I wrap the soft blanket around my body and shuffle into the entryway, catching a view of my face in a mirror in the process. Bloodshot eyes, hair in a ratty bun at the top of my head. To say tonight was rough is the understatement of the century.
I pull the door open, and to say I’m shocked to see Mack standing outside is an understatement. I quickly try to backtrack and shut the door in his face, but his hand flies out to hold it open.
“I’m not in the mood, Mack, for whatever you’re selling.”
“You have to let me explain,” he says, his face an interesting combination of determined and pleading. “I know exactly what you thought when you saw me with Ronnie, but I promise you it isn’t what you think.”
“What I think doesn’t matter, Mack. You’re entitled to fuck who you want.” My words are short and clipped, betraying my internal conflict.
“Damn it, RJ,” he starts, letting out an exhausted breath.
“So now I’m RJ again? Funny, because just a few hours ago I was Rachel,” I tug the blanket tighter around me, slowly shaking my head as I look at him. “The only thing I’m sure of with you is that I’m definitely no Ronnie Kade.”
He rubs his hands on his face in frustration. “I need you to let me finish a sentence RJ. I know I didn’t provide you the same courtesy in my office this morning, and now I understand what that feels like. Will you please let me explain?”
I assess him for a moment. His hair is mussed, as if he’s been running his hands through it too much. His eyes are tired, his suit wrinkled. I give him a stiff nod, but make no move from the doorway. He can say whatever he wants, but he is not coming in.
“You have five minutes. After that, whether you’re done or not, I’m going to bed.”
He wastes no time jumping right in. “Ronnie and I have known each other for a few years. But we are not together.” I roll my eyes. “Ronnie got back from New York on Saturday night and called me. She always wants to hook up when she gets back from an extended trip, and we made plans for tonight.”
My anger suddenly morphs into a dull ache in my chest, and my face falls.
“So our date on Saturday was, what? A cock-tease? Had it been over for more than five seconds before you immediately scheduled time to hook up with her? At least I finally understand where I fall on the bang-list.”
I tuck my face into the blanket and crouch to the ground. The reaction is juvenile and to be honest, a bit of an overreaction. But I feel like my emotions are a piece of twine stretching thin by too much weight. I’m at an emotional low after my dad did his best to obliterate my self-worth. Mack’s statement is just icing on the cake.
I immediately feel his hands on me, tugging on the blanket. When I finally let go and look into his eyes, I see him crouched next to me, one knee on the ground.
“So tell me, Mack” I continue, “did you set that up before you came back to see me or after.”
“Before.”
It’s just one word, but my face bunches up in reaction as tears begin to fall.
“So you made plans to get together with her and then drove over here to… to what? See if you could bang a random no one to round out the evening?”
It’s the only real possibility, and I shouldn’t be shocked. My life is a series of unfortunate circumstances and hurt. I just feel like I finally had something good, even for just one day, and now it’s tainted too.
Mack’s response comes quick. “RJ, when I talked to Ronnie on Saturday, I only agreed to meet up with her because I wanted to tell her in person. I wanted to tell her that I met someone I was interested in, and that she and I just needed to go back to being friends. That’s why we made the date.”
I’m shocked by his revelation, frozen in place, unable to move. Is he saying he was going to call off hanky-panky with Ronnie Kade after one date with me?
“What?”
It’s only a whisper, but his response isn’t much more. His hand comes to the side of my face, his thumb sweeping under my eye to wipe away the few traitorous tears that have fallen free. Unbidden, I lean my face into his hand, reveling in the feeling of closeness in this moment.
“I called her back on the drive over to see you.”
My eyes are glued to him, and all I can do is whisper back, “But we hadn’t even kissed yet.”
“I didn’t need to kiss you to know that you were a person who was going to change everything. And if I could see that within just a few hours of knowing you, I wanted to make sure nothing would get in the way of whatever was going to happen next.” His thumb swipes again, catching the last tear that’s tracked down my cheek. “I want whatever is next.”
We sit like that for seconds, minutes, I’m not sure. But I can feel the air in the room shift and crystalize with tension. His attention drops to my lips, only for a second, before his eyes flash up to mine.
Before I can even internalize his glance, he leans forward and plants his soft lips firmly on mine. I let out a breathy sigh as my lips part for him, inviting his tongue to explore my mouth. His other hand moves to my side and grips me tightly. I quickly release the blanket and wrap my arms around his neck, tugging him close.
Suddenly I’m on my back and he’s hovering over me, resting his strong, muscular body between my legs. My hands dig into his hair as he leaves my lips to lick and kiss my neck, my head tilting back to give him better access. My body shudders, my physical response to him so strong.
“God, Mack,” I whisper. I feel his fingers slipping under the bottom of my shirt, his cool hands gripping the warm skin on my sides.
I feel consumed, like my body has been zapped with a warm sizzle of electricity, and the resulting tingle is radiating from the middle of my body to the tips of my fingers, to the tips of my toes. I can’t get close enough. He can’t get close enough. Our bodies are melded together and I’ve never felt so right being this close to someone.
