Wrecking Ball (Hard to Love 1)

“And the letter?” I feel a brief brush of his lips on my neck. Probably a mistake. Probably. I ignore the thrill that chases up my spine.

“A goodbye letter.” My eyes fall shut in exhaustion. I breathe out a tired sigh. He pats my back twice.

“Get under the covers. You need sleep.”

Reluctantly, I unwrap myself from his big warm body and immediately shiver from the loss of body heat. I slide under the sheets without meeting his eyes once because I’m way too vulnerable to defend myself from his searching gaze. If he were to look into my eyes now, he would read every thought I own.

That I’m lonely.

That I’m so grateful for him.

That I’m in serious danger of falling in love…God help me.

Just when I think he’s all done surprising me, he gets on the bed, above the covers, and curls his body around mine. A muscular arm shoves under my pillow, my head resting on top of it. His legs neatly tuck against mine.

I don’t move a hair. Nor do I say a word. With my back pressed up against his broad chest, I can feel the flow of his relaxed intake of breath. It lulls me into a sense of peace I haven’t felt since the time I had my wisdom teeth pulled and had to take Vicodin. Except this is better. He’s better than narcotics.

He wraps his other arm around me and I catch a glimpse of the black ink of his tattoo. Most of the delicate artwork is on the inside of his bicep. The vine-like black scroll reaches around the back of his arm and down to his elbow. I can’t read the inscription from this angle. As I trace the vine with my finger, he shivers, goosebumps popping up on his skin.

“What does it say?”

After a beat, he says, “Know thyself.”

“Isn’t that a Greek proverb?”

“Plato…from the Suda’s definition which says ‘pay no attention to the opinions of the multitude’.”

“Why do you know so much about whatever this Suda is?”

“I was a history major. I like history.”

“Why history?” I say in a disgusted tone. I’d like to forget my past entirely.

“Hmm…because it reminds us how far we’ve come. What we’ve accomplished.”

“No wonder, you’ve accomplished so much.”

“Not enough.”

“You kind of awe me.”

“I’ll remind you of that next time you get that look on your face like you want to punch my lights out.”

I can’t help but giggle. Between his voice and his presence, I feel drugged. He’s stripped every inhibition I have away.

“How did you manage to play football and take care of your little brothers and sister?” Behind me, I feel his whole body tense.

“You didn’t Google me?”

“No. Why? You Googled me?”

“Of course, I did.”

“Creeper.” On second thought, I get a little nervous of what he may have read about me. God knows most of the stuff on the internet wasn’t flattering. “Don’t believe anything you read.” He shifts his big body, pressing closer, and I do my best to resist the urge to press back.

“I don’t,” he murmurs in my ear and I melt a little more. “I didn’t play football in high school.”

“You’ve lost me, Champ.”

“There was no money, or time.”

“How’d you get to college then?”

“Academic scholarship.”

I’m way too stunned to say a word for a good long time, and even then I’m at a loss. “Wut? I don’t understand…how?”

“I was a walk-on.”

“You were a walk-on try out––at Florida State?”

“It’s been done before.”

I can’t. I just can’t…this man. I turn around and face him with my mouth still hanging open in shock. He places his finger under my chin, and shuts it for me.

“You, Calvin Shaw, are a remarkable man.”

And then I watch it happen––he turns as red as a Roma tomato. The flush remains on his high cheekbones, his expression frozen as we continue to stare at each other. He licks his lips. His Adam’s apple rises and falls. The small space separating us is suddenly filled with tension.

“It’s late. You need to rest.”

I turn around and shut my eyes. Fifteen minutes later, I hear a soft snore. The puffs of warm air that hit the side of my neck make me smile. He went down hard and fast. I lay awake for another ten minutes thinking about Matt’s letter. The words I forgive you are a silent mantra playing on a loop inside my head until I drift off as well.

“No…Mandy. I start training camp in four days…that’s not the point. Now is not the time for you to be finding yourself. I don’t give a…no, you listen to me, you need to focus on your son. He needs you…we’ll fly down…me and the woman I hired to take care of him…Sam loves her. She’s amazing with him.”

Amazing? I can feel the flush start at my toes and travel all the way to my hairline. We’ve been treating each other with kid gloves in the ten days since The Sleepover starring us. I don’t see much of Cal during the day. He’s training with someone new, focusing on stretching muscles for better recovery and less injury. He always seems to be home in time for dinner, though. I know Sam appreciates it. Me? I guess I can officially call myself a masochist. Every time he walks through the door, I become a giddy mess inside.