Page 4 of Tempting the Goalie
“I don’t drink tea,” he says as if I didn’t know.
“I can make you instant coffee, if you like,” I offer.
“Okay, but only if you have creamer.”
“I do.” We head to the kitchen, and I take a mug out of the cabinet to make him coffee, just the way he likes.
“Did he call you to apologize? Is he groveling? You better not take him back,” he warns.
“He hasn’t called,” I admit, and those words sting because I wasn’t important enough to West for him to inform me of the end of our two-year relationship.
“You deserve better than him. You deserve the best,” he states, and he makes my heart dance. Luc is the sweetest guy I know and probably the most handsome, but he also doesn’t believe in love and has never been in a relationship.
“Don’t flatter me. I wasn’t pretty enough or good enough to hold West’s attention after all the promises he made,” I mutter, feeling low.
“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Don’t talk about yourself that way,” he insists. His gray eyes fill with conviction, but his words don’t count. We’ve been friends forever. We are as close as two friends who grew up together can be.
“Enough about me. How has your weekend been?” I ask, taking a cleansing breath. I need to stop thinking about West’s betrayal.
“We had a game out of town Friday night. Got back last night. It’s been weird having all these girls living with us. My friends are just so happy. . .” His face morphs into disgust.
I laugh out loud. “You have to see your face right now.” I slide his coffee to him from across the counter. “They’re in love, Luc. Although, I think you’ve taken me over to the dark side. I don’t think love exists.”
“My friends will tell you different. One of their girlfriends was just complaining about all the banging headboards we have in the house at night,” he scoffs.
“As in all of them are having sex all night?” I ask intrigued.
He nods. “They can’t seem to keep their hands to themselves.” His face looks sour and despite my pissy mood, I laugh.
“I wouldn’t know what that feels like. West and I weren’t like that,” I confess. West came into town once a month. It was the best he could do on his crazy schedule. Last summer he took me to Italy for two weeks. Italy was beautiful and romantic, but I didn’t feel a rabid hunger for West.
“What do you mean?” Luc asks. “You were with the guy for two years.”
“We didn’t have some crazy sexual chemistry. It was just okay.” I shrug.
My best friend and I never discuss sex. It has always been an off-limit topic. Our friendship was always platonic. The summer Luc’s mom died in a car crash was the same summer Mom left. Luc was devastated and I felt abandoned. We were only ten years old. Luc snuck through my bedroom window every night and we had sleepovers. Having each other eased the loneliness. He would sneak out in the morning before Dad or my brothers woke. It was something we did for years. Coming to Riverside U put a distance between us, but it didn’t take away the closeness we shared.
My best friend looks uneasy from my comment. He was leaning over the counter, cupping the mug, and he straightens out and walks the mug over to the kitchen table. He takes a seat.
“What are you saying, Izzy?” he asks then he sips from his mug. He looks stiff and doesn’t make eye contact.
“Nothing. Just that the sex wasn’t something to write home about. We never knocked any headboards into walls.”
He winces at my words and pins his eyes shut like he is in physical pain. “Are you saying you never orgasmed with the asshole?” He opens his gray eyes and they look stormy as all hell.
I shift uneasily. Luc knows West was my first. I met West at the end of my first year here at Riverside. He was visiting the arena since he’s an alumnus here. It was one of the only times I was visiting Luc, and we hit it off. He asked me out, which was abig deal because he’s famous. I didn’t care about his fame. I liked how down-to-earth he was. He fooled me into believing he was an honorable man.
“Do you really want me answering that question?” I ask in return.
“I asked,” he deadpans. The way he’s looking at me makes my skin prickle.
“We don’t talk about sex and orgasms,” I remind.
He shifts and clears his throat, mumbling something I don’t understand.
“You brought it up so spit it out. You want to tell me you were dating a guy for two years who didn’t make you come?” he asks flabbergasted.
“I faked it.” I scrunch my nose and feel my cheeks flush.
