Page 15 of Second Quarter Comeback
Killion:Then, next time ask. Use your words and you shall receive.
Camille:So if I want to go all the way?
Killion:Ah, will you ask me to fuck you, baby? I can’t wait to see if you dare.
Camille: I’m late for my class. Talk to you later?
Killion:Text me when you’re free. Miss you, baby.
Camille: Miss you too.
Chapter Nine
Camille
When Love’s on the Line
I’m standing outside the Crawford family house, my heart doing this ridiculous fluttery thing it shouldn’t be doing. For a moment, I hesitate. It’s not that I don’t want to see him—I do. But something about this feels . . . different. A week ago, hewas just Killion, the guy I met at a party. Now, he’s Killion Crawford, first pick in the draft, future star of the New York Gladiators. No pressure or anything.
I’m still working up the nerve to knock when the door swings open.
And there he is, hands shoved into his pockets, that familiar grin on his face—the one that says he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on me.
“Did you miss me?” he asks, his voice warm against the cool night air.
Before I can think of a sarcastic response, he closes the distance between us and kisses me. Hard.
Sucking the breath out of me while giving me his. One of my hands grip his hoodie for balance because apparently, I’ve forgotten how to stand. His lips are demanding but somehow still soft, like he’s trying to show me just how much I missed him before I even realized it myself.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes. “Well, hello to you, too.”
“Hi,” he says sheepishly.
“You’re going to New York,” I say, taking a shaky breath. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close. “Congratulations. First pick, huh? I heard that’s kind of a big deal.”
“It’s . . . you know, cool,” he says, shrugging like it’s nothing. Like it’s not everything.
I step back, giving him a once-over. He looks thesame—messy dark hair, that worn sweatshirt that I’m 90% sure he’s had since high school, the guy who pulled me out of a loud party and took me to a tiny diner for pie and fries. But there’s something in his eyes now, something quieter, more thoughtful.
“You’re not freaking out?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Not yet,” he says with a small grin, holding the door open for me.
The smell of tomato sauce and cheese hits me as soon as I step inside. It’s comforting in the way only a family home can be.
“Do you want anything?” he asks, heading for the kitchen. “I ordered us half meat lovers, half just cheese. Got water or juice if you’re thirsty.”
“Water’s fine,” I say, trailing after him.
He pours two glasses and hands me one, leaning against the counter like this is just another night.
“So,” I say, taking a sip, “how does it feel? Being the guy everyone’s talking about?”
He shrugs again, but his grin falters just a little. “Weird. Good weird, I guess.”
I lean against the counter across from him, studying his face. “You’re underselling this, Crawford. First pick? Future star? This is your moment.”
“Yeah,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a lot, you know? Everyone’s expecting me to—” He stops himself, shaking his head.
