26. Ella

26

ELLA

W hat do I want next?

Isn’t that the question?

My head spins and my hand trembles as I finally wrap my fingers around my glass and lift it to my lips.

Drinking is probably a bad idea, especially when I’m sitting opposite Colt, but I couldn’t find the words to stop him from ordering it for me. I felt guilty as hell for it when he followed my order up with a glass of soda for himself. It’s just too easy to forget that his world is still turning as usual while my life implodes on itself.

I take a sip, letting the bubbles explode on my tongue, all the while hoping they might give me all the answers I crave.

But no clarity comes, just burning dark eyes boring into mine from across the table.

I know what he wants me to say. I can read it as clear as day in his expression.

But as much as I love it, I have a hard time believing it.

The only promise Colt has ever made me is that I can’t rely on him.

From the very first day we hooked up, he very clearly explained to me that he was only interested in having a bit of fun. He gave me an out. Told me that if I didn’t think I could handle walking away once we were done, then I was to turn my back on him right then and there.

But even all those years ago, before anything happened between us, and knowing that I was going to have my heart put through a meat grinder, I couldn’t have passed up the chance of being with him. And not just because he was a Panther. It was because he was him.

I wanted to give him everything, and have him do the same in return. But with that option off the table, I was willing to take whatever he would allow me to have.

I dreamed of this moment more often than I’m willing to admit.

All I ever wanted was for him to come to me and tell me that he was wrong. That he thought he only wanted free and easy sex with jersey chasers, but that it wasn’t enough. That he wanted more. Needed more. With me.

It was a dream that was always unfulfilled, and I thought I’d come to terms with that.

But sitting here now, watching him as he studies me, I realize that I never got over that dream. And I certainly never got over him.

His questions, his suggestions about starting over, collide with my mom’s, and my heart continues to race.

Could I do it? Could I leave her behind and completely start over?

I shake my head, unable to answer that question right now. So instead, I go with something simple.

“I want to be happy,” I say before taking another massive mouthful of prosecco.

“El,” he sighs. But thankfully, our server comes over with two menus and puts an end to whatever he was going to say next.

“So, what’s good here?” I ask him once we’re alone again.

“Well…” he states, not even bothering to open his menu, his eyes still on me as I scan over the options. “Everything.”

“Right.”

“Do you trust me?” he suddenly asks.

My breath catches, and I’ve no choice but to lower my menu and look at him.

“Yes and no,” I confess quietly.

The words land exactly as I expect them to, and he sits up a little straighter as his eyes widen in surprise.

“Go on,” he encourages.

My mouth opens and closes, but I struggle to find the words.

Closing my eyes for a beat, I try to find her. The girl he used to know who used to wear her heart on her sleeve and say whatever popped into her head. The girl who rode his face last night despite her weight gain and went to breakfast this morning without any panties on.

“I trust you with my body, Colt. But my heart…”

“That’s fair. But I was talking about choosing your dinner.”

“Oh,” I breathe, my cheeks burning.

“It’s good to know how you feel, though.”

“Colt, I didn’t mean?—”

“Ella,” he says, reaching across the table to take my hand in his and stop me from nervously tracing the condensation on my glass. “You did. And you have every right to feel that way. I’ve never given you a reason to feel any differently.”

My eyes bounce between his as the heat of his fingers ensures my body begins to burn up for him.

Just one touch. That’s all it’s ever needed.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, cringing with every word that passes my lips. I don’t want to be that girl who has to know if there is a future past a handful of orgasms tonight. But while this might be a first date, we have a whole heap of history that can’t be forgotten. And trust me, I’ve tried.

Colt’s brow wrinkles, and for a second, he looks away from me. It’s as if he’s struggling as much for the answer to that question as I am.

“I told my therapist about you today,” he blurts before sucking in a sharp breath when he hears the words he just said aloud.

Now, it’s my turn to frown.

“Y-you…you have a therapist.”

“Team therapist,” he explains in a rush, and I swear, his cheeks redden. “All the teams have them now to help with?—”

“It’s okay,” I soothe, now the one holding his hand. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a team one or not, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You have a high-profile, high-stress job. I’d be amazed if you didn’t need someone to vent to every now and then. Kane has Letty, Luca has Peyton. You must?—”

“Be lonely?” he suggests.

“Shit, Colt. That wasn’t what I meant at all.”

“Maybe I am. Recently things have been…” He sits back, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “I dunno. Wrong, I guess. I haven’t been with anyone in ages, and I’ve been having all these thoughts about?—”

“Are you ready to order?” our server says, interrupting whatever Colt was about to say.