He pulls his mouth from mine and stares into my eyes as he rocks into me, letting out a husky moan. I gasp raggedly and clench my eyes shut at the overwhelming feeling of lust rushing through me.
“Fuck,” he whispers, his lips coming back to mine for a heated kiss. Deep and passionate.
I can’t get enough, can’t get close enough. I want to press every inch of us together and bind us there, because this feeling… oh this feeling. This depth of passion and feeling of being so lost in the moment is something I’ve never known before.
But when he pops the top button on my jeans, my eyes fly open as if I’ve been doused with ice water. The gravity of this moment has rushed into my bloodstream, eradicating the desire and longing almost completely.
What am I doing?
This is my coach and we’re grinding on the floor inside of the entryway of my apartment.
Fuck.
The door is still open.
My body flushes again with heat, but this time out of a sudden and very shocking jolt of embarrassment. His haste to remove my clothes is a swift reminder of my innocence and his lack of.
“Mack, stop.” My voice comes out strong and sure, masking my confusion and sudden nervousness.
His hands instantly come off of my body, but his body is still connected to mine from knee to cheek, his mouth next to my ear and his breaths ragged. I give him a tiny push and he rolls off of me, laying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
“You need to leave.”
He remains unmoving on the floor next to me for a moment before his head turns and I see him looking at me. When I turn to meet his gaze, I see the longing in his eyes.
“Please know, I didn’t come here for that. I wasn’t expecting anything.”
I turn my head away and roll onto my stomach before elevating into a kneeling position, my butt resting on my heels. I give a slight nod, giving myself some time to collect my thoughts.
“I know, I just…” I pause, unsure what to say. “I don’t really get… physical… with guys. And that was just�
�” a breath of air leaves me, “… really fast.”
When I look at him, I can see the surprise written on his face.
“Are you…?”
But he doesn’t finish the question when my eyes dart away in embarrassment, heat creeping up my neck into my face. And what the hell? Why am I embarrassed about my decision to wait until it’s right?
I lock eyes with him again, choosing to be unashamed. “Yes. But ultimately, that’s not what we should be talking about. We should be talking about us and the fact that you’re here.” When he just continues to stare at me, I take that as an affirmation and continue. “Part of me is glad you came by, to clarify about Ronnie. To know I meant something.”
“Meant something?” he interjects, his voice slightly incredulous. “You can’t be talking in past tense, RJ. You have no idea…”
“It doesn’t change anything, Mack.” I interrupt, squeezing my eyes shut in effort to block out his pained expression. “Does it make me feel better? I guess.” I exhale a breath. “I feel less pathetic, and I’m glad to know I wasn’t one of the many girls you just bang and move on from.” He starts to interrupt again but I put up my hand in a silent request to let me finish. “I realize now that’s not the truth, but it doesn’t change the fact that we can’t continue whatever this is. So I am asking that you don’t come by my house again. I am asking that you don’t concern yourself with making me feel better about this fucked up situation. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t belong to me.”
He stares at me for a long minute, but eventually gives me a sad nod and stands. The urge to hug him and bring back the smile that I was so captivated with when we first met is overwhelming. But I remain seated on the floor, watching as he steps towards the open door.
“I’m sorry, RJ.” I barely hear the words, but they resonate deeply.
It isn’t until he’s gone, the door closed, that I let out an exhausted breath.
“Me too.”
Chapter Six
“Shit, who killed your puppy?”
I roll my eyes and ignore the jab about the lack of sleep reflected on my face. I’d stayed up well into the evening, thinking about what had happened with Mack, and couldn’t have gotten more than three hours of sleep before I had to race to get ready for our early morning conditioning followed by my 10am class. I normally love going to class, but I had my psychology test today and that is one subject I absolutely detest.
The last thing I need this afternoon is Thomas Moore, the captain of the men’s soccer team, making comments about my appearance. It is my unfortunate luck that he and I share the same sport as well as the same career goals, placing us in the same traveling buses and a significant number of the same classes. He’s kind of a dick to me. Needless to say, I do my best to avoid him whenever possible.
“I don’t have a puppy. But if I ever buy one that someone plans to kill, I’ll be sure to name it Thomas.”
He smiles, unaffected by my response, and settles onto the bench next to me, adjusting his socks over his shin guards.
“I’ve been thinking about Markson’s class,” he says, pulling out his water bottle and taking a quick swig. “You’re going to focus your paper on Edith Wharton right?”
I nod, unsure how Thomas would already know the author I’d been strongly considering for the focus of my thesis. I hadn’t shared that information on our discussion board.
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
Now finished with his shin guards, Thomas grabs a scrimmage jersey from the box next to me and pulls it on.
“You tie her into almost everything we discuss in class. I’m pretty sure you’ve brought her up in almost every small group discussion you and I have been a part of.”
