Page 28 of Forever Offsides

I was his, and he was mine, and what the fuck?

Did I mow over kittens and puppies in a former life? I can’t even blame him for this. That’s almost the worst part because I have no one to be mad at except myself.

“I coach your brothers, and your father is my boss.”

“Yep. I got that far too. At least you didn’t knock me up that night, or this would really be a special kind of pickle.”

“Huh?”

I shift my weight and stare down at the floor. “Sorry. Ignore me. I make crass or inappropriate jokes when I’m overly stressed or upset. It’s a defense mechanism.” Then I laugh. “You already know that about me.” He knows more about me than anyone outside my inner circle. “We talked about that a couple of months ago when we discussed our worst habits. I told you that, but you had already figured it out, and you told me you never close things like cabinet doors or toothpaste because your mind is usually going while doing menial tasks.”

I need to shut up. I’m rambling now.

But what. The absolute. Fuck?

He emits another humorless laugh and scrubs his hands up and down his face beneath his glasses, which bob up and down. “Quinn…” He trails off and releases a heavy breath into his hands before they drop to his sides. His tone is pleading. Desperate. “What the hell do we do about this?”

“I’m sorry.” My voice catches, and I hate that. I hate all of this.

“You’re sorry?” He spins around and lands with his back against the wall, kicking his foot up into the painted cinderblocks. “Don’t be fucking sorry. Tell me how this doesn’t matter.”

I peek up at him through my lashes, something close to grief scratching at my skin. He’s the first man I’ve liked in four years. He’s the first one I put myself out there to. “You tell me first.” My voice is low and small.

His hands climb to the top of his head again. He can’t. That’s the problem. This doesn’t just matter. It’s everything.

“I need this job,” he says plainly. “It’s my chance. It’s my first head coach position. Your father took a chance on me. He gave me my shot.”

I shift my weight and stare down at the painted concrete beneath my feet. “I’m not asking you to give that up for me. I’m a resident. A student, essentially. They’re my family, and this is my job. I can’t compromise either.”

He’s silent, but I can feel his hard eyes boring into the top of my head as if he’s trying to talk himself out of things he shouldn’t. As if he’s actually debating this.

But there is no debate.

Not for either of us.

If he turns down the job, he has to leave Boston. This is the first time we’ve seen each other in person in months. Yes, we’ve texted practically daily for four months. Yes, we had that FaceTime sex. Yes, it’s been above everything else.

But what would he tell my father or brothers?

And what happens if—when—we don’t work out? He’s a lot older than I am—he has to be if he’s the new head coach—and I already know how my family will feel about that.

“Quinn…”

“I know.”

“No, baby girl. You don’t.” He sighs, utterly decimated. “No one else knows. Right?”

I snort. “You mean, do I tell my brothers and my father who I fuck? No. Besides, all I knew was your first name.”

He smirks ruefully. “That was a rather expressive way of saying that. A simple no would have sufficed.”

I shrug. “I’m not really a simple kind of girl.”

“No. You’re definitely not.” His gaze dances about my face, and I can’t help but return the favor. It’s unfortunate how hot he is. How I remember his face and body a little clearly. “I was going to call you tonight. I was going to invite you over for takeout pizza and show you my new place that’s all boxes. I was going to ask you for all the details we’ve avoided and then tell you that I was willing to take whatever you could give me and ask the same in return.”

My eyes glass over and my heart aches. “Stop. Please. That won’t make this easier.”

“Nothing about this is easy.” He kicks forward until he’s practically on top of me. His hand cups my jaw, and his thumb drags along my bottom lip. “I wasn’t done with you. Quinn, I was just getting started. I could talk to them. We could. We’d tell them our story and see what they have to say.”