Chapter 34: Xavier

Chapter 34: Xavier

I can’t even look at Ophelia.

I’ve ruined her life and absolutely mucked all of this up. Not to mention I’ve all but ended my career in one fell swoop. All because I trusted the wrong person. Again.

I was never the best in school, but I always thought it was because I was more focused on football. Turns out that I’m simply a slow learner.

Ophelia sits there, saying nothing, which indicates how upset with me she is. She’s not the silent type, ever. She’s the type to fill every ounce of every day with whatever thought streams through her adorable mind.

I wish she would do that now. Prattle on about nothing to push the thoughts out of my brain.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she clears her throat. "Okay, give me the rundown. How bad is it?"

She wants me to rip the bandage off, so I do. "Most likely the Terrors had no knowledge of a trade, so they’re not going to let me out of my contract, even if the Buzzards were willing to pay for it. For some reason, Camacho is committed to sticking it to me. Robert Miller doesn’t take risks. He and the Buzzards were only willing to take a chance on me if I came without drama or controversy, considering my past and my relationship with the BSL. It’s all a big bungle."

"You don’t know that for sure. Your brain is jumping to the worst-case scenario, but maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe the Terrors will be happy to let the Buzzards buy you out. Maybe the Buzzards really want you. The coach seems to like you."

I stand up and resume my pacing. This apartment feels too small. "I can’t believe Tony did this. I was apparently the last client he was in touch with. And now he’s disappeared."

Ophelia frowns. "It doesn’t make sense. I mean, maybe he’s been in a horrible accident and is lying in a bed somewhere with amnesia."

That ridiculous statement stops my infernal pacing. "Ophelia, you’ve got to be kidding. This is real life, not some daytime serial. It’s not a fantasy book. It’s my life, and it’s utterly ruined."

I should stop there, because none of this is Ophelia’s fault, yet I can’t. "I’ve given up everything just to play one more day. One more game. One more time. I’ve given up my home, my country, and hell, I even married you for just one more season."

As soon as the words are out, I wish I could snatch them back in so they don’t land the blow I know they will. Indeed, Ophelia looks as if I’ve slapped her right good.

"Oh, Ophelia," I gasp, closing the distance between us. "That’s not what I meant."

Her gaze is trained on the floor. Can’t say I blame her.

I take her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "What I mean is that I’ve gone to extreme measures, like getting married. Not marrying you. Just the marriage thing. You’re perhaps the only bright spot, currently." More words tumble out before I can think. What the hell is wrong with me?

"You don’t have to lie. I know what you meant."

"I’m not lying. I never lie. Not anymore. The last lie I told ruined my life."

"About Phaedra not driving?" Her dark blue eyes look huge.

I nod. "Yes, and I haven’t told a lie since."

She pulls out of my hands, stepping away. "Wrong. You’re a liar. This whole thing is a lie. You pride yourself on being honest, but you’ll lie if it suits you. If it means you can play your soccer. Apparently, soccer is worth lying for."

This time, it’s her words that land like a well-timed blow. I can’t say she’s wrong though.

My hands fall helplessly to my sides. "You’re right. I’m a liar and a hypocrite. Perhaps I don’t deserve to be playing. I shouldn’t be a role model, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t want anyone emulating me or trying to live as I do."

Ophelia looks at me for a moment before closing the distance between us. This time, she takes my face in her hands. I try to look away, but her grip is surprisingly strong. "Xavier Henry, I may not know you well, but I see your heart. You’ve been nothing but kind and considerate since the moment we met. Hell, the first thing you ever did was help me. I wouldn’t have agreed to all this if I didn’t think you were worth it. It’s not like I would have married Trent or any of those guys from ClikClak. You’re different. You’re special, and you’re absolutely someone to look up to. You’re just in a run of bad luck that we’ll get figured out. Somehow, someway, we’ll figure this out. We’ll get you playing soccer again. No husband of mine is going to sit the bench."

I want to believe her.

"Xavier, look at me. Come on, we’ll figure this out, together. I know I’m your wife on paper only, but we’re still a team, at least where the rest of the world is concerned."

I don’t know how I ended up here, in the middle of Boston, in the middle of America, married to a stranger, with an absent agent, and the very real likelihood of no team to play for. Yet somehow, none of that matters. All that matters is the woman standing in front of me, cradling my face in her hands, telling me everything will be alright.

It’ll never be alright. Never again.

"Xavier, you’re starting to panic. I can see it. Look at me. Look at my eyes."

With a Herculean effort, I drag my gaze to hers. She continues, "Tell me five things you can see."

Unable to move my head—cripes, she is strong—I say, "I see your blue eyes and a smattering of freckles. The cat is staring at us. Your hair is mussed, and that couch truly is ugly."

"Okay, now four things you can hear."

I have to focus on this one. "I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Your cell phone is constantly vibrating. The cat is now meowing at me like he’s trying to tell me to leave. And I can hear your breathing. It’s heavy."

Ophelia nods. "Good. Now three things you can touch."

"The ground under my feet." I raise one hand to cover hers. "I feel your smooth skin." I bury my other hand in her hair, at the base of her neck. "I feel your hair, soft and silky."

I see her swallow hard, even though she doesn’t ask me for that. "Okay, two things you can smell."

"Pizza and lilacs. The two smells of you."

"Good. You’re doing good. How are you feeling?"

I do feel as if my heart has slowed, and it’s no longer going to burst forth from my chest. "Better, I think? Marginally better."

"Okay." Her voice is barely a whisper, forcing me to lean in even closer to hear it. "Last one. One thing you can taste."

It’s been hours since I’ve had anything to eat or drink. I shrug. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" She raises a brow.

"Nope."

"We can’t have that. How about this?"

And then her lips are on mine. I taste her, sweet and warm, like a bright spring day and stolen moments of passion all rolled into one. Even if Jones himself walked back in here right now and offered me a place on the British National Team, I don’t think I could stop kissing Ophelia.

I don’t want to stop.

Her hand travels up to my neck and I feel her leg wrap around me. I let go of her hand and scoop under her thigh, hoisting her up and into my body. Her thighs squeeze tight, her ankles twining behind my back. A groan escapes, I think from me, though I can’t be too sure. I take a few steps to press her back into the wall. Now I can run my hand up and down her thigh, squeezing her ass.

The next moan is definitely from her as she grinds into me.

Fucking hell.

"God, Ophelia."

She pulls back slightly. "I’m sorry."

"Don’t ever be sorry."

"I’m breaking rule number one."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if this is breaking the rules, then I’m all for it." It occurs to me that she said rule number one. "What’s rule number two?" I ask in between kisses.

"No licking your abs."

Now it’s my turn to stop kissing. "These rules are rubbish. Throw them all out, and lick away."

The thought of her tongue on my body is almost enough to drive me over the edge right here and now, second only to the thought of my own exploration of her body.

"How about no rules for tonight?" she pants. "We can reinstate them in the morning."

"Why?"

I don’t know where these rules came from, but it does seem like she wants to create some sort of boundary. Currently, clothing is the only boundary between the two of us, and if I have anything to say about it, that won’t be the case for long. I lean in and kiss her neck, my hand slipping up under the back of her hoodie. Her skin feels hot under my touch. "You seem a bit warm. We should take this off."

Ophelia tilts her head back, giving me better access to that lovely spot where her collarbone hollows out.

"Oh my God, Xavier, if you don’t take me to the bedroom now, I’m going to spontaneously combust." Her hands are frantically grabbing at the back of my shirt, attempting to pull it up.

I look at her. "Are you sure?"

Ophelia nods. "Please?" she whispers.

That’s all it takes.