Page 58 of The Wildest One
I wanted to pull her toward me and kiss her.
“I want to talk about the texting …”
“Oh God,” she groaned. “If you’re about to give me an excuse, it’s okay, you don’t need to. You’re one of the most popular players in the league. Women throw themselves at you. You didn’t need to keep in touch with a twenty-year-old—or howeverold I was at that point—who was living on the opposite side of the country as you and who you were likely never going to see again.”
“That’s what you think?” My brows shot up. “That your age and location are the reasons I stopped reaching out?”
“Both of those combined, along with the fact that you probably have an identical situation”—she swept the air between us with her finger, the movement signifying the three nights we’d spent together—“whenever you have a break on the road.”
My head shook back and forth as I laughed. “That’s what you believe?”
“A million percent.”
“I told you, there’s never been anyone like you.”
She shrugged.
“And you didn’t believe me.” I waited. “You still don’t.”
“Why does it matter what I believe, Beck?”
I stared at her silently for a moment, debating whether I wanted to do this or not, and then I pulled out my phone, hitting my Contacts, where I filled in her name and pulled up our last group of texts. I turned the screen toward her. “Do you see the last message in green? The one I sent, inviting you to go to Africa?” I stalled while she read the words. “The look on your face right now and the fact that you never responded—that tells me the message definitely never went through.”
She grabbed the phone out of my hands and held it in front of her face.
“You need to know that I thought it had gone through, Jolie. And I thought you’d ignored the invite and blown me off. I didn’t realize there was a difference between green and blue messages, and the green meant it wasn’t guaranteed to be delivered until I was in Boston last season. I was in the locker room after the game, pissed off that we’d lost so badly and—if I’m being real fucking honest—pissed off that you hadn’t reached out. Mybuddy told me to message you, and when he saw my screen, he told me the text probably hadn’t gone through.”
She slowly looked up from my phone and gave it back to me. “You meant to invite me to Africa …”
I shoved my cell into my pocket. “I wanted you there. I wanted to look at those stars with you. I wanted it to be the start of something more.” My dick fucking ached as I stared at her. “The same way I’d wanted you to come to Paris.”
“And the text never went through.”
It was as though she was processing the truth by speaking it out loud.
“I know I should have reached out once my buddy told me you probably hadn’t gotten my text. Shit, I should have. I don’t know why I didn’t. That’s on me, and I take full responsibility for it. I guess I felt like a fucking idiot, and some time had passed, and … I don’t know.” I was starting to repeat myself, but the regret was coming on hard, making me feel even worse. “I also could have told you I was coming to Boston to play. But at the same time, there was no doubt in my mind that you knew I was going to be there. I guess—and it was probably wrong to guess—that with the way things stood, with you uninterested and not responding to my invite, I figured you didn’t want to see me.” I shoved a hand in my pocket to stop it from reaching for her. “Or you were dating someone.”
“And that’s what I assumed too.” Her voice was so soft. “Just flipped the other way around.”
I took a drink, hoping the liquor would put out this fire in my body. But I knew—fuck, I knew—it would only ignite it more. Especially as I said, “Jolie, things between us never had to stop. Just because I hadn’t seen you, I still thought about you. And I wanted to see you. I would have kept trying even if Africa hadn’t worked out.” The honesty was lifting from my chest, and I didn’t try to tame it. I had nothing to lose by telling her the truth. Iwas beyond single—a phrase that made me smile inwardly—and not a single woman I’d come across after all this time even came close to measuring up to her. “You’re still on my mind. Even now.”
The deer-in-headlights look was sexy as fuck on her, which told me the reality of this situation was shocking the hell out of her.
“You’re telling me”—her hand went to her chest—“that you haven’t forgotten about me.”
“Forgotten? Hell no. It would be impossible to forget a woman like you.”
“But at the same time, you didn’t care enough to reach out after learning the text hadn’t gone through. If you had cared, things would have played out much differently.”
“Don’t portray me that way. I fucked up, Jolie. I didn’t handle things perfectly. I own that. But never once did I stop caring.”
Her head dropped. “Beck …”
“The second my eyes landed on you, what did I do? I came straight over here to talk to you.” I took a step toward her, my hand going to her waist, her head instantly lifting, my eyes studying another expression that I couldn’t define. But the feel of her, goddamn it, it was good. No. It was the fucking best. “Wanting you hasn’t gone away either.” I leaned my lips toward her ear. “That want has only grown.”
“It’s … grown.” Her voice was now a whisper.
I downed the rest of my bourbon and reached toward a table, placing the glass on top of it so my other hand could grip her, and I guided her a few inches closer. “Are you dating anyone?”
