Page 43 of Love at Second Down

“Did you . . .” I trail off, unable to choke out the words as the chorus swells around us.

“Did I request this?” she asks, correctly guessing what I was about to say. She blinks and slowly shakes her head. “No.”

Of course she didn’t, you jackass. You haven’t taken your eyes off her since she got here.

The muscle in my cheek jumps as I remember the last time we listened to this song together. Visions of that night flicker through my head?a slow and tortuous replay I’d love nothing more than to forget.

“Do you remember?” Her voice is soft, cautious.

“Nope. Blocked it from my mind. Don’t want to remember any of it,” I say for fear of cracking under the weight of the memory. I’d have to be fucking senile not to remember. It was senior prom, and we snuck into her parents’ pool house while everyone went to the after-party. I still remember the sharp scent of chlorine clinging to the spring air, the low sound of the stereo, dulling the sound of the pulse racing in my ears. And this song?our song?trickling from the speakers.

I remember how our bodies collided in the dark. How we kissed and laughed. The way she slowly peeled her dress off her body moments before she frantically clawed at my tux. The way our limbs tangled sticky with sweat, and how breathlesswe were. Both of us losing something precious yet gaining something even greater as we shared our firsts.

I swallow, my gaze raking over her golden curls, the soft smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, her long, graceful neck, and the lush slope of her chest. There was a time I knew every inch of her, memorized all her curves like a road map. The way she tastes. The breathy sounds she makes in bed. The way her skin flushes in the dark from my touch.

“It was the night we . . .” She trails off, leaving the words unsaid.

A smirk forms at the corners of my mouth when I meet her eyes once more to find her watching me. She bites her lip, blushing as the darks of her eyes widen, and my smile broadens.

For reasons I can’t fully explain, the knowledge that I still affect her sparks a quiet satisfaction deep in my chest. And for just a moment, I stop holding it all back and I allow the flood of old feelings rush in, heavy and suffocating, like a weighted blanket made of everything I once felt for her.

“It was a good night,” she continues after a moment, and I nod, because despite all the bad that came after, I can’t disagree.

With a shaky breath, she reaches out to my hand, hesitant as she brushes her fingers over mine. The touch, though subtle, sends a tremor racing through me, and it’s like the past two and a half years never happened. For a heartbeat, it’s as if nothing’s changed and we’ve gone back in time to before everything fell apart. To a time when I wanted her more than life itself. Whenwewere all that mattered.

She takes a step closer, until we’re so close I could dip my head, claim her lips with mine, and remember exactly how she tastes.

All at once it’s too close, yet not close enough. And though a tiny voice in the back of my head tells me I should step away, I plant my feet as if growing roots, lost in her voice, her accentas she whispers, “You know what else I remember about that night?”

My heart pounds a violent rhythm, and I answer on the next breath. “What?”

“How you said you loved me.” Her eyes burn into mine, swimming with emotions I can’t begin to sort through because there are too many to decipher. “How I was never Avery Astor with you, but just plain Avery. The way you made me feel seen. Like our love could conquer anything. Like nothing could ever get in the way of us.”

Her words are a punch to the gut.

I flinch and glance away.

Because she’s right. I never gave a fuck about whether she was an Astor. It was always the least interesting thing about her. But she’s wrong about one thing. Something did get in the way of us.Her.

And that’s the problem. Even after everything, after all her claims about still loving me and wanting me back, she still won’t tell me why she did it. She still has secrets.

Nothing has changed.

Our song fades out, and the rest of the world comes rushing back into focus as the memories fade and reality comes crashing back in.

“Yeah, well, we were young and foolish,” I say, taking a step away from her and putting as much distance between us as I can manage. My gaze flickers to the exit and I turn, saying over my shoulder, “And I’m not a boy anymore.”

Chapter 14

DAMON

Isprawl across one of the plush, theater-style seats in the back of the film room with my teammates. The room is cool and dark, save for the neon glow of the film from Sunday’s game flickering over the giant screen.

The faint smell of stale popcorn lingers in the air as Jace settles in beside me, chucking a piece to Chris when Coach turns his back, fist-pumping the air when he catches it in his mouth like a guppy.

I snort and shake my head as Coach pauses the film on a wide shot of a play late in the first quarter. “What in the hell is this?” He jabs a finger at the image frozen on the screen, his voice hard as steel beneath the soft buzzing of the projector.

I grimace at the jumbled mass of bodies and the unmistakable sight of my jersey—blue with an orange 26—scrambling behindthem with my arm cocked back, the ball leaving my grip in a sloppy pass.

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