“Stop me if you don’t want me, Soph,” a low voice breathes on my neck.
It makes me jump and almost stab the pen I’m chewing on into the back of my throat. I don’t gag, though, because, you know, no gag reflex and all.
I twist around and glare at the handsome, cocky face that hovers close to mine.
Although I know he’d never act on it, Zac Watkins likes to push my buttons. It’s all part of the douche canoe, man-whore persona he exudes. But I know the real person underneath that mask.
“But accounting gets me so hot, Zachy.” I channel my best imitation of the ‘Valley Girl’ type who constantly fawns over him, batting my eyelashes. “Don’t stop.”
He snorts, stands up, and goes to the other side of the table.
We’re working off campus at the public library in a private room. It’s an effort to come here to work, especially since I have to take the bus, but it helps to keep our friendship under wraps. It’s not that I’m ashamed of our friendship, nor is he, however people would ask too many questions if they knew how much the two of us—two-polar opposites—hang out. I go to all this effort because I know I’m one of the few people that Zac feels he can be who he truly is.
Sitting across the table from me, he pushes back his golden blonde hair, his blue eyes sad.
“Have you tried to speak with Russ?” I ask softly.
Zac closes his eyes.
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
His eyes pop open. “You’d do that?”
“You know I would.”
He shakes his head and leans forward with his elbows on the table. “I’ve only known you a few months, Soph… How are you the closest friend I’ve ever had?”
The sorrow in his tone makes my heart ache. To the world, he’s an arrogant, elite athlete. People chomp at the bit to be in his inner circle, and there’s no shortage of females who want him. And that is the root of his problem. Well, I wouldn’t call it a problem. Who Zac wants isn’t a problem, but he’s convinced it is.
“I blew it with Russ, Soph.” He hangs his head. “The moment I bowed to the pressure of keeping up appearances and the facade of my life.”
“Zac—”
He jumps up and braces his hands on the table, looking tormented. “At the frat party… Russ saw me cheating on him. Walked in while I was fucking Candy, who I could only fuck because I closed my eyes and pretended it was him.
“The only reason I had to fuck her was to keep up the pretense that I’m straight.” He paces, clenching his hands. “I fuck, and get my cock sucked, hand jobs… playing the part that I’m a man-whore for pussy…”
The self-loathing on his face cuts me to the quick.
“Then stop, Zac. Who you are, who you find attractive, is not wrong.”
“I know that. That’s why this is so fucked.” His voice cracks, but he shakes his head. “My father would never accept it. My agent will drop me. Being openly gay in professional sports isn’t really accepted, Soph, no matter if they pretend it is for PR purposes.”
I don’t know if that’s true, but it doesn’t matter because Zac buys into that bullshit thinking.
“Then screw football. Is this all worth it if you have to hide what you truly want and are?”
“I’m nothing without football.”
Pissed off, I stand from the chair, making it grind on the linoleum. “Bull-fucking-shit,” I snarl at him, making him turn to me in surprise. I stride over to him and shove a finger into his chest. “What if you’re hit by a car and your arm is shattered? What if you can never play again? And the lifespan of a career in the big leagues—”
“That’s a baseball reference.”
“Whatever. Fuck.”
He smiles. “You usually don’t swear so much, sweet little Soph.”
I’m not always sweet, innocent Sophie Demeanus.
I scowl at him. “Shows you how pissed off I am at how stupid your thinking is.”
“Label the behavior, not the person,” he murmurs. “You’re always good at doing that.”
My anger eases. “Zac, look… I get that football is important, but it’s not your whole world or who you are.”
“It has to be if I want to make it to the big leagues.” He tries to make light of the situation, but I see his sadness. He steps away from me and looks through the window at the city street below.
“You need to do what you want to do, Zac. Do what makes you happy. You can’t live your life for anyone else. Not for your family, or your agent, or the circle of so-called friends around you. Only you.”
His shoulders slump. “We’ll pick up working on the assignment tomorrow, yeah?”
I bite my lip, watching him, his misery and angst palpable.
“You’re distracted, too.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “You have been for the past two weeks. Don’t deny it.”
I can’t deny it. I’m completely and thoroughly distracted with memories of a large, broad, muscular man with more ink covering him than the ink in my pen.
Creed.
He’s distracting me.
How it had been to be with him, what he had done to my body… Hands down, the best night of my life. My body had never felt or responded like that before.