“Sure,” he says, and it’s not until he turns to look up at him that I realize he’d let his mask slip.

He’s letting me in. Letting me see the man who hides behind the jersey and pads. I can’t help but wonder how many have ever met him.

Colt rattles off a whole host of dishes, way more than the two of us would be able to eat in a week, but my stomach growls even louder with each one.

After his actions at breakfast this morning, I knew I wasn’t going to get away with ordering a salad. And while a part of me is already trying not to count the calories in my head, the other part is relieved.

Once he’s done, he turns back to me with his signature smirk fully in place.

“What?” I ask, my skin burning under his heated gaze.

“You wanted to order a salad, didn’t you?”

My lips purse, both impressed and annoyed that he’s got me pegged so well.

“Maybe,” I confess.

“I know it’s not as easy as me saying this but, you need to get all the bullshit that asshole told you out of your head. They were his issues, not yours.”

I nod, agreeing with both parts of his statement. Pushing aside all those feelings of not being good enough are easier said than done. However, having his hungry gaze on me sure helps to feel like I’m doing more than existing in the shadows.

“You were interrupted before. What were you going to say?” I ask, attempting to turn this back on him.

He shakes his head. “It was nothing. Certainly nothing more important than telling you how beautiful you look right now.”

“You need to stop,” I say, blushing again.

“I really, really don’t. I love sitting here, wondering just how low that blush goes.”

I startle when his foot gently brushes my calf and moves up. It’s innocent, but from the way my body burns up, he may as well have spread my legs and embarked on eating me for dinner instead.

“Right down to your nipples, I bet,” he muses darkly.

“W-what?” I stutter, barely able to get my brain to function.

“Your blush, I bet it goes right down to your nipples. Want to prove me wrong?”

All the air races from my lungs in a rush as I squirm against my seat.

“I’m not taking my tits out here,” I gasp, trying to sound affronted, but I’m pretty sure I just sound horny and desperate.

Not my finest moment.

“Why not?” he asks innocently. “No one can see us.” He makes a show of looking around.

“We’re in a restaurant, Colt. And you’re…” His brow quirks in curiosity. “You’re famous. You can’t be caught doing stuff like that.”

“Pretty sure the media has caught me doing worse, Bombshell. You know it too, my little stalker.” Amusement lights up his eyes as his smirk returns.

A few of his more sordid moments in the media flicker through my mind, and I lower my gaze.

“What’s that look for?” he asks, sitting forward and resting his elbows on the table.

“Nothing,” I mutter.

“Ella, are you jealous?”

My eyes immediately find his. “What? No, don’t be crazy. I’m not?—”

“You are,” he decides, his smile widening. “You wanted to be the one I was caught with.”

“Colt, you’re being insane,” I argue, but it’s pointless. He knows me too well, and he sees through me before I even finish talking.

His eyes flash with something, but it’s gone before I can try and decipher it.

“If you say so,” he says, reaching for his glass and taking a sip of his water as if he didn’t just shake the ground beneath my feet.

Am I jealous of all the women he’s been pictured with over the last few years? Yes. And it’s even worse with those he’s been caught in compromising positions with.

Damn it, I want to be the girl he has to have in the locker room after a game, or in the front of his car, or in a hotel lobby because the room is just too far away.

“Excuse me,” I say, pushing my chair back and pulling my leg away from where his foot is still brushing against me. “I need to use the bathroom.”

My legs move faster than they should, considering the height of the heels on my feet, but I need to get away from his heated stare.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours and I’m already losing my head to Colt just like I did back in college.

I want everything with him. Everything he’s always told me wasn’t possible.

I could handle it back then. I was stronger, less…less broken and beaten down.

Right now, I’m more vulnerable than I want to admit, and with the right words—hell, maybe even a few of the wrong ones—my heart is going to run away with itself.

And there’s only one outcome to that.

I’ll once again be left high and dry. Because Colton doesn’t do serious, and he certainly doesn’t do forever.

I’ve heard it time and time again from his own lips. And while his actions right now might make it look like things have changed, I can’t allow myself to latch onto that.

The end of us very nearly killed me the last time. I have no doubt that it will if it happens again.

I push through the door and stumble into the bathroom when my heel gets caught on the threshold.

“Fuck,” I gasp, catching myself on a sideboard with a single box of tissues and a bottle of hand cream on top.

I take a breath, trying to get myself under control. And then I make the mistake of looking up.