Chapter 6

Farrow did her best to remember to breathe as she switched on lights in her apartment. She'd wavered and waffled, but she'd done it—she'd invited Levi inside, and he'd accepted.

Now what?

Well, she knew what she wanted to do with him, but she wasn't sure she'd have the guts to initiate anything. Perhaps asking him in was as far as her boldness went. She didn't do this kind of thing—not really. It'd been so long since she was genuinely interested in someone she wasn't quite sure how to be natural in this situation.

And they'd been circling each other for weeks now; the idea that it had all been leading here set her already fraying nerves on edge.

She focused on stowing her things, and when she'd hung her keys and bag on their proper hooks by the door, she turned to find him simply taking in her space. His eyes roamed over the unit's faux fireplace with built in shelving, lingering on the shelves stuffed to the max with books before flicking around the rest of the open living and dining area.

She assumed he liked what he saw, as there was a wistful sort of smile curving on one side of his mouth.

There was an exposed brick wall on one side of the apartment, so she'd gone with a mostly industrial aesthetic, with a bit of mid-century modern and boho pieces thrown in. Her large dark wood dining set sat in the front room, flanked on three sides by tall windows, and surrounded by a jungle of plants. Between the dining area and the living room was the foyer with the fireplace and shelves; she'd stuck an electric wood burning stove-style heater in the fireplace space, and placed two cozy, olive green wingback chairs on either side.

Separating the foyer from the living room was a wall with a wide archway, where she'd strung colorful beaded curtains and tied them back. A long, leather sectional in an orange-brown color spanned part of the living room, buttery soft and inviting with the plush pillows in cream and olive green she'd decorated it with. A large, industrial trunk acted as her coffee table, while a rug with varying shades of green, blue, and orange added a pop of color, as did the green floor cushions peeking out from under the sofa. She had a decently sized TV atop a decorative wooden sideboard, and her record player and collection had their own setup on the far side of the room.

Wherever there was wall space, she'd hung an eclectic collection of paintings, prints, and wall art, while some family photos sat on her side tables and the mantle, along with some candles and decorative pieces.

When his gaze finally landed back on her, he was grinning from ear to ear.

"This is a really nice space," he said.

"Thank you. I can't take full credit for that, though; Bree helped a lot." Some of her nerves flittered away. "I bet I can guess what your favorite part is."

"I bet you can, too."

"I spent a lot of time organizing those bookshelves." She stared fondly at all her precious books as she walked toward them, taking a moment to run her fingers over some of the spines.

"That's not it," he said quietly. "That's a nice bonus, but that's not my favorite part."

Brows drawn together, she looked back at him, met his steady gaze. "It's not? Then what is?"

"You." His eyes never left her face, and her heart felt like it'd been knocked out of the park. "This is your space, and I'm in it with you."

"Oh," was all she could manage to say through the tightening in her throat. After a beat of silence, she cleared it, but her voice sounded a little shaky when she said, "Well, I invited you."

"Yes, you did." He took a few steps closer to her. "Why?"

"Why?"

"What do you want to do now that I'm here?" He clarified.

Oh, so many things,she thought, her gaze automatically tracking down and up his body, lingering on his mouth. He took another step closer, and her face must have given her thoughts away because then he took another. He didn't stop until he was only a few inches from her, and he reached out to tug gently on her ponytail until she was looking up at him and—

Holy curveballs, what even are words?

"Tell me what you want, Farrow," he murmured, his breath, hot on her ear, causing her to shiver.

Since she'd lost the connection to her brain that understood what words were, she answered him by rising on her toes, grasping his face in her hands, and yanking his mouth to hers. His response was immediate, the hand in her hair pulling at her hair tie until her waves spilled down her back and over her shoulders, while his other arm clamped around her waist and pressed her up against him. His fingers curled in her hair when she hummed against his lips.

Need had her hands running over his chest when his tongue darted into her mouth, hot and seeking. She felt a bit desperate as her fingers trailed lower, began lifting the hem of his shirt higher. She felt his small huff of laughter at her insistence; then he lifted his arms so she could pull the jersey over his head.

She tossed his shirt toward one of the chairs, but had no time to to make sure it actually landed—but she found she didn't care, as Levi's hands tugging up her own shirt was the reason for her distraction.

