Topher huffed incredulously. “That mess was your fault too, and my fetish isn’t much of a secret.”
I snickered when his cheeks flushed. “It’s all about the jersey, eh?”
“No. Well…sort of. I think it’s a turn-on, but I hope you know that I wouldn’t care if you didn’t play football. In fact, if it’s dangerous for you, I hope you don’t play.”
“That’s what my family says,” I admitted with a sigh. “They’re worried about my sanity…and my brain.”
“How is your brain?”
I pulled my sunglasses from my pocket and set them on my nose. “There are two ways to answer that question. Fine and fucked-up both work.”
His eyes narrowed in concern. “How is it messed up?”
I stared at the horizon and continued, “My thoughts are foggy sometimes, and I still get headaches occasionally. But lots of people get headaches.”
Topher furrowed his brow. “Headaches might signal that you haven’t fully recovered, Simon. Your neural pathways aren’t getting the oxygen they require. The only way to heal is to rest your brain.”
“I know the stats, Christopher. I know. It’s figuring out what comes next that worries me. I like school better now than I did, but I’m not twenty-one. If I’m going to get a degree, I need to use it.”
He twisted the stem of the wineglass between his fingers.
“Let’s try something. Answer this question quickly with the first thing that comes to mind. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“What—other than football—makes you happy?”
“You.”
He flashed a radiant grin and blushed. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I leaned over to muss his hair, then massaged his nape, needing some excuse to touch him.
“Thank you,” he purred. “Well? What else do you like to do?”
“Run.”
“Maybe you can make a career out of running and flipping houses.”
I smiled. “Maybe. Not sure how, but we’ll see. What besides science-y stuff makes you happy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Beep! Not an acceptable answer. Try again.”
“My friends, my family.”
“Nice recovery. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?” I asked.
“Pasadena,” he replied quickly. “In one of those cool cottages in Old Town on a tree-lined street. Preferably not jacarandas, though. Beautiful flowers, but they’re so messy.”
I stood, setting my glass on the flat ledge of the railing, gesturing toward the water. “What about the beach?”
“No, thank you.”
“Why not?” When he shrugged in response, I motioned for him to join me, then set my arm low around his waist. “Look at this place. When people think of Southern California, this is what they picture. Sun, sand, surf. Are you saying you wouldn’t want to live here?”
“Oh, gosh, no. It’s a perfectly lovely place to visit…if you like sand and big waves and harmful exposure to UV rays.”
“Seriously?”
Topher nodded vehemently. “Yes. UV rays are harmful to the skin and eyes. And not just for humans. Did you know that elephants coat themselves in mud to protect themselves from the sun?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It’s true. The sun is extraordinarily powerful. It’s responsible for ninety-nine percent of the mass in our solar system. That’s why it’s gravitationally dominant.”
“You don’t say.”
He bit his lip and nodded before taking a healthy sip. “And sand is just…icky.”
“Icky?”
“Yes, it gets everywhere and sticks to everything. I borrowed your socks so I wouldn’t have to walk barefoot in your house because…sand.”
“And the ocean?”
“It’s very big.”
“True.”
He yelped when I pinched him, then melted into my embrace. “And I’m not a water person.”
“You never went to the beach as a kid?”
“Sure. My grandparents brought me a few times when I was little. We’d sit under an umbrella and read the whole time. I could do that at home. It was special to them, though. They used to drive to Zuma and go for long walks and collect seashells while I read. Gran still has a few from those days. Simple shells with the dates written on the inside.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yes, she’d love this.”
“But you don’t,” I deadpanned.
“I like it. I don’t love it.”
“You love trees and outer space and people and places that feel like home.” I nuzzled his ear playfully. “What else?”
He laid his head on my chest but didn’t answer right away. He had to hear my heart beating a mile a minute. He had to know it was on the tip of my tongue to blurt, “Me. Pick me.”
And that, my friends, was crazy talk.
Topher didn’t love me. He liked me. He might have even felt sorry for me. I was a washed-up athlete, holding out for one last chance to prove myself. Besides, love was a big fucking word. As big as the ocean or maybe outer space. It was too soon to make that kind of declaration.
Or was it? I didn’t know.
What I did know was that he felt like the real thing. Like someone special. Someone I needed in my life. So, I held my breath, hoping to hear words I didn’t deserve. Words I was too afraid to say myself.