Page 11 of Christmas Cheer

“You stop.” I snap my teeth at him, chomping down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. I’m over this. He was sweet to me at dinner and this morning, even bringing a breakfast appropriate for an early training session instead of trying to impress me, but that doesn’t excuse his current behavior.

“Mmm, Hughes likes it rough, doesn’t she?”

“No, I just don’t appreciate getting manhandled by misogynist assholes. Never mind, I’m not your girlfriend. Last night was a mistake.”

“Last night was an epiphany.” His free hand lifts one of my legs at the knee to bring it to his hip so he can press his fingers to my core through my leggings and panties. “This right here? This was fucking paradise. You asked me why I didn’t go home for the holidays, but I did. I went here, and nothing in my life has ever felt like home the way this did.”

He’s crossing serious boundaries, but he’s crossing them just right that I’m finding myself distracted by his pretty words and inviting eyes. I do want a man to say things like this to me, but I need those words to be real, not whatever game Evan is playing. His hand is still, at least, which is enough for me to keep my thoughts clear to again whisper, “Stop.”

He frowns on a deep, frustrated sigh. This time his kiss is a light sweep on my forehead. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice sincere. “And I wasn’t trashing on cheerleading, I swear. I’ve seen you do some absolutely incredible things out there. But the stuff you were doing last night on those bars? It looked like a terrible way to land if there’s no one to catch you.”

My heart skips at the look of fear that shadows over his eyes and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he speaks. He’s obviously stressed about this.

My past is my own. Not even my teammates know what my life was before Wilmington. I never wanted to tell anyone and certainly not Evan, not when money got him everything he needed to be a shoo-in for draft and live out his days as football royalty.

But I’m gone forever in another week.

“I went to the Junior Olympics when I was twelve.”

Evan blinks and shakes his head. His vibrant blue hair, damp and shaggy from his run, dusts his forehead. “Is cheerleading in the Olympics?”

“Not cheerleading. Gymnastics. Up until when we moved to Wilmington, I was a gymnast. But it’s expensive and dad was making barely minimum wage then.”

Another shake of his hand, and his body loosens, his arm dropping but his chest leaning in, his body finally warming me instead of simply pinning me. “I don’t understand. If you were in the Junior Olympics, that’s a big deal. A huge deal. Why didn’t you get a sponsor?”

“Evan.” I stare up at him frankly, irritated over having to lay hard truths on him. “Twelve-year-old gymnasts don’t get sponsors. Not often. And I was just hitting puberty. I’d gained more weight than they wanted.”

“You’re perfect, what are you talking about?”

I grin and kiss his stubble-roughened cheek, thankful for the compliment in this moment even if it’s irrelevant. “It’s a gamble for gymnasts. They were worried about my height, too. If I got too tall or too heavy, I was no longer going to be competitive. Maybe in rhythmic gymnastics, but that’s not me.”

“You were born to fly. Just tell me how to catch you, and I will.”

Chapter 5

Evan

Watching Keira bouncingaround on the balance beam, the uneven bars, the vault, even on the floor, just doing what she does on the sidelines every Saturday?

I swear I age a decade in that hour.

No showering at the gym today. I’m the one who insists on that. Keira has an overnight bag packed already, so we go straight back to my place. I give her a quick tour of the house I share with two guys from the defensive line and our tight end, although it’s meant for at least six. We’re a bunch of big guys, we take up a lot of space.

Keira has a good laugh about my defense for the giant house before shooing me out of my bathroom, which I act upset about it.

I’m not upset.

The moment the door closes, I pull from my gym bag the box I got from the health center this morning. I use a razor blade to slice through the glue holding it together and let the contents fall onto my kitchen table.

It’s a thick pamphlet and a single pill in a blister pack that’s sandwiched between two layers of cardboard proudly displaying the brand name.

Plan B.

I was going to give it to her. It never crossed my mind not to as I walked to the Health Center and asked for it from the nurse who was stuck on the Christmas morning shift. She made an innocent, friendly comment about how the best Christmas presents aren’t always the ones that last forever. A little joke to let me know this was the right thing to do. I’m sure they have students who stress about these pills a lot, just like any contraception. I fully agreed with her because I’m really not ready to be a dad now.

But the farther I got from the Health Center, the closer I got to Keira, and the more I thought about what would happen if I didn’t give this to her.

If she got pregnant.

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