The Hardest Fall

“I didn’t start a sentence.”

I tapped a finger to my temple. “You started it in here.”

That earned me a warm chuckle. “You keep doing things I’m not expecting you to do. It throws me off, that’s all.”

“Is that a bad thing or a good thing?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“Let’s not waste your time—let’s agree that it’s a good thing.”

I caught the twitch of his lips as he leaned down to hook his bag over his shoulder. “You think so?”

“Oh yeah. I’ll keep you on your toes.” I pushed myself up from the couch to stand next to him. “So we’re good? Buddies? You don’t mind that I told her you’re gay?”

“Buddies?”

If he wanted to focus on that… “Sure, buddies—best friends, pals, mates…I’ll let you choose.” I lightly punched his arm, and then immediately hated myself for it.

I, Zoe Clarke, was officially the weirdest girl alive.

Why didn’t the ground open up and swallow me when I needed it the most? Couldn’t be that hard.

Looking down at where I’d punched his arm then back at me, he gave me another one of his infectious smiles that stopped me in my tracks every single time. “Buddies it is then.”

Chapter Seven

Dylan

It was only a few days into my move when I started to get back into my routine—or more like a new routine. We had a home game in two days and I was more than ready to play. I was doing my third set of push-ups when I looked up and saw Zoe rubbing her eyes as she walked straight into a wall, missing the bathroom door by ten inches or so.

“Fuck!” she hissed out in a low voice, this time rubbing her shoulder.

I dropped my head and tried to keep in my laughter. When I looked back up, I saw her looking over her shoulder toward my room right before she hurried into the bathroom and gently closed the door.

Two hundred twenty-three.

Two hundred twenty-four.

Two hundred twenty-five.

I heard the door click open then careful footsteps followed. When there was a loud gasp, I lifted my head, my gaze slowly making its way up her long smooth legs. Her hand was clutched over her chest and she was doing that deer in the headlights thing again. I smiled.

“Good morning, Zoe.”

Letting go of her chest, she pulled at the hem of her t-shirt and took a few side steps toward the kitchen. Her eyes though—they stayed put on my body.

“Hello to you too. You scared the shit out of me.”

I ducked my head and chuckled quietly. “I can see that.”

“Uh, what’s going on here?” she asked in a rough voice still laced with sleep.

“Getting in my push-ups.”

A few more steps to the right and she reached the island. Keeping her gaze on me, she held on to the edge of the counter as if it was helping her stay upright, skipped the two bar stools, and walked around until she stood over the sink.

“Isn’t it a little early to do push-ups?”

Two hundred thirty-six.

“I always wake up at six AM and get them done.”

“So, this is an everyday occurrence?”

“Yeah.” I dropped my head down and ignored the slight tremor in my arm muscles.

“Weekends too?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, okay. That’s…good to know.” Zoe reached for the glass sitting next to the sink—eyes still on me—opened the fridge, took out a water bottle, unscrewed the cap, and poured it into the glass. After a second of hesitation, she grabbed it and took a few gulps.

I looked back down to hide my smile and kept counting.

Two hundred forty-five.

Two hundred forty-six.

Two hundred forty-seven.

“Uh, and good morning…buddy.”

“Sorry?” I grunted and looked up.

“You said good morning and I didn’t say it back. I’m not really awake yet…might also be dreaming, can’t be sure completely about that. Just in case I’m not in a dream and you’re really there doing push-ups…good morning to you, too, buddy.”

“You’re really getting into this buddy thing, huh?”

She lifted a small shoulder, causing her very oversized t-shirt to slip and give me a view of the smooth skin so innocently hiding underneath the fabric.

“I’m liking the idea more and more.”

Keep counting, Dylan. Keep going.

Two hundred sixty-one.

Two hundred sixty-two.

Two hundred sixty-three.

When I reached three hundred, I grunted and jumped up. Grabbing the towel I’d left on the couch, I wiped my face. “What are you doing up this early anyway? I haven’t seen you around in the mornings these last few days. I only see you in the evenings.” Not that she was around all that much. Whenever I came in, she found somewhere to disappear to.

She was still standing behind the sink, holding the glass in both hands as she took small sips and kept her eyes on me.

“Because I’m a normal person? You know, one who doesn’t get up at an ungodly hour? Today I’m meeting with a girl who’s paying me to take a few shots of her for her fashion blog. She wanted the streets to be empty, and according to her, her skin looks best with the early sunrise. No sane person would get up this early in the morning, but…work.”

“Yeah? A fashion shoot, huh? Sounds fun.”

“As I can see with my own eyes, you’re not a sane person either, so…your idea of fun might be a little skewed.”

Tossing the towel back over the couch, I dropped my ass on the floor and started on my sit-ups.

“Okay, what’s happening now?”

“Sit-ups.”

I heard a little groan, but instead of glancing at her, I kept my eyes forward and kept going. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her moving around, and even if I hadn’t been able to, the sounds of cabinets opening and closing and flatware rattling reached me just fine.

Forty-one.

Forty-two.

Forty-three.

Forty-four.

When there was a long stretch of silence, I spoke up without breaking my focus.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“What’s up?” she returned back.

I could feel her eyes sweeping over my skin like the gentle touch of a feather. My dick stirred in my sweatpants. “You’re staring.”

“How do you know I’m staring? You’re not even looking at me.”

“I can feel your eyes on me,” I grunted.

“You can feel my eyes—of course you can. Well, I’m not staring because there is something to stare at, I’m only looking toward you because…you’re in the way of my view at the moment and I don’t know where else to look.”

Curious, I turned to see what she was doing. I tried to maintain my pace and keep counting in my head at the same time, but she was making it hard. She was standing in the exact same spot, only difference was this time she had a blue bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. The dish was full of what I could only assume was the cereal that was heading toward her pink lips. I tried to meet her eyes, but her gaze seemed glued somewhere else—namely, my torso. So I was the breakfast entertainment. For some reason I couldn’t quite articulate, I didn’t mind her gaze on me, and trust me, if it had been anyone but her, I would’ve minded. Being gawked at usually broke my concentration, thus pissing me off, but I’d never had a set of eyes moving over my body feel like fucking feathers, of all things. My body heated, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t because of my workout.