Page 76 of Play the Last Card
I run a hand down her arm, pushing the sweatshirt down her shoulders and exposing more of her silky-smooth skin. “And I am really, really not sorry for fucking you. I mean, damn it Ivy. I haven’t been able to focus on anything else since you made me walk away from you four weeks ago.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did. You told me to leave. I would’ve stayed right in that moment if you had wanted to yell, and scream, and fight with me about it but you didn’t. You asked me to leave. So I did. But I realize it was the biggest mistake I could’ve made.” She begins to shake her head and that glazed look she got last time I was here starts to take over her expression again. I lift my hands to her face, stroking my thumbs against her cheeks and keeping her eyes on me.
“I can’t claim to understand why you pushed me away. I know I lied. I’m sorry about that but I don’t think that’s the whole reason. Am I right?”
She nods her head, chewing on her lip again. I tug it from between her teeth with a thumb, stoking the slightly swollen pink lip.
“Give me a chance, Ivy,” I beg her, my face so close to hers now, our lips inches apart. “Let’s talk it out. Work through whatever is scaring you.”
“I can’t …” Her words are rough, broken and she sounds terrified. “I can’t have more of my life splashed across the news. In magazines. On gossip websites. Every time something happens to Pops, they run the story of my family and I am constantly reminded of exactly what I lost. What I have to share with the stupid, football world. I won’t—I can’t do that anymore. I just … I want them to forget about me, about my family.”
My heart breaks for her.
I lean my forehead against hers. “I don’t understand Ives. Football has nothing to do with your mom and dad’s death. How can you—”
She pulls out of my grasp, shaking her hands out by her sides before pulling the sweatshirt up and over her shoulders. She crosses her arms over her front.
A wall goes up between Ivy and I.
Her on one side, upset and grieving.
Me on the other, confused.
I need time. Time to understand her. Time to break the misconceptions she’s got in her head. Time to change her mind about the game I love. I want to try and to try, I need more time.
“What if we just … keep it private?” I almost hate myself for saying the words aloud. There is nothing in me that wants to keep her—to keep us—private.
“You would do that? Private?”
“Yeah …” Something lodges in my throat, trying to stop the words leaving my mouth. “What if we just kept this between us? No public dates, no press or media, just you and me. See where it goes?”
I want her.
This isn’t a permanent solution. I know that. But I need time to figure one out and walking away again isn’t an option.
She gapes at me. “How can you want that?”
“I want you.”
“No one could know, Scott.” She throws her hands up in disbelief. “I won’t risk it. I don’t want my name, my face, my family history splashed all overSportsCenternight after night anymore. You are one of the most successful quarterbacks in America right now, you really think you can keep this—” She waves a hand between us, “a secret?”
“If this is how you’ll have me, then yes.”
Ivy scoffs, her hands running through her long hair. “I don’t believe you.”
I invade her space again, not caring about her walls anymore. I smash through, framing her face in my hands again and forcing her to meet my eyes.
“Look at me,” I say. She does, navy eyes darkening as she gazes into the soul I bare to her. “I. Want. You.”
The air between us turns heavy. I can feel her chest rising and falling against my own. I hold her stare waiting, and when her gaze finally breaks and she glances at my mouth, I dive in.
I kiss her. Hard and hungry. I kiss her for the last four weeks. For every day that I woke up wishing she was there beside me. I kiss her for every night that I wanted her in my bed.
Threading my fingers through her hair, I tilt her head, angling so I can go deeper.
Ivy whimpers, her mouth opens and she kisses me back.