And I haven’t heard or seen anything from him since.
It’s stupid, ridiculous even, that I feel hurt by that.
I insisted it was one-night only. I insisted we not exchange names.
He only knew me as angel or good girl—and Christ Almighty, when I think of him calling me those names, I can make myself come quickly.
And I only know his first name: Creed, which is sexy AF.
So yes, I got what I wanted: one night of the best sex of my life.
However, the ridiculous hurt I feel won’t go away.
Creed could have tried to find out who I was. He could have done a bit of digging through the industry mixer connection—it’s not like getting a list of the students from the business school who’d attended is impossible. He could have tried if he really wanted to.
But I repeatedly tell myself that it’s fine. I have goals and plans here; I don’t need to be distracted or derailed by some guy.
Yet, you have been for the past two weeks.
I turn my attention to Zac, trying to shove Creed from my mind.
“Maybe I’ve been distracted because my friend is acting like a dumb idiot.” I wince as I gaslight Zac.
“You’re so full of shit, Soph.”
When I open my mouth to protest further, he shakes his head, closes his laptop, and gathers his stuff. “Come on, we’ll head back to campus.”
“I’ll catch the bus back.”
“You know I hate that.” He frowns at me. “I make us come all this way; the least I can do is give you a ride to and from campus.”
“If we’re going to take the chance of people seeing us come and go together, then why bother coming here?”
I’m not Zac’s type—literally, since he’s attracted to males, but I also wasn’t the type of female he pretended he wanted—and questions only lead to more questions. For Zac, as someone who had become a master at modeling his behavior to avoid having questions directed his way whenever possible, I know our friendship and people finding out about how much time we hang out together makes him sweat.
“I’m such a dick, aren’t I?” He palms his forehead, the self-loathing back in his voice.
“I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t want to, Zac. It’s not like I’m desperate for friends.”
“You keep your circle small.”
I shrug. “I’m not an overly social person. You know that.”
“Yeah, and you got plans and won’t allow any distractions to them.” He bops me on the head as I do up my bag and sling it over my shoulder.
“We’re dysfunctional misfits, trying so hard to be functional, aren’t we?” I laugh. “That’s why we gel so well.”
“I meant it when I said you’re the closest friend I’ve ever had, Soph.”
I smile softly. “Like I said, we gel well.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he asks, “Are you sure I can’t give you a ride?”
“I like the bus. I’m going to grab a coffee, then I get to read my book. You know that’s really the only pleasure-reading time I allow myself, so I have you to thank for that.”
His laugh sounds genuine, and I’m grateful. “You’re more strict and stringent than my coach. You better not slack off, Demeanus,” he growls, furrowing his brow.
“You’re such a dork.”
“You know you love me, dork and all.” He looks at the clock on the wall beside the window. “Let’s go so you can grab your coffee and not miss your bus.”
We leave the workroom quickly because I’ll have to wait another forty minutes if I miss this bus. We hustle down the stairs and work our way through the library’s main floor, then down the outside steps to the sidewalk, and Zac stops. We’re far from the campus right now, and the chance of anyone seeing us isn’t impossible, but it’s not highly probable.
His handsome face is sad. “You’re a good friend, Sophie Demeanus. Better than I am to you, and much better than I deserve.”
I smile up at him, even though sadness wells inside me that he truly thinks that. “I’m the friend you deserve, Zac, and will continue to be until you finally realize that you deserve that and so much more.”
His throat works as he swallows hard. “I’ll see you back at school.”
I watch Zac get into his car and drive away, my heart aching for him.
I’m at a loss for how to help him realize he does have a choice; that he needs to live his life for him. That his current actions aren’t only destroying a relationship with someone he truly cares about, but they could destroy him. I think about his self-loathing tone and the defeated, anguished look in his eyes.
Sorrow fills me. I know it’s etched on my face and don’t try to hide it. I feel Zac’s pain, and I feel like a failure for being unable to help him. It’s the mother hen in me, the caregiver role I always felt with my younger cousins, wanting and wishing I could soothe their hurt.
Sighing, I start toward the coffee shop but stop short, my breath catching. I blink a few times, trying to comprehend what I see.
A tall man with wide-cut shoulders, his muscular body filling out a charcoal suit. The exposed skin on his hands and neck is loaded with ink.
Creed.
He stands three feet away from me, his piercing blue eyes not leaving mine
And holy hell, does he look pissed.
