Wrecking Ball (Hard to Love 1)

“Time for night night, Champ.” I pat his shoulder twice and he shifts back onto his pillow.

I’m about to scoot off the bed when he reaches around my waist and pulls me back against him. Then he rocks his hips against my big ‘ole butt until his dick is completely wedged between my ass cheeks––and getting harder by the second. My eyes go big and wide while every other part of me freezes.

All I’m wearing is a pair of super thin t-shirt pajama shorts. Not much is separating us. I’m not prepared for this. I’m not at all prepared for this. All this closeness. All the touching is killing me. Because it feels so goddamn good, so good and so comfortable sometimes I feel like he’s mine…except he’s not. And it’s starting to hurt. I try to pull away but he pulls me back, holds me even tighter.

“Cal…”

“Hmmm. Stay.”

I feel his nose brush the side of my neck, hear his tired exhale close to my ear. Yup, this is torture. The sweetest torture of all.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I am very reluctantly falling in love, and in good conscience, can no longer deny it to myself. I fought it. Sure I did, dug my heels in and everything. But I never stood a chance. I fought the good fight and lost. This frigging sucks. There’s nothing left to do now but man up and discuss it ad nauseam with the only person I trust to give me the unvarnished truth.

“Hold your goddamn horses!” Amber shouts right before her front door flies opens. Her curious stare falls to the pizza box I’m holding.

“John’s brick oven?”

“Yes.”

“Extra-large pie?” I nod slowly at her query. After a thoughtful pause, she says, “This is serious. What happened?”

“I’m in love with him.” I’m whining, I’m flat out whining.

“I knew it!”

I stand there and watch my best friend, the keeper of my secrets and my greatest champion, kiss her biceps.

“Now is not the time for you to gloat.”

“Come in,” she says with a big shit eating grin and steps aside. Ten minutes later, we’re on her couch, stuffing our faces with the greatest pizza ever made.

“I really tried to stop it, I really did,” I explain while I grab my third slice and proceed to stuff my already full cheeks with one more bite. The need to drown my sorrows in an insulin rush is overwhelming. Amber is nodding in solidarity at my predicament. “But he’s so frigging sweet and helpful and concerned. All. The. Time. And––he holds my hand when I get nervous.”

“Uhuh, uhuh.” She keeps repeating. The stubborn wrinkle on her brow tells me she’s really considering my plight. I stop chewing.

“That’s it? Thay thomething?”

“Basically, you’re screwed.”

I swallow the lump of pizza lodged in my throat. “That’s not helpful.”

“You’re going to have to move out. You can’t live with him now. That gives him all the power and leaves you with none. Move in here.”

“And live on your pull-out couch? That should really kill any hopes of you dating ever again,” I grumble. “I’ll just move back in with my parents.” Talk about going backwards. The thought is depressing beyond measure. “It’s a moot point anyway. I’m not moving out until Amanda comes to pick up Sam, which should happen in the next ten days, with any luck.”

“Amanda?”

“Calvin’s sister. Sam’s mom.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Putting everybody else’s needs before your own.”

“I can’t help it, Ambs.”

“Do you think he feels the same way?”

“God, no. He doesn’t want a relationship. He’s said so repeatedly.”

“So you’re just going to suffer in silence? Pine from a distance?”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do.”

Someone keeps pressing the bell on the security box. When I finally make it to the phone to let them in, Cal has already beat me to it. He’s been training like a man possessed. If he’s not in the gym, he’s with his new strength and conditioning coach. I don’t think anything is going to stop him from being ready for the first game of the season. Not even a kidney injury. Watching him work, witnessing this level of commitment, I’m getting a master class in what it takes to succeed at the highest level and, quite frankly, it’s a little intimidating. If I thought he was training hard before, the level of intensity in his workouts now are on a whole other level.

My favorite baritone is accompanied by a feminine voice talking loudly. Coming from the foyer, the voices draw closer. When Sam doesn’t glance up from his bowl of spaghetti, I deduce who it must be. They step into the kitchen and I freeze. She has her arm hanging around the neck of the man I’m in stupid love with.

She’s stunning. I thought grumpy pants was pretty, but Amanda Shaw is beyond supermodel gorgeous. And not the barfy stick figure kind that’s popular these days. I’m talking glamazon eighties gorgeous. Tall, super fit, and a face that has probably broken a million boy hearts. Her bright blue eyes dart between me and Sam, who by the way, has yet to glance up.