My eyebrows furrow as I try to recall our recent conversations in small group. If I’d been mentioning Wharton in class on a regular basis, I was unaware that I’d been doing so, and surprised that Thomas had noticed.
“Anyway, I’ve been thinking about centering my paper on Henry James. I was thinking we could ask Markson about doing overlapping presentations in December, and incorporate some components about their relationship and impact on their writing.”
“You’re focusing on Henry James?” I asked, a small smile popping onto my face.
Thomas palms a soccer ball and drops it to his right foot, bouncing it back into his hands before repeating.
“You sound surprised.”
“I don’t know… I figured you for more of a Dickens man.”
“Well since you referred to him as, and I quote ‘sexist, patriarchal and derogatory’ in class last week, I’m pretty sure I should take offense to that statement.”
I let out a short laugh.
“You remember that, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I drop to the ground in front of the bench and begin stretching. “I’m not sure Markson would go for that. She might see it as cliché or something. And I don’t want her to think we’re looking for some gimmick for a grade.”
Thomas gives a little shrug, his eyes trained on the ball he is bouncing from knee to knee.
“Couldn’t hurt to ask. Besides, I think it would only benefit us to work together, even a little bit.”
I spread my legs and do my best to lay my stomach flat on the ground between them, stretching the muscles on the inside of my thighs and lower back. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a group approaching through one of the tunnels at the bottom of the stadium. Time to get this scrimmage going.
“How do you figure?”
Thomas catches the ball and looks at me, tucking the ball in against his hip.
“Verbally sparring with you is my favorite thing about the classes we’ve taken together over the past few years. I always take something new away from discussion groups when you’re there.”
I smile slightly at the compliment. I’d never thought about it like that before, but reflecting now, I usually did enjoy those classes the most. Even if I usually wanted to wring Thomas’ neck.
“Yeah, I guess I know what you mean.”
I hear the voices of our teammates behind us, as they drop their duffle bags and begin to get ready. Thomas smiles again.
“Besides, I’ve been looking for a way to spend some one-on-one time with you for a while.”
My mouth falls open and I’m unsure how to respond. He wants to spend time with me? Since when? But before I can formulate a coherent thought, I hear a laugh behind me.
“Finally putting the moves on our girl after pining away for too long, huh Moore?”
My head whips around and I see Thomas’ co-captain, Will Steiner, grinning ear to ear just a few feet away. My face flushes as I take in the fact that everyone standing around us has likely heard what Thomas said, and most definitely heard Will’s comment. I stand quickly, hoping that moving away from the physical space I was just inhabiting will remove the feeling of uneasiness settling into my body.
It doesn’t.
“Cut the shit, Steiner,” Thomas grits out. I quickly glance back at him and see him glaring at Will. “Sorry, RJ.” His face has morphed into something akin to relief and embarrassment at the same time.
“It’s cool,” I mumble, turning away and grabbing my water bottle.
As I take a sip, I spot Mack a few feet away, his mouth in a thin line as he stares at his clipboard. Hopefully he isn’t going to allow our interactions yesterday to impact today, but the look on his face as he begins to write angrily doesn’t bode well.
I try to push the question away and take a quick lap around the stadium to get warmed up and clear my head. The comments from Thomas and Will have completely blindsided me.
Part of me is flattered that a guy as stunning as Thomas Moore would be interested in me. He’s classically handsome. Short blond hair, strong jaw, baby blue eyes. He’s really smart, too, and we always did get into little arguments in class that left me riled up. Apparently they left him turned on.
If this had happened last week, before I met Mack, I might have felt something apart from just flattery. Maybe. Would I have entertained the idea of getting to know Thomas better? Spending more time with him? Can I even objectively answer that question now that I know how it feels to have my heart pound so hard it feels like it might slam out of my chest?
And probably the most difficult question that I don’t have the answer to: am I using the idea of my emotional connection with Mack as just another way to push away a guy?
When I make it back to the bench where everyone has gathered, I’m no closer to answering any of those questions. But I do know that I can’t allow my interest in Mack to impact other relationships, platonic or not. I like Thomas’ idea of teaming together for our presentations in December. The more I think about it, I decide it is a thoughtful approach, and pairing our work together will provide a depth our other classmates might not be able to reach, possibly something that will get Markson to write me a stellar letter of recommendation for grad school.
I see Thomas chatting with Will and a few of the other guys from his team at centerfield. I take a quick jog out, calling out to Thomas as I approach. He takes a step away from the group and meets me.
“I’m sorry about Will,” he starts. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut and you don’t have to…”
“Will you shut up a second?” He stops talking and just looks at me. “I really like your idea about Wharton and James and the intersecting presentations. Lets talk to Markson about it.”
His smile comes out full force.
“Really?” I nod. “Sweet. Okay. Yeah, I’ll start putting together a proposal after the game tomorrow and I’ll send it your way so you can incorporate your thoughts.”
“Sounds good.” I smile back at him.
He reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder. “This is going to be great, RJ. Really.”
The Keeper Page 10