Page 29 of Falling for the Quarterback
His body is simply remarkable. The words don’t seem to be enough, nothing as powerful as I need them to be to express how I’m feeling.
He smiles. His fingertip traces a tender path across my collar bones from shoulder to shoulder. His eyes are soft, and his face is relaxed as he agrees with me. “Yes, definitely.” His voice is a low, gravely rumble, giving me a fresh set of goosebumps. “It was…Everything.”
As we lie there, our breaths steadily return to normal, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this content.
Chapter Thirteen
JJ
Astheminutestickby, reality begins to intrude. I can see the questions bubbling up inside of her, and her form stiffens the more she thinks. She rolls to the side, pulling the blanket to help cover her, but I refuse to let her hide away from me. Not from the moments we shared together, they were too perfect. I can easily sense the tension growing, and with it, her unease.
I prop myself up on my elbow, gazing down at her. I hope I look serious, but also open and honest, so she’ll talk to me. “Hey,” I murmur quietly. “Where’d you go just now? I can feel you tensing, and I want to fix whatever it is that took the easiness out of your eyes, sweetheart.”
She shakes her head, eyes flicking away from mine. After a beat, she confesses, “When I Googled you, I saw all the articles about us. The kidnapping, as well as the others, with them wondering if we’re dating. I had no idea about any of it, especially the number of articles published. It has to put so much pressure on you being in the spotlight all the time.” She sits up, and I let her go. She reaches for her clothes, starting to dress.
She’s worried about me? The entire time, I’ve been worried about her.I follow her lead, scooting to the edge of the bed. I pull on my boxer briefs, then my shorts.
She stands, continuing, “I’m scared of what happens next. Of where we go from here, and if you believe even for a moment that Ididn’t push the stories on these people. Our names and faces are everywhere in the sports world. I was shocked. I’m going to be honest here and tell you that I didn’t like it. I don’t want a life filled with too much noise, but rather one I can enjoy.”
My brow raises as I stand, my hand raking through my tussled hair. “Of course, I don’t think you’re responsible for the stories the media has published; it never crossed my mind. Not even once, I swear. Those people are like a dog with a bone, they run after every scrap they can get and sell it any way they can, as much as possible.” I follow her back into the living area.
Kinsley grabs a Dr. Pepper and holds it up, silently asking if I want one. I shouldn’t because of the encroaching season, but I nod anyway. She grabs two cans from the fridge, then hands one to me when she joins me, sitting on the couch beside me. I guess we’re doing this here and now, the other dreaded conversation I was avoiding when I should’ve told her from the moment I found out. This woman keeps surprising me with her take life by the horns, no bullshit approach to dealing with things. I can’t let anything get in the way in the future. I’ll be upfront with her about anything else so we can tackle it together.
I take a sip of the deliciously sweet Dr. Pepper, the crisp fizz momentarily distracting me from the weight of her words and what they could mean for us. She’s concerned, and her thoughts are valid. I don't blame her, I’d probably be wondering the same thing if the roles were reversed, but they’re not, so all I can do is be patient with her and hope she chooses me in the end. The media frenzy around us must be overwhelming, especially for someone not used to this kind of attention.
“I like you, I really do,” she begins, and I sense a but coming on. I nearly cringe when the word leaves her mouth, “But, when I agreed to have food with you, I had no idea you were a professional football player, let alonethe quarterback. Add in all of the speculation in the articles and our story being posted everywhere, and it has me wantingto be a hermit. I already have some fans that are readers, I don’t want anyone to go after them, too, if they realize I’m an author and decide to publish more pieces.”
As I watch her sitting Indian style, looking adorable in her pale pink shirt and black panties, while fiddling with the tab of her soda can, a thought nags in the back of my mind. Can she handle this crazy life I’ve come to love? The attention and constant media coverage of a professional football player, where every move is scrutinized, every misstep blown out of proportion? I've seen several of my fellow teammates’ relationships crumble over the years due to the pressure from the spotlight, and I don't want ours to end up being another tragic casualty the media rips to shreds.
Being open and honest with her is essential. I don’t want another relationship like the past; I want what Kinsley and I have now.The spark, the constant thought of her filling my head, the eagerness to see her every moment I can, and the laughter and ease we seem to share whenever we get to be around each other.
I understand about her wanting the quiet life. I probably get it better than most, as it’s something I’ve thought about many times over as well. However, when I’m brutally honest with myself, I know it’s not reality for me. Even after I’ve retired for a while…I’ve been in the spotlight for a long time. Along with the various charities I plan to continue to stay relevant with, as well as many other things I’ve dipped my toes in. None of it is going to make things as calm and quiet as she’s probably imagined for her life.
The real question is, can we compromise on it? I’ll do everything in my power to make sure she’s safe, taken care of, and happy, in our own little bubble, but there will also be a side of me that will always be front and center when it comes to my other commitments. I guess first and foremost, I have to make sure she realizes that she’s most important in my life aside from football.
With a sigh, I lean back against the couch and study her profile. She's beautiful, and the thing is, she doesn’t truly realize it. She thinks she’s in this horrible midlife change that makes her look like a troll half the time, but she’s breathtaking in my opinion. Right now, she’s so focused on her drink, her brows furrowed in concentration, that I want to pull her to me. I feel like when she’s in my arms, then nothing else matters except her and me, but I know it’s not the answer for right now.
I need to be real and open with her. But what is the best thing to say in this moment that’ll put her at ease? I briefly hesitate, wondering what if it’s all too much for her? What if my life’s work ends up pushing us away from one another before we’ve fully established that we’re a couple? I don’t want to lose her in any way, when we’ve merely gotten started, it seems. Even if I do feel like I could get down on one knee right now and profess my love, and it’d be true to my heart, it doesn’t mean it’s what I should do at the moment.
The silence between us stretches, heavy with unspoken reservations. And in that second, as the sunlight filters into the RV through the blinds and curtains, I remind myself that I'm falling for her.
Hard.
I have to be the man she needs. I can’t be the one allowing random doubts to suddenly cloud my vision for our future together. I set my half-empty soda on the coffee table, turning to face her fully.
I’m not letting her run.
Not today, and not ever.
She’s it for me.
“Kinsley,” I murmur, reaching out to thread her fingers with mine, drawing her attention to me. “I know you’re worried and questioning the unknown. I get it, I do. However, I promise you, we will work through this and anything else that gets in our way, one step at a time,together.I'm not going to let anything or anyone come betweenus now or ever, especially not social media or any other media source. I’ll always do my best to protect you; we can either leave the stories they’ve published alone, or address them head-on to see which way works better.”
Her teeth sink into her lower lip as her big brown eyes meet mine. Her gaze is searching for some sort of reassurance or hope. It’s in her vulnerability that I know I'm willing to fight for us,for her.
“You’re not angry that I’m upset about this? That it scares the crap out of me and makes me want to hide under a blanket?”
I smirk, shaking my head. “I’ll hide under the blanket with you, holding your hand, if you’ll let me.”