When he had her top off, he, unlike her, simply tossed it aside. But she didn't have time to see where it landed either, as he'd then bent to grip her waist and lift her; her legs automatically wrapped around him as she took advantage of her newfound height to nip up his neck to his earlobe.

He groaned as he turned in the direction of the living room, letting out a somewhat breathless, "Bed?"

She shocked herself by saying, "Couch is fine," and switching her attention to his other earlobe. But he took her at her word, maneuvering over to the sectional and dropping down onto it so that he sat, and she was straddling his lap.

Then his lips were on hers again, his fingers slipping the straps of her bra down her shoulders before tugging her bra down nearly to her waist. She was about to point out he could simply remove the garment, when he took a breast in his mouth, cupping the other in one hand, and rational thought strayed like a wild pitch.

There was only Levi—his hands and lips on her, her body against his, his smooth skin and muscles under her hands. She wriggled against him, the movement instinctive and pleading. He grinned as he bit lightly at her nipple before soothing it with his tongue and turning his attention to the other.

She didn't realize she'd begun to rock against him until his hands gripped her bottom, steadying her movements.

She wanted to protest, but one of his deft hands quickly tugged open the button and zipper on her shorts before maneuvering inside, down, over.

The gasp this elicited from her was one of pleasurable torture, as his finger rubbing her just there only increased the ache.

"That's it, baby," he purred, and she gloried in the heat spreading through her body. Her own hands wandered down, reaching around him to undo his shorts. He lifted his hips a few inches so she could slide them down along with his boxers, freeing him to her greedy hands. He hissed out an oath of pleasure when she wrapped a hand around him, pumped slowly.

This proved too distracting, and his hands came back to her face, pulled her in for a kiss. "Condom," he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

"I have a box in my nightstand." Farrow tilted her head, deliberately ran her thumb over the tip of him.

His head fell to the back of the couch on an intake of breath, and he reached up to cup her breasts as his eyes met hers. A slow, wide grin broke out over her face, and she leaned forward to rub her lips over his before nuzzling his neck.

"I may have bought it this morning."

"A whole box?" He sputtered out a laugh, causing his body to jerk slightly; she let go of him, rose to slide off him.

"We don't have to use them all tonight." Smirking, she dashed into her room, located the box of condoms and drew out a foil packet. As she hurried back to the living room, she imagined she must look ridiculous, still half dressed with her bra practically around her waist, but with the way Levi was looking at her she found she didn't care.

He reached for her as she approached, and she settled easily back into his lap. She raised a brow as she opened the packet. "Want me to do the honors?"

Just the suggestion made him twitch against her, so she took that as a yes, rolled it teasingly down his length. Then she came up on her knees to pull off her shorts, but he wrapped his arms around her and flipped them so her back was on the couch; she lifted her hips when he hooked his fingers in her waistband, but he only pulled her shorts and underwear down to her calves, began kissing his way up her body.

"In a hurry?" Her laugh was cut off by a moan when his finger circled her center once again.

"You could say that," he said before pressing his lips to hers, slow and deep.

She hummed in pleasure, her hands stroking down his back before gripping him, guiding him to her entrance. And when he slid into her, she was lost.

They moved together, taking cues from sighs and moans as words were once again beyond comprehension. She reveled in the smoothness of his skin, the warmth and pressure of his body against hers. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, but was restricted by her shorts—yet there was something arousing about not being fully undressed.

So instead she squeezed her legs tighter, gasping as a bolt of pleasure shot through her, the ignition of the crest she longed for. In response, he slowed his movements, rocking into her in a way that ensured she could feel all of him. She blinked, gasping, arching as the sweet, tingling sensation swept through her, slowly, like a molten starburst—as did the lovely ache in her heart that told her just how connected to him she felt.

She let it ride, clinging to him and running her lips over his shoulder, his neck, his jaw as sensation eased and his pace picked up again. It wasn't long before he sucked in a breath, clamped his mouth over hers as his movement stilled, slowed again.

She could feel his heartbeat hammering against her, seemingly mingling with her own. Tracing his cheek lightly with the tips of her fingers when he pressed a softer kiss to her lips, she sighed in satisfaction and contentment. He leaned his forehead against hers, and she opened her eyes to find his staring longingly at her face.

She bit her lip. "What?"

He smiled, brushing some of her hair from her face. "I just like looking at you."

"Sometimes I think my heart will stop just looking at you."

