Page 88 of Matched By My Rival
“You love football. I can’t take that away.”
Anger ignited, flashing through my body. “Fuck you! You don’t know what I love. I’ve been thinking about giving up football for a while. It’s you I want.”
He shook his head. “You’re just saying that because you’re not thinking through the consequences. Football is your dream.
“Not anymore.”
“It is,” he insisted. “You can’t just walk away. You’ve got so much talent. Anyone would give their left nut to be in your position right now. You can’t give that up for me.”
“You fucker.” I smiled despite the pain. “You really don’t get it. I’m not giving it up for you. I’m doing it for me. So I can have a real relationship, and a real love, without fear or worry. I don’t want to shut down half of myself to play a game. I don’t want to have secret boyfriends and worry about getting outed in some tabloid. I want freedom to live my life. And no one—not even you—can tell me how to do that!”
He stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “I’m not, I just—” He swallowed hard. “I want you to have your dream. I don’t want to be an exception. I don’t want you to make sacrifices. I can’t ask for that.”
“You’re not.” I clasped his face, looking into his eyes. “You’re not asking. And I understand if you can’t come on this ride with me. But I’m done hiding, and I’m done putting football first when it’s not what I want most anymore. It’s not what I want, Simon. Can you understand that?”
“No,” he rasped. “No, I don’t get it. You’ve goteverything—and you’re throwing it away?”
“Not everything.” I willed him to give me something, anything. To give me a shred of hope. But he remained speechless, and my throat was growing too tight to continue this talk. “Maybe when you figure that out, you can find me. I’ve got an early morning with my parents, and you’ve got the party stuff to deal with, so yeah. I’m going to go.”
I turned for the door, and he didn’t stop me.
As I stepped into the hall, I heard him say once more, “I just don’t get it.”
With a heavy heart, I walked away, knowing that Simon might not ever understand putting my wants ahead of the sport we both loved, that he might not ever respect my choice to be a pansexual person first and a wide receiver second.
But what hurt most of all was the realization that he wouldn’t choose me if our situations were reversed.
I loved Simon, but I wasn’t so sure he loved me back.
24
SIMON
The next morning, I hounded a few of the younger frat guys into helping me with cleanup. It was ten by the time I could get them out of bed, and I’d been cleaning for three hours by then. Not like I could sleep well after the way things had ended with Parker.
Ended.That word had such finality. Things hadn’t ended. They’d just been paused. Right? We’d get past this—even though I was still a little confused about whatthisreally was. Parker couldn’t really want to walk away from football. He said it wasn’t about me, but what if it was? What if he gave it up, and then I wasn’t worth that sacrifice? What if he regretted it?
I only wanted him to be happy. Wanted him to have every dream come true. I’d lost my dream, but he could still have his. And hell, I wouldn’t even be jealous. Much. I’d be so damn happy for him. Parker deserved all the best things in life. He really was such a great guy. I couldn’t fathom why I’d hated him so much. It felt like another life. Another Simon, maybe.
My arms burned as I aggressively mopped the kitchen floor with the little Shark wet/dry vacuum the frat owned. It was good for normal cleanup, but sticky beer spills and food ground into the wood floors were a bitch to get up. I might have to break out a sponge and go old school on its ass.
I glanced up to see one of our freshman brothers, Daniel, coming down the stairs. He peeled off rubber gloves.
“Bathroom’s done. Can I go now?”
“Both of them?”
He grimaced, pausing halfway down the staircase. “Just the guest one. Do I have to do the private one too?”
His eyes beseeched me for mercy. He did look a little green around the edges, his eyes bloodshot, and his skin pale. If I made him keep cleaning bathrooms, what were the odds he’d end up puking in one?
“Fine, go.”
“Bless you,” he said, making the sign of the cross. “In the name of the holy spirit—”
“Get out of here before I make you check the bushes for condoms.”
I’d already made a thorough search, but Daniel didn’t need to know that. Since giving up on sleep early this morning, I’d filled four trash bags with party detritus: plastic cups, soda cans, water bottles, plates of half-eaten snacks, along with all the food that had sat out all night.
