You’re the Reason, стр. 43
I stared at him, still very much reeling from the experience of having an orgasm with someone else.
“Will you let me watch you?”
“If I decide to see you again after tonight? Maybe.”
He wrapped his arms around me and rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him. “If you decide to see me again? Were you just using me?”
I finally lowered my arms and slipped them around him, hugging him to my chest. “Maybe,” I teased.
“Well, just so we’re clear. I’m not going anywhere. And, we’ve got all the time in the world to do other stuff.”
I wouldn’t lie and say I wasn’t disappointed because I was completely disappointed, but if I believed his words—believed we had the time he was offering—there was no rush. “This has definitely been my favorite birthday.”
“And it’s not even over yet. We still need to pull an all-nighter. And there are a lot of other things we can do.”
A rush of excitement filled me. Why had I been so let down when I knew for a fact that he had a great imagination when it came to making me feel good.
And by five in the morning, with our eyelids threatening to close, we’d done a number of things I’d never done before. And, while losing my V-card may not have been one of them, it didn’t make my day any less spectacular.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I stood outside the gym entrance Monday afternoon, watching the people coming and going in workout clothes. As instructed by the mysterious text Chase had sent earlier, I wore shorts and a T-shirt and hoped my reaction to seeing him annihilate that punching bag had given him an idea that included me and some workout equipment.
“Soph.”
I spun around.
Chase approached in basketball shorts and a T-shirt, turning heads as he walked to me.
“Hey. What’s going on?” I asked.
He stopped in front of me, pressing a kiss to my lips. “Okay. Don’t kill me.”
My eyes widened, almost afraid to ask.
He ticked his head to the side. “Follow me.”
We didn’t enter the gym, but rounded the gym until we stood in a grassy area behind the building. The vast area, separated by chain link fences, was filled with fields. Baseball to the far right. Football to the left. And a soccer field in the center with its freshly mowed green grass and freshly-painted white and yellow lines. A couple people—I assumed coaches—stood by the goal talking.
“One of my frat brothers volunteers for the girls’ soccer team,” he explained.
I froze, my heart beginning to thump in my chest as I stared out at the field. “What did you do?”
“He said the team sucks. They’re D3 and haven’t won a game yet this season.”
“What did you do?” I repeated.
“I got you a tryout with the coach.”
I spun back to face him. “A tryout?” All the reasons that was an insane idea whirled through my mind. “I haven’t played in a year and a half.”
“So?”
“I don’t even have cleats.”
He smiled, probably pleased I was more concerned with my lack of cleats than hauling off and punching him. “So?
“I don’t even know if...” my voice trailed off, not wanting to say what I was really thinking.
He grabbed my shoulders and ducked his head to meet my eyes. “You will be good enough.”
I closed my eyes, pained by the idea of stepping on a soccer field again after such a long absence.
“Don’t let fear of failing be the reason you don’t do something you love.”
I opened my eyes, unsure if I was pissed he’d gone behind my back or overjoyed that he’d do something like this for me.
“It’s just a tryout with the coach,” he assured me. “She just wants to see what you’re capable of. When she heard you were going to play D1, she wanted you on the team without even seeing you play.”
“I was going to play D1. I have no idea what I’d be able to play now.”
“You won’t know until you try.”
I pulled in a deep breath. Could I still play? Would I just be embarrassing myself if I tried out and didn’t make it?
“If nothing else, you’ll know the truth,” he said. “If you still have what it takes, then next year when you’re eligible, you’ll have a spot on the team.”
I tugged the hairband off my wrist and pulled my hair back into a ponytail, knowing this moment could affirm my fears or prove me wrong.
Boy, I sure hoped it proved me wrong.
***
An ice bag rested on my knee as I lay on my bed that night. To say my knee was sore would be an understatement. Since I hadn’t been using my knee in that capacity in over a year, it had been super tight during the impromptu tryout. Luckily, it wasn’t tight enough that I couldn’t show the coach what I could do with a soccer ball.
Though I’d be ineligible to play on the team this year because I was a transfer student, the coach offered me a spot on the team next year, and I accepted.
Knowing my knee was sore, Chase had given me a piggyback ride back to my dorm. The whole way back he told me how awesome I looked and promised to massage my knee whenever I needed him to. That might prove to be more often than not seeing as though I agreed to begin practicing with the team starting next week.
Chase had been right.
I’d been letting my fear of failing hold me back. But the second I had that soccer ball at my foot, I knew playing soccer was what I needed to be doing to make me feel like me again. It was the