Page 40 of There's No Us Without You
I have to practically run to keep up with Emerson’s long strides, each one of his equal to almost three of mine.
“It’s nothing,” he says, adjusting the straps of his sports bag over his shoulder. “Just some stupid bet.”
“A bet?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He shoves his hand into his pocket to pull out his car keys.
“Why? It can’t be that bad.” I grab his forearm, making him slow his pace.
Frowning, he stops walking and glances back at the clubhouse, jiggling the keys in his hand as he sighs. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
“You seem upset, that’s all.”
“Jesus, fine.” His eyes soften a little, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower. “Promise you won’t think any less of me?”
My breathing increases slightly, my heart rate doing the same. Do I really want to know if it could change the way I see him?
Surely it’s not that bad, right?
I offer Emerson a small smile and cross my heart. “Promise.”
For a moment, he just stands there, a look of concentration set on his face, eyebrows pulled in, until he blows out a long breath. “I’m kind of... abstaining from sex,” he says, wincing. “The boys made a bet on how long I’ll last.”
A snort escapes me, so I cover my mouth to hide my grin. Except that soon fades when I realise Emerson isn’t smiling.
“Wait.” I put a hand to his chest. “You’re serious?”
With a tight smile, he nods once. “According to Coach, it isn’t good for my image.”
“And he can do that? Ban you, I mean.”
Seems a little excessive to be dictating what someone can and can’t do when it comes to their body, but I know nothing about the finer nuances of professional soccer.
“Said he’ll bench me if I don’t obey the rules.”
I blow out a breath.
Well... this is an interesting turn of events. Seems there’s more to soccer than just kicking a ball around.
“How long do you have to behave yourself?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Until the end of the season—eight weeks.”
Is that all? I’ve gone months without sex and I’m still alive and kicking.
“And what do you get if you win?” It better be worth it because Emerson is obviously struggling with this.
“Well...” Emerson purses his lips while counting his fingers. “There’s roughly fifteen of us who placed a bet, so... about seventy-five grand.”
All the blood drains from my face.
I must have misheard him. Seventy. Five. Thousand. Dollars?
“You’re kidding!”
A slow smirk lifts the corners of his lips, the first smile I’ve seen since he left the changeroom. “What can I say? We like to play hard.” He winks before turning towards his car again.
I rub my forehead while dragging my feet behind him.
