The Hardest Fall

“You’re having breakfast and still staring,” I grumbled, sweat starting to pour off my forehead already as each rep got a bit harder and my dick did the same.

Her spoon paused midair, and then she was chewing again. “I think so. Yes.” There was a loud clink when her spoon hit her bowl and she winced, but two seconds later the chewing started back up. “They always say breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and I think I’m becoming a believer.”

One hundred.

Finishing my first set, I lay flat on the ground and shook my arms to relax my muscles as I slowly caught my breath.

“So do you always do this…half naked?”

I smiled up at the ceiling. “If it’s bothering you, I can do it in my room from now on. I only came out here because I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

“Nope, it’s fine. Just wanted to check.”

There was a two-second pause before she spoke up again.

“Always at the same time?”

“Are you gonna come out every morning and keep me company?”

Taking a deep breath, I started on the second set.

A hundred and one.

A hundred and two.

A hundred and three.

“Nope.”

“You sure? You thought about it for a second there.”

“Yup. Nope.”

A hundred and ten.

A hundred and eleven.

Feeling that addictive good burn in my stomach, I pushed through my second set in no time.

I heard loud coughing so I glanced her way. “More?” Zoe asked in a squeaky tone when I went for the next hundred sit-ups.

“Yeah,” I puffed out. I miraculously managed to finish my last set with only a few glances thrown my curious observer’s way. At least my dick was behaving. A few times when I looked, she quickly averted her eyes and became increasingly engrossed in her cereal bowl or the sink. Standing up, I wiped off my forehead, chest, and stomach. Throwing the small towel over my shoulder, I moved toward my intriguing roommate. Her eyes followed my every step.

Stopping when only two steps separated us, I leaned against the marble counter. “Hi. How is your morning going so far?”

She made a few vague noises then cleared her throat after swallowing a mouthful of cereal. “Just like any other morning, really. Nothing special is happening. Yours?”

It was hard holding back my grin, so I chose not to. “I’m really enjoying it so far. Thanks for keeping me company.” It looked like she was still having trouble holding my gaze when we were standing close to each other. Oh, she tried, I’ll give her that, but it only lasted a couple seconds before she shifted her focus to my ear. I’d noticed the chosen spot could also be my mouth if I was smiling or talking.

“You want cereal?” She stirred her spoon in what must have been very soggy cereal by that point then sipped a little milk from the edge of it.

“Nope.”

“Coffee?”

“No.”

“Cereal?”

I laughed. “I’ll grab something with the boys.”

“Water, then?”

“I wouldn’t say no to that.”

She shuffled back and reached up to grab a new glass from one of the cupboards to my left, and I had to grip the edge of the counter in a white-knuckle hold when my attention dropped low.

Eyes up, Dylan. Don’t look at her ass, man.

I only saw a flash of light blue against her pale skin before she dropped back down on her heels and filled my glass with water before handing it to me.

“Thank you, Zoe.”

There was that pink flush to her cheeks again.

I looked down and focused on her bare feet. She had painted her toenails a light purple, and it looked adorable on her. Then, she curled her toes and hid her right foot behind her left. Something about it made me smile.

I’d met shy girls before, but none of them had the effect Zoe was having on me. I’d met girls that almost made me feel shy, too—not too often, maybe once in a blue moon, but it had happened. Some jersey chasers could be a little more forward than you’d expect them to be, and you already expected them to be forward, hence their name. I’d learned that my freshman year while I was still trying to find my way around a new school and a new team.

Not including my freshman year, I didn’t sleep around. After that first year, I realized it wasn’t my thing. Compared to some of my teammates, I was an angel, but I did date from time to time. Finding that elusive connection was even harder than you’d expect it to be.

This weird thing I had going on with Zoe was new to me. I’d had girls I’d been strictly friends with, and I’d had girlfriends I’d had nothing but a healthy sexual attraction in common with. Yet, there I was, standing in a kitchen, staring at a girl’s feet and finding it extremely adorable that she was shy enough to try to hide them from my view. I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on between us or if there was anything going on at all, but I had a feeling it was going to take some time to find our footing.

Zoe was shy, that was a fact, but then all of a sudden she’d change the play on me. She’d say something unexpected—like owning up to the fact that she was staring at me—and it would throw me off big time, and this was coming from a guy whose job was to anticipate what the play was and adjust accordingly so he could run for the win. I was damn good at reading a player’s next move, but with the way Zoe was playing, I had a hard time guessing where the ball would come rushing toward me from.

It looked like she had a whole different side of her hiding underneath that first layer. Maybe that was what was drawing me to her—the possibilities of Zoe. I wasn’t a dumbass; I knew I was attracted to her—my dick had been happy to see her more than a few times that week—but it wasn’t just the fact that she was beautiful that had moving me in that direction. I was being serious when I told her I had a feeling she was gonna be my best friend.

“Where do you wanna live after you graduate? Stay here?” I asked out of the blue, surprising the hell out of myself in the process.

She held my gaze for another two seconds—which seemed to be her max unless she was getting into a staring contest with me—then looked back into her bowl and kept squishing the cereal into the milk. Anywhere but my eyes worked, I supposed.

Why did she have so much trouble meeting my eyes when were standing close to each other when she’d had no trouble checking out my abs and occasionally my arms and shoulders just minutes before?

“New York. You?”

“I’ll know after the draft is over.”

“Makes sense.” She nodded and flashed me a small, shy smile. “I admire your confidence—you’re sure you’ll be picked. Any idea where you’ll end up?”

I shrugged. “If I don’t believe in myself, why would anybody else? I might not end up being a first-round pick, but that’s fine. I’ll just work harder to show everyone what a mistake they made by skipping me.” Her smile grew bigger, and I frowned at her lips. “Just so you know, that’s not me being a big-headed prick, I just know what I’m capable of out on that field. That being said, I could blow my knee in the next game—or hell, even at practice—and never be able to play again. Going pro is the plan and the dream, but it’s too early to tell where, or anything really.”

She raised her spoon-holding hand in surrender. “A healthy dose of self-confidence is always good. I could use some of it myself.” She paused for a moment. “And I know you’re not a big-headed prick, Dylan. Yeah, you say you’re good on the field, but you’re not being obnoxious about it. You just said you’ll work harder to show them what a mistake they made by skipping you—you didn’t give me a dirty grin and say they’d be lucky to have you play on their team. That would’ve been obnoxious.” She narrowed her eyes in uncertainty. “Do you know what I mean?”