His brows shot up, and her eyes widened when she realized what she'd said. Obsessive, much? she thought. She made to sit up, but didn't get far, as she was still pinned under him—and he was still inside her.

Realizing this, he trailed a hand down her body until it rested on her hip, all the while keeping his eyes on her face. "I think you made my heart stop just now," he told her.

She'd been staring at his hand on her hip, but now blinked back up at him. He grinned before giving her one more languid kiss and pulling out of her.

"Better clean up," he pointed out.

He carefully pushed up and off the couch, kicking off the rest of his clothes before going to the bathroom—and she couldn't help the idiotic grin that overcame her as he waltzed naked across her apartment.

She tugged her bra back into place and pulled up her underwear, but her shorts joined his on the floor before she went to her ensuite to clean up. He was sitting on the couch in his boxers when she returned, and raised a brow when he saw she was half-clothed.

Turning on the charm, he said, "What'd you get dressed for?"

She sent him a sultry smile as she returned to the couch; once again, he automatically held out his arms for her, wrapping them around her as she slid down and curled into him.

"What did you get dressed for?" she posed back.

"I didn't want to leave a butt print on this couch," he admitted with a half-laugh.

She chuckled. "We probably left lots of prints on this couch."

He tipped his head. "Fair point."

Considering how long he might want to stay, she pulled back a little to face him. "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat."

"How about I order a pizza?"

His brows shot up as a grin suffused his face. "Sex and pizza? Be still my beating heart."

"I'll take that as a yes to pizza." She grinned back, picked up her phone. "And the sex and pizza's not just for you, you know."

"Oh, I know." He slid his arm back around her middle. "And I intend to make it worth your while."

They ordered takeout as she'd originally planned, indulging in cupped pepperoni pizza with drizzles of hot honey on top, washed down with red wine. The difference was there was definitely no reading—that, and they ate at the coffee table, lazing about on the couch in their underwear, sharing their favorite YouTube shows and videos with each other.

Why hadn't she done anything like this before?

She'd eaten from her couch and coffee table before, sure, but there was no rule that said she had to be fully clothed in her own home. Maybe it was too soon to think it, but she hoped she'd have many more nights like this with Levi, relaxed and happy.

When there were only a few slices of pizza left, Levi leaned back with a groan.

"Why do I always eat too much pizza?"

Farrow shrugged. "Because it's pizza?"

"That could be it." He blew out a breath, draping an arm over his stomach. They sat in silence for a few moments, using the lull in conversation to contemplate what came next. For his part, Levi wondered how to introduce a weightier subject, one he wasn't sure he had a right to ask about until now.

But if he and Farrow were starting something, he needed to understand why she was hurting, and she needed to trust him. Watching her carefully, he sat up a little.

"Have you enjoyed playing on the team?" he asked.

Her eyes whipped to his, a question in the lift of her brow when she answered. "I've loved it. I thought that was obvious."

"It is. But you were hesitant at first," he reminded her. "The Longhorns are all the better for having you on the team, so I want to make sure you're happy."

"Well, I am, thank you," she said, patting his knee.

"I think we've got a shot at winning the championship," he said evenly.

"So do I." She cocked her head. "If you think we can win, why do you sound so…cautious?"

"Because if they also keep winning games, we'll be playing the Redcoats again."

Farrow straightened slowly as understanding dawned. Concerned at the blank expression that had morphed her into a statue, he pressed on.

"I can't keep ignoring the effect a particular player had on you, and Ry and Andrew," he said softly. "Who exactly is Greg Wyatt, and what did he do to piss you guys off so much?"

Farrow took a long, slow breath. She was quiet for so long he began to think she wasn't going to answer, but finally, she took another breath and looked back at him.

"Greg was an old family friend," she started, wringing her hands. "Or at least, our fathers were friends. So when Greg's dad died, my parents did their best to help his mom out, including financial aid. He got a baseball scholarship to college, but they helped her cover the rest of the expenses—he went to the same college as me."

She paused, and he waited for her to gather her thoughts as she reached for her wine, took a steadying sip. Her expression was distant when she continued, "I started seeing another side of him there. It was little things at first, and I thought maybe he was just grieving, lashing out. But by the time senior year rolled around, he gambled a lot, and I wondered where he was getting the money to do so, especially since he seemed to lose most of the time.

