I smile and shrug. “I guess your knee is all good now.”
“It is. I told you it would pass with a little rest.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you did a whole lot of resting this week.”
“I’ll be doing a hell of a lot more tomorrow. No use coddling myself and making it harder in practice.”
“You know you could probably take a few more days if you wanted. Tell your coach what happened. I bet he’d rather see you sit out for a few days than risk hurting yourself worse.”
“I don’t much imagine that Coach wants to see me at all, but I can’t stay away any longer. This week was torture.”
I frown. Not liking that I had a part in making his week so miserable.
He crosses the room to me and says, “You know what else is torturous? That shirt.” He skims the palm of his hand up my sheer sleeve and over to place a finger on the top button. Slowly, he drags that finger down the line of buttons on my top. “Every time you wear one of these, all I can think about is tearing it open. It’s so damn tempting.”
I swallow and his hand stops at the top of my shorts, where my shirt disappears under the high waistband. He’s shirtless and sweaty, and I want to be worried about him ruining my shirt like he said he wanted to, but all I can do is stand here.
Trying for a subject change, I say, “Why aren’t you downstairs? A bunch of your friends are already here.”
“I didn’t feel like hanging out.”
“Oh. Well, I can go then. Let you get back to your, um, push-ups.”
He takes hold of the extra material on my shirt where it’s tucked in. He doesn’t pull or push, just holds on.
“I didn’t say I didn’t feel like hanging out with you.”
When he’s satisfied that I’m not going anywhere, he releases the material and says, “Let me take a quick shower. You can wait in here if you want.”
I remember the last time I saw him right after a shower. I nearly let him go down on me in his kitchen, and he would have if his roommates hadn’t showed up. I’m not sure what will happen if he comes back all wet and toweled to me alone in his room, but I know it’s probably something that I don’t want to happen with all his friends downstairs.
“That’s okay. I’ll just wait for you in the living room.”
He looks disappointed, but doesn’t comment. I start to leave but he moves into my space, crowding me against the door. I tip my chin up and try not to look nervous.
“Someday you should wear one of these shirts you don’t mind me destroying.”
“I like my clothes.”
“I like the idea of tearing them off you.”
“You’re crazy.”
He leans closer, caging me between his arms on the door. He dips his head down and trails the tip of his nose up my neck to my ear.
“You make me that way.”
He makes me a little crazy, too.
He lets me escape then, but not before placing a sinfully hot, open-mouth kiss over my pulse point. I hear him laughing as I scurry down the stairs, and he closes himself in the bathroom.
Down in the living room, I recognize Silas’s two roommates, Stella, and the couple who picked us up from the sheriff’s office, Carson and his redheaded girlfriend. There are two more guys with the couple, one with curly blond hair and the other wearing a beanie even though it’s August. There’s another guy on the couch I don’t recognize. He’s huge with sandy blond hair . . . the kind of massive guy that I’ve always pictured when I thought of college football. Stella is on the couch with him, and he makes her look miniature.
“Where’s Silas?” Torres asks. He tries to slip an arm over the shoulder of a pretty brunette standing next to him, but as soon as he manages it, she removes his arm.
“He’ll be down soon. He’s just taking a shower.”
Every head in the room swivels toward me.
“Got a little dirty, did he? That was fast. Tell me he at least made it good for you, Captain Planet.”
The brunette next to him scowls.
She says, “If you’re trying to win an award for douchebaggery, you can stop. It’s a landslide victory.”
Stella laughs on the couch. “I like you, Katelyn. You should come around more often.”
“I keep telling her that,” Torres says.
Stella kicks her heeled feet up on the coffee table. “That explains why she hasn’t been here.”
Torres throws a chip at her. She picks it up from her stomach where it landed and pops it into her mouth with a smile.
I like the way they are with each other. It’s what I imagine siblings are like. There were other kids in my foster home, but it was so strict there, we never got a chance to find this kind of easy camaraderie.
“Take a seat, Dylan.” Stella gestures to the open spot on the couch on the other side of the giant dude. “Carter doesn’t bite.”
I sit down, and I notice some people are avidly watching the announcers’ pregame talk, while others are talking among themselves. It’s easy. I don’t feel any pressure to be or act a certain way. I just sit back and listen to them bait and tease each other, and it feels a little like watching a sitcom from the inside.
There are plates and bowls of snacks laid out on the table, and directly in front of me is a plate of brownies that looks almost untouched.
Stella and a guy named Ryan argue over a subject that I’ve lost track of (I think they’ve probably lost track, too, and are just arguing to argue). I reach for one of the brownies because . . . chocolate, and I meet Carter’s eyes as I sit back. He may be approaching the size of a woolly mammoth, but his eyes are friendly and he has a rosiness to his cheeks that makes him seem more approachable. I shrug unapologetically as I bite into the chocolatey goodness, and he smiles widely.
I suppose if someone has to catch me stuffing my face, the quiet guy is a good option.
The brownie tastes a little funny, like maybe it has too much flour or something, but I’m hungry, so I don’t mind much. I was too frustrated and angry at the dinner meeting to do much beyond destroying my food with my fork, and now it has caught up to me. I try a few other things at the table, and right as the game starts, Silas enters.
His hair is wet and curling slightly at the ends. The guy still does marvelous things for a pair of jeans. And when his eyes scan the room and land on me, every muscle in my body twists up tight.