Page 65 of Heart of Gold
He stops walking, “Are you ever gonna try with dad? It seems like he’s tried so hard this past year and you’ve done nothing but push him away.”
I can’t keep the words back, “I’m not you, Levi. He wants me to be you so bad he can’t stand it, and if it wasn’t for football, dad would want nothing to do with me. Just like before.”
He looks stunned, but it’s not enough to shut him up. “He’s trying with you, Gav. You aren’t even giving him a chance. Maybe he’s trying to make it right. You know? Make up for all those years when he wasn’t the best dad.”
I can feel my jaw tightening, “I don’t need him. I don’t need the constant pushing and stress. I don’t want it.”
“What do you want, Gavin? Because right now, it doesn’t seem like it’s football.”
I want to tell him that he’s right. That it’s not football. That football doesn’t make me happy anymore because of all the stress that comes with it, but I don’t because even though he’s saying all this shit to piss me off, he’s still my brother. The least Icando is play ball.
“I’m doing it aren’t I? I’m there and I’m doing my best. That should be enough, Levi.”
He shakes his head in dismissal and we both walk to my truck, because if we’re late for film Coach will be pissed, and if we aren’t ready to play our hearts out on the field on Saturday? We might as well kiss our personal lives goodbye.
I need to get my head in the game because I refuse to give up my personal life when things are just starting to fall into place for me, whether Levi likes it or not. If it comes down to Quinn or football, he might not like the outcome.
Even if it ruins everything I’ve worked for. Even if it means trading football for a job to pay for school.
Playing with those dogs on Sunday and spending the day doing something I wanted to do made me realize something. It was high past time that I started doing things that make me happy.
chapter twenty-seven
Quinn
I really didn’t know what to expect when Gavin said he wanted to cook me dinner, or how he ended up having his apartment to himself, but I like it.
“Okay, Gordon Ramsay, how can I help?”
He cages me in against the counter, then bops me on the nose, “You aren’t helping. You are watching.”
I poke my lip out like I’ve been scalded and he just laughs, using his giant hands to lift me onto the counter. I can’t help but smile, “I can’t believe you just manhandled me!”
“What’s wrong, Daisy? You aren’t used to beingmanhandled?”
The emphasis he places on the word to imply I’ve never been with a man makes me ache between my legs. Because I remember exactly what it felt like when he was between them weeks ago. Very manly.
“I’ve only been manhandledonce.”
He stares at me a moment, and I watch as his chest moves with each breath. Part of me wants to yank him in by his shirtand devour him, but the other part knows we should try and take it slow. Get to know each other for real.
His grin grows wicked, “You ready to be blown away by my cooking skills?”
“I am starving.” I jump off the counter and join him. “But I’m helping because I don’t like being told what to do.”
He rolls his eyes, “You are a handful, aren’t you?”
I walk past him, “I think you know just how much of a handful I am.”
He pulls some dough out of the fridge and slaps it on the counter. “You ever made homemade pizza?”
I grin, “Of course I have.”
“Then help me, woman.”
I stand next to him at the counter and watch as he dumps the sauce onto the dough. He’s so focused on what he’s doing, I can’t help but mess with him. I dip my finger into the red sauce and brush it down his cheek.
He turns to face me, “You did not just do that?”
