Page 67 of Fall I Want
“I’m sensing a type with NFL players and retired Olympians.”
“Yes.” I snicker. “The other man I dated, Antonio, played professional baseball.”
“And what about Mr. Dreamy? What’s he into?”
“Me and only me,” I confidently say. “In real life, my shining personality carries me a long way, just not down the aisle.”
“Athletes are assholes, Pumpkin. They never appreciate what they have,” he says.
“Then I’m glad you’re not one,” I tell him.
“Fuck, me too. Do you wish you would’ve tried to make it work?”
It’s not a question I’ve ever asked myself, but I think about it, taking it to heart. The tequila helps with my honesty and I hope I don’t regret spilling all my truths tomorrow. Hell, maybe we’ll drink so much that neither of us will remember.
“I never imagined a future with him. We knew it was short term. I missed his company, but we were always better friends than lovers.”
The silence draws on for a few seconds. “I’m impressed. Ivy League.”
“And I graduated with aperfectGPA. I peaked in college, though. Look at me now.”
He shakes his head. “Give yourself more credit.”
“Did you like Princeton?” I change the subject, catching what he said earlier.
“I wasn’t interested.” He pauses. “I was a competitive snowboarder, and I’d placed to compete in the Olympics. It’s all I wanted in life. During training before the trials started, I took a halfpipe and landed wrong and injured my knee and tore some ligaments, which took me out. Princeton was a backup plan because my father required it in case myhobbydidn’t work out. He never considered it a career. When I stopped snowboarding professionally, I continued my studies in world affairs and finance, and joined the family business.”
It’s hard to place his expression.
It’s full of regret and pain, maybe sorrow too.
“I’m sorry.” I want to hug him.
“It’s how I know Sebastian. He was my replacement. Fucking asshole. And knowing he was with you...” He stops talking and shakes his head. “You deserved a million times better than him. I’m thrilled you’re not together.”
“It’s personal with you two.”
His gaze is distant. “Very fucking personal.”
Before any more words are spoken, Zane pours another shot into his glass and I slide mine forward. The conversation went too deep already. Sebastian was an Olympian because of Zane’s misfortunes. Their reaction to seeing one another makes more sense now. The tension was too thick.
“It’s why you should follow your dreams if you are capable, Pumpkin. Some of us lost that opportunity and can never get what we want.”
“You’re right,” I whisper, feeling guilty. Perspective does that.
I study his mouth, remembering what it felt like against mine. It was first-love magic. The logical side of my brain says that at least. The tipsy part begs me to take risks and fuck it all. It’s like I have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other.
When the last timer rings, Zane removes the pumpkin seeds from the oven. He grabs an empty bowl and scoots the roasted ones inside. I enjoy watching him be domestic, and he catches me. After a brief second, he focuses back on his task at hand, but his sexy little grin isn’t lost on me.
I reach forward, grabbing one and putting it into my mouth, then immediately regret it. I spit the seed back into my palm to blow on it. “I just burnt the fuck out of my tongue,” I say with a laugh.
“You’re impatient,” he says.
“You have no idea.” I pop it back in, loving the crunch and flavor.
He grabs the bowl and our shot glasses. “Grab the tequila. We have snacks to eat and pumpkins to carve.”
“Hell yeah we do.” I pick it up and follow him down the hallway. The fire barely flickers, so Zane adds a few more logs on top. I stand beside him, holding my hands out as the flames lick up toward the sky.
