Page 35 of Need You To Choose Me

Dammit.

“Blondie, I…” I open my mouth, but no words come out. What was there to say really?

“This thing between us? It can only work if we’re honest with each other.”

I run my hand over my face. “I know. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret. I just…”

But didn’t I? I liked the fact that she didn’t know I was a professional football player. I liked the anonymity. I liked that I didn’t have to worry about if she was trying to deceive me because she could get something out of me. That night she liked the man she saw, not all the zeroes in my bank account, or the attention she’d get if we were seen together.

“You just did,” she finishes, shaking her head. “I can’t do this.”

Icy chills go down my spine. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want—” She looks away, her tongue darting out to slide over her lower lip as she carefully weighs her words. “I want you to give me space. I have so much on my plate right now; betweenthe school and the move, I just… I need time to process”—she waves her hand—“all of this, and you being here doesn’t make this easy.”

“You want me to leave you alone?” I say, feeling the irritation growing inside of me. “You can’t ask me that. I’ve never?—”

“Walked away from your responsibility?” she finishes, those blue eyes fixing on mine. Frustration and something that looks so much like sadness and hurt, playing on her face.

“Yes!” I run my fingers through my hair.

Savannah flinches, and this time, she doesn’t even try to cover it.

“Blondie…”

“No.” She lifts her hand and takes a step back. “I don’t want to hear it. I need to get to my job.”

With one last look in my direction, she spins on her high heels and goes toward the door. This time, I don’t try to stop her.

“Fucking hell.”

I messed this up.

And I messed it up badly.

What’s another fuckup in a row?

Since there was nothing that I could do about it, not now that she was angry and busy with work, I headed back to the parking lot.

Might as well deal with shit that I can change.

Just as I slide into my car, my phone pings with a text message.

Miguel:

Got time to spot me?

Or I could sweat out my frustration with the whole situation.

Blake:

I’ll be there in 15.

“So how are things going?” Miguel asks from above me, watching me carefully.

“Fine,” I breathe, pushing the bar up, the weight making my muscles scream in protest. This was our fourth and final round, and I’d asked him to put more weight on than usual.

“The boys doing okay?”

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