Page 16 of Second Quarter Comeback
“To what?” I press, stepping closer.
“To be as perfect as my father,” he admits, his voicequieter now. “And maybe I’m not ready for that. Maybe I should’ve waited until I graduated. Been more mentally prepared.”
I set my glass down and close the distance between us, taking his hand in mine. “You don’t have to be perfect, Killion. You just have to be you. That’s the guy they drafted. And for the record, I think he’s pretty damn great.”
He looks at me for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“Why? Because I’m right?”
“No,” he says, his grin widening. “Because you make me want to believe it. Though, it’s scary too. A lot’s about to change.”
I nod, because what else can I say? He’s right. Everything is changing—for him, for us, if there even is an us.
“When do you leave?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even, though the question weighs more than I’d like to admit.
“I’m not leaving Boston just yet,” Killion says, his tone calm, like he’s thought this all through. “Dad and I worked out a schedule. I’ll be in New York for minicamp and whatever else they’ve got lined up for the rookies. But I’ll be here from mid-June until the end of July.”
He says it like it’s simple, like the thought of him juggling two cities isn’t monumental. But all I can hearare the words ‘leaving’ and ‘New York.’ The rest is white noise.
I nod, my lips pressing into a tight line as I try to process what that means. It shouldn’t feel like a goodbye—not yet. But it does. And I don’t want to think about endings. Not now. Not when everything feels so new and full of potential.
Before I can stop myself, I step forward and wrap my arms around him, burying my face against his chest. His body tenses for half a second before he relaxes, his arms coming up to pull me closer.
“I don’t like thinking about you leaving,” I mumble, my voice muffled against his sweatshirt.
“I’m not gone yet,” he says softly, one hand sliding up my back, the other settling at my waist.
The warmth of his touch makes it both better and worse. I tilt my head to look up at him, my breath catching at the way his dark eyes meet mine—steady, thoughtful, like he’s memorizing this moment.
And then he kisses me.
It’s not rushed, not desperate. It’s deep and deliberate, the kind of kiss that says everything we’re both too scared to put into words. My fingers grip his sweatshirt, and I press closer, as if I can keep him here, in this exact moment, just a little longer.
When we finally pull back, I’m breathless, and his forehead rests against mine.
“You’re really not leaving until July?” I ask softly, needing to hear it again.
“Not until July,” he confirms, his lips brushing mine in a whisper of a kiss. “And even then, I’ll still be close. We’ll figure things out. You’ll see me more than you want to.”
“That’s not possible,” I say with a shaky laugh, my chest tightening at the thought of missing him anyway.
He cups my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone, his touch both tender and grounding. “You don’t have to worry about the end, okay? We’re not there. We’re just getting started.”
Before I can respond, his lips crash onto mine. There’s no hesitation, no holding back—it’s fierce, claiming, the kind of kiss that steals my breath and makes my knees go weak. I barely register him stepping forward, pressing me against the wall, his hands sliding down to grip my hips.
In one swift motion, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my leggings, tugging them down past my thighs. The cool air brushes my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating off him as he works his jeans open, shoving them and his boxers down in one fluid motion.
He lifts me effortlessly, his strong hands gripping my thighs as he pins me against the wall. His body presses into mine, hard and hot, and I gasp at the intensity of it all. His steely gaze locks on mine, his dark eyes burning with desire.
“Stop me,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, “ifyou don’t want this. Stop me if you don’t want me inside you.”
My heart is racing, my breaths shallow, but I don’t hesitate. “I want this,” I whisper, my voice trembling but sure. “I want you.”
A growl rumbles from his chest as he reaches for his wallet, pulling out a condom and tearing it open with practiced ease. My legs tremble in his hold as I watch him roll it on, the sight making heat pool low in my belly.
He lines himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing against my slick folds. The anticipation is electric, my body tensing in a mix of excitement and nerves.
“Look at me,” he commands softly, his voice steady but laced with raw need. I do, and the intensity in his eyes makes me feel completely exposed, like he’s seeing every part of me.
