“I’m a pig?” He laughs. “I’m a guy. I can’t help it that you have nice tits.”
“You’re a pig. I think you had it right the first time.” I can’t help but smirk at him, feeling somewhat victorious after years of holding my tongue around him.
How can I hate and like him all at the same time?
As I sit up, Bash props himself up onto his elbow and reaches for my waist with his other hand. I swat him away before he can touch me. God knows I’d love to have Bash’s hands all over me again, but that ship has sailed. Despite my overwhelming attraction to him, I cannot allow myself to think of him in any way other than my shithead ex-boyfriend.
“I always liked the fight in you. I see you haven’t changed.” Fire blazes behind those beautiful green eyes. Why am I even looking at him? Why even give him the time of day? He’s a fucking meathead jerk, plain and simple.
The tiny bumps spread further down my arms and legs, a result of our proximity. And, of course, Bash notices the effect he has on me. He doesn’t skip a beat. Now aware of my body and how it reacts to him, I need an escape.
“Bash, let’s go!” One of his teammates calls out from the field. “Get your ass out here, and stop trying to pick up chicks.”
Laughter echoes around me, reminding me why I hate football and the assholes who play for this team.
“Bash, let me take a look at her, and you get back on the field.” A blond-haired man dressed in a Strickland Senators tracksuit hovers over us with a medical bag slung over his shoulder.
Bash tilts his head up at the middle-aged man and nods. He’s so athletic that when Bash grips his helmet and jumps up to his feet, he makes it look effortless. “Take good care of her, Doc. This one is special.” Bash says the last part while maintaining eye contact with me and slaps a big hand down on the team doctor’s back.
As Bash stands above me, I’m desperate to stop the electricity pulsating through me. Every part of me aches for him, craves his touch. And every memory of the time we’d spent together floods through me. Even though I would never admit it aloud, I miss it. Miss him. He was such a good kisser. For a short time, he was nice, a good boyfriend, even. Until he changed. Or maybe I changed. I never understood why he did the things he did to me.
With the helmet in his hand, Bash wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead, his skin glistening in the sunlight. Eye contact proves to be too much for me. I can’t stand another minute around him. My willpower crumbles, and if we weren’t in a crowded stadium, I would be in trouble. That’s why I do crazy things like drop classes when I know he’s in them. Or change directions when I see him coming toward me on campus. It’s silly and childish, I know. But I have no control over myself when I’m with him.
Bash pushes a hand through his hair. He could be posing for the cover of Sports Illustrated with the way he positions himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if that becomes a reality for him someday. He’s a good enough running back to
play in the NFL, and he sure as hell has the looks to be on a magazine cover. And it doesn’t hurt that last year he was awarded The Heisman, making him an even bigger deal.
Bash smiles at me. “I guess I’ll see at the house later.”
I don’t respond to his comment. He takes my silence as an answer. Just by showing up with Jessica, he already knows I will be there. Before he puts on his helmet, I get one last wink from Bash, and then he walks onto the field.
To say I have trouble catching my breath would be an understatement. I was holding it the entire time we were together. Combined with the pain in my head and the welt growing on my cheek, I hadn’t even noticed all the air Bash was sucking from the space around me.
“I’m Dr. Holland,” the man says, getting down on one knee next to me on the ground. “I need to make sure you don’t have a concussion. You got hit pretty hard with the ball.”
I feel like such an idiot, surrounded by an entire stadium of screaming fans, while the doctor nurses my bruised cheek. I’m always the girl who sings to her tune, so why would this be any different? I can never just blend into the crowd like everyone else.
Once the game starts back up, no one notices me anymore. All eyes are on the field—as they should be. Thank God.
“I’m sure I’ll be okay.” I press my fingers to my cheek and cry out in pain. It hurts like a bitch. “See, it’s just a bruise. I’m sure it will heal on its own. I don’t have a concussion.”
Sitting behind me on the bench, Jessica squeezes my shoulder to let me know she’s still there. She doesn’t say a word as the doctor goes about his business.
“Do you know your name?”
I nod, making eyes at the doctor as if he’s crazy. “Yes. It’s Victoria Reynolds.”
He shines a tiny flashlight in my eyes and does the obligatory check to make sure I’m okay. My double vision of the field is probably temporary, which is why I don’t bother to mention it. I’ve broken bones before. This is nothing.
“Good. Do you know what today is?”
“Saturday,” I say, hoping this doesn’t go on much longer. I hate unwanted attention. The last thing I need is for people to label me as Bash’s ex-girlfriend who made a scene at the season opener. The rumor mill will churn, same as always. If Bash so much as sneezes, the campus knows about it. And anyone seen with him is always a target.
“Other than the bruised cheek, I’m fine,” I tell Dr. Holland, attempting to make my words sound believable.
Ten minutes pass before Dr. Holland is satisfied with the outcome of his tests. Apparently, I don’t have any major signs of a concussion. I figured as much by the way my body responded to Bash alone. Or maybe I’m losing my shit. Because why on earth would I think of Bash in that way ever again? He still disgusts me. He should repulse me. Except he doesn’t. And I kind of hate myself for it.
Helping me to my seat next to Jessica, Dr. Holland hovers over me with a concerned look in his eyes. “You don’t have any major warning signs, but that doesn’t mean your situation can’t change. I want you to be careful for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. No drinking, drugs, or any strenuous activity.”