My fingers move a little bit along her side and she makes another happy noise. I love this noise. I love that she makes it for me.
I love . . .
No. I can't say it yet. I can't think it yet. Not right now. Not when things are so precarious. We're both teetering on the edge of something and it could end well, or it could end badly. This is no time for me to make a declaration. Timing is important.
And what do I think is going to happen even if I tell her how I feel? That she's going to swoon into my arms and declare that she's been nuts for me this whole time? I don't think so. That's not happening. Because this isn't a fucking movie, and I'm not some prince on a white horse or a billionaire with a kink.
She's just a girl and I'm just a guy, and this is real life where there's no soundtrack, no epic kiss in the rain. Just two imperfect people trying to get through the day without fucking up too badly.
Freya's fingers curl around my shirt and I wonder what the hell she's got going on in that gorgeous brain of hers. But there's no way to know unless I ask, and asking runs the risk that she'll completely shut down.
I stay with Freya and the show goes on and on and I can tell by her breathing that she's asleep, but I am not fucking moving. I'm keeping this moment and the smell of her hair and the feel of her warmth. Something tells me that I might not get a whole lot more of this with her.
* * *
Somehow I fall asleep too and wake abruptly in the middle of the night because Freya is making noises and sitting up.
"Oh," she says, looking at me. The TV is still on and so are all the lights.
"Did you sleep okay?" I ask. Her face is inches from mine and she's sleepy and sexy and I want to kiss her so much. Her eyes are still a little puffy, but I think it's from sleep and not crying.
"Um, yeah," she says, looking down at her hand and releasing her hold on my shirt. She coughs and pushes away from me.
"Thank you," she says, running her fingers through her hair.
"For what?" I ask.
"For . . . for being here and for checking to see if I was okay. And for not telling me that I'm a crazy bitch and pestering me until I talk to you. You're . . . you're a good friend, Rhett." Friend. The word cuts, but at least I'm that. At least I still have that.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" I ask. She slowly shakes her head.
"I think I'm just going to go to bed." Freya gets up and starts to walk toward her bedroom, but she stops and turns.
"Are you coming?"
"Do you want me to?" I ask.
She presses her lips together and nods.
* * *
This time there is no skipping our morning workout, but thanks to going to bed relatively early (for us), we're both pretty much ready the next morning when her alarm goes off. I still have to go home and change because I wasn't prepared to spend the night here.
I half expected Freya to want sex when we went to bed, but she just pulled off her clothes and climbed under the covers in just her underwear and no bra. I pulled off my shirt and got down to my boxers and did the same. I stayed on my side until she rolled over and laid her head on my chest.
"Good night," she said, and then she was out again.
"I still feel gross," she says. "I'm going to take a quick shower. I know I'll just have to take another one later, but I don't care." I nod and tell her that I'm going to head home and I'll meet her at the field house. She grabs some clothes from her dresser. Or at least she tries to.
"Shit, the drawer is stuck again." I get up and go to help her, but I end up banging into her desk as I yank the drawer open.
"I can fix that," I say, pulling the drawer completely out and inspecting it. All I have to do is file it down so it will slide better.
"Sure, sometime. Ugh, if I don't hurry, we're going to be late." Rushing around and grabbing some workout clothes to change into, she tells me I can let myself out. I get up and put the drawer back and bang into the desk again. A bunch of stuff falls, and I reach down to pick it up. Some papers have fallen out of a green folder, so I pile them together and am about to shove them back in the folder when I realize what they are.
I'm reading them before I can tell my brain to stop, and by then it's too late. The shower turns on, and I hastily shove them in the folder and put it back where I think it's supposed to go. I hope I put it back where it's supposed to go.
Shit. The information is burned into my brain now, and as I stumble out of the apartment, I realize one thing:
Freya is going to kill me.
14
Freya
Rhett isn't at the field house when I get there. I just assume that he's running late. I wait a few minutes for him, but he doesn't show up. I text him, and he says that something came up so he isn't running today. I'm puzzled and a little worried. Coach is going to ream him out for it, but that's not my main concern. After everything that happened last night, I wonder if he just needs a break from me. I hope that's not the reason. I send him another text, asking if he needs to talk. I've got to start being a better friend to him.