 51 of Her Football Star Ex

I thought that explaining it would make me sound less like a weirdo, but the more I continued, the more I knew I was just embarrassing myself more.

But to my amazement, Vincent didn’t push me away from him and run. Instead, he got a contemplative look on his face. “I guess that makes sense.”

It did?

I swallowed. “It does?”

His thumb ran along my spine again. “I mean, everyone always talks about their first kisses being memorable. Why shouldn’t last kisses be the same?”

“See?” I nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

“It’s not like it has to be weird or anything. I mean, it’s just a kiss.”

“Yeah,” I said, relieved that he didn’t seem to think I was crazy for bringing it up. “We’ve kissed tons of times. This would just be the bookend to our story.”

“It started with a first kiss under the tree at your dorm room. It could end here at my place.”

He said it like it was completely fine and normal, but when I searched his eyes, there was a hint of sadness in them. Like he too understood the finality of this moment.

And I almost wanted to run from it, because I suddenly realized why we didn’t always remember the lasts in our life: because lasts were sad.

Saying goodbye was hard, so it was easier to just not think about them.

“So should we just do it right here, then?” He nodded to his small bathroom. “Is this where it should happen?”

I looked around at our surroundings. It wasn’t nearly as big and high end as the bathroom we’d once shared at our house. It was still tidy, and he had taken good care of it—whether that was with the help of a cleaning company I still didn’t know. But it was veryVincent. Masculine and clean with the faint scent of his body wash still clinging to the air from when he’d last showered.

I’d forgotten how much I loved the smell of him.

But instead of letting my mind go down that rabbit hole, I made myself focus back on the present and said, “This is probably as good a place as any.”

It wouldn’t be like one of those romantic movie scenes, where the couple was standing outside under a streetlamp while snow softly fell around them. But those kinds of scenes were for first kisses.

This was a last kiss. A plain old bathroom was probably perfect.

“So should we just—” He tilted his head to the side and shrugged. “—go for it then?”

I smiled. He wasn’t Shakespeare, but his straightforwardness was definitely all him.

“Yeah, we probably should.”

He pushed away from the counter and stood to his full height, the movement making me step back and straighten up as well.

I looked up at his face, having to crane my neck because he was so much taller than me.

“Why do I suddenly feel like I’m in middle school and trying to figure out how to kiss the pretty girl at the dance?” he asked with a half-smile on his lips.

“I don’t know,” I said, my stomach feeling like it had a flock of hummingbirds flapping around inside. “I mean, I feel like I’m at least sixteen.”

His smile broadened at my attempt of a joke. “You always were the mature one.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. “What can I say, I’m an old soul.”

He stepped closer and ran his thumb along my cheek in a caress that made a trail of fire follow it. “So, are you ready?”

I didn’t know if I could ever really be ready for this. But I said, “I’m telling my mind that it needs to remember this last one this time.”

“Me too,” he said.

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