Page 9 of Offsides

It’s a ridiculous thing to think. At twenty-one, I can see that now. But it became such a part of my day-to-day existence so early that I never stopped to examine it until I was planning out where to go to college.

It’s not like I can make a career out of powerlifting. Or even Olympic lifting. And if I did switch, Dad would push me to try to make the Olympic team. And how would I train for the Olympics and also get good enough grades to get accepted into a physical therapy program after I graduate? Especially whenIdon’t even want to go to the Olympics? It would only be to make my dad—and my boyfriend—happy.

And I know that if I made the US Olympic team and Luke didn’t, he’d be furious.

So no. No, thank you.

Even so. Even with that kind of red flag present, I still expected to end up with Luke eventually. I’d finish my degrees and return home to Bradford and be a physical therapist. He’d go to the Olympics and come home and do … something. And we’d be together and happy and have a couple of kids and live the dream life I always thought I wanted.

Now? I’m not so sure.

And my current best guy friend kissing me feels far too much like the start of my relationship with Luke with a heaping helping of him only kissing me because I was dressed up for once added in. With Eli, I’m one of the guys. We work out together. Hang out. Have fun. Play video games. Talk sports.

The big difference is his support has always felt open and honest and genuine. No backhanded compliments or side of criticism that I’d normalized from my dad like Luke gave me. And it’s been so refreshing.

But I’ve never been the kind of girl he’d hook up with—which was fine. Because I’d want more than just a hookup. Especially with him.

Until last night. Apparently dressing up and wearing makeup and doing my hair and, per Autumn, looking like a goddess means that now I am that kind of girl.

And I don’t know what to do about that.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dani

Not long after I finally drag myself out of bed and put on my workout gear, Autumn breezes through the front door.

Her smile is friendly, belying her searching gaze. “Hey. How are you this morning?”

I lean against the kitchen counter and eye her over the rim of my coffee—the caffeine gives a nice boost when working out—trying to decide exactly how much to say.

Autumn settles into a dining room chair, her turquoise hair showing off more of the pink streaks right now with it piled in a messy bun on top of her head. She has on one of Jackson’s Marycliff football sweatshirts, and it looks more like a dress on her, especially with the black leggings peeking out beneath it. Very quintessential football player girlfriend vibe.

Setting my mug down on the counter next to me, I turn it just so before finally answering. “I’m okay, I think.” I pause, and Autumn waits, her chin propped on her hand, seemingly willing to wait as long as necessary for me to continue. Or not. I feel like she’d be okay if that’s as much as I decided to share. “Eli texted earlier. He says we should pretend that last night never happened.”

Autumn gives me no reaction, her expression and posture remaining neutral. After a solid minute of silence has passed, she lifts her chin off her hand and says, “And how do you feel about that?"

I look away, staring blankly at the wall adorned with some kitschy 70s kitchen decor we found at a thrift store that Piper decided we absolutely had to have. I never thought that thrift store shopping to decorate a house would be as much fun as it was, but with Ellie, Autumn, and Piper, we had a blast.

As much as I would enjoy dwelling on those memories, that doesn't answer Autumn's question. And I owe it to myself as much as to her to actually give her an answer. Autumn’s good people. She’s a good listener, and I’ve never gone wrong when taking her advice. Given my discombobulated feelings about everything, confiding in her seems like the best bet.

Taking a deep breath, I refocus on her. "I'm not really sure," I admit at last. “I was confused last night. About the kiss. What it might mean. Why he decided to do it at all, and especially why he decided to do itthen.”

She cocks her head to one side. “Why do you think he decided to do it then?”

Another deep breath, and I look away again, crossing my arms even though I’m far too aware that it’s a defensive posture. It’s not that I feel attacked, per se. Not by Autumn, at any rate. It’s just that talking through this, even if I’m sure it’ll help, makes me feel vulnerable. And vulnerability always makes me want to put up some kind of physical barrier, even if it’s just the meager protection of crossed arms.

“Obviously I can’t really read his mind,” I start slowly. “But I have my suspicions.” Shaking my head, I meet Autumn’s eyes, hating that there are tears stinging the backs of mine. One shoulder moves in a half shrug, almost without my conscious direction. “You had me all dressed up. I looked like one of the girls he’d usually go for. I think he just got confused.”

That actually provokes a reaction from Autumn. Not a large one, of course. That’s not Autumn’s style, not when she’s in her helping friends work through their problems mode, but her eyebrows jump up her forehead. “Oh?”

I wave a hand, as though dissipating smoke or stink from the air. “I’m not blaming you or anything.”

That gets another tiny reaction, this time a small smirk. “That’s good,” she replies drily, “because I wouldn’t be accepting that blame anyway.”

Snorting, I shake my head again. “Anyway, I’m just saying that he’s never seen me all made up and looking like anything other than”—I gesture up and down my body—“this.”

“And what exactly do you think is wrong with”—Autumn moves her hands up and down in front of her, indicating my body as well—“this?”

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