"Long story short, I discovered he was throwing games to win bets. I told my parents and reported him, and when the school looked into it, they found out he'd thrown some games in order to pay some of his gambling debt."

When she went quiet for another stretch, Levi prompted, "I'm guessing he lost his scholarship."

She nodded. "He was expelled. And in retaliation…he went to visit my sister. She's only a few years younger than me, but she was just a freshman at the time. Only nineteen. Bree and I were on the softball team, and our team had made it to the state championship; a couple hours before the game, I got a cryptic text from Greg—a picture of my sister with a beer in her hand, looking out of it."

She rubbed her palm over her chest as though it ached, and her other hand had clenched into a fist around the stem of her glass. When her free hand came down to rest on her knee, Levi laid a hand over hers, rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. "That must have been scary."

"Very." She paused again, turned her hand over to lace her fingers through his. "I immediately contacted my parents, and his mom. He wouldn't take his mom's calls, but my sister eventually responded to my messages asking where she was. By the time we got to her, she was very drunk, and he was nowhere to be found. She assured us he was coming back, and was heartbroken when he didn't.

"Needless to say, I didn't make it to the game. We lost. It was supposed to be the last game of my senior year. Instead, I missed it, and hadn't played a game until you asked me to join the Longhorns."

His eyes widened. "Wait, you hadn't played in…what, three years?"

She shook her head. "Just about. I still played catch with Ry, or Bree, and went to a batting cage. But never played in a game. Couldn't face it, I guess."

All he could think to say was, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry he did that to your sister."

"It's my fault," she said absently. "He did it to get back at me. And his revenge was twofold, since my team lost because of me."

"Whoa, hold on." Levi straightened, gripped her shoulders so he could turn her to face him. "It is not your fault. You didn't make that bastard do anything, he did it all on his own. And as for the rest—you win as a team, you lose as a team. Don't put that on yourself."

"We might have won if I'd been there," she pointed out, chin raising just a little.

"Might have, sure, but you don't know that you would have," he said firmly. "You're not giving your team enough credit if you think you alone could've made a difference. And would you feel any better about missing the game if they had won?"

"I…I suppose I wouldn't." She let out a quiet, humorless scoff, set her wine glass down on the coffee table. "All this time I thought…you're right. I haven't been giving my team credit. They were a really good team, with or without me."

"We all feel a little guilt arrogance from time to time," he assured her.

Her brow arched. "Guilt arrogance?"

"Yeah, you know—when you take the blame for something not your fault. Like survivor's guilt, but without the death. I think we do it because pretending we could have changed things means we still have some semblance of control, even though in reality we have none. You felt bad you couldn't prevent what happened to your sister, so you convinced yourself it was your fault. And you hated missing out on the championship game, so you told yourself you would have won if you'd been there."

She inclined her head. "I know all too well going over what ifs can't change the past."

"If you can accept it's not your fault, do you think you can handle it if we play against the Redcoats in the championship?"

She considered a moment, weighing everything Levi had said. She hadn't come this close to closure over the Wyatt situation before, but she could feel something new taking root in those buried feelings. It might take a little bit longer for full acceptance to grow, but for the first time, she thought she could get there.

"Yes," she finally nodded. "I can handle it. And I believe we'll win—as a team."

He smiled. "Good."

"Thank you, Levi." She leaned in, gave him a soft kiss. When he hummed, slid a hand over her bare back, she remembered they were still in only their underwear. Grinning, she gave his bottom lip a light tug with her teeth. "Why don't we move to the bedroom, and I can thank you properly."

Shaking his head, he slid his other arm under her legs, pulled her into his lap, and lifted her as he stood.

"I told you," he grinned as he carried her to the bedroom, "I'm going to make it worth your while."

They took their time, no longer in such a rush to get their hands on each other—and he made good on his promise, going over every inch of her he'd missed the first time. Afterward, they showered together, making plans for the next weekend in between bouts of teasing each other.

It felt so normal, and just…right. Levi had a feeling he and Farrow would have some of their most interesting conversations in the shower.

And it felt just as right when he stayed. When, after he'd settled in beside her, he looked over at her, already resting comfortably against her pillow.

"Today was a damn good day," he said.

Though she yawned through her smile, her eyes were bright. "It really was."

It really was. And, he thought as his eyes closed, he could get used to this.