Page 30 of Presley's Christmas Catch
So I’m not sure what it is about sitting next to Presley, quietly talking about a dozen different things these last few minutes, that makes the last remnants of that storm inside me die down completely. There’s something different about her friendship. I know Jett and Lincoln through football, and to a certain extent that’s why Tim is in my life too. So maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s that she’s in a sphere outside of football, and she’s not my mom.
Whatever it is, I’m grateful for it and glad I’m going to have it all the time once I move to LA.
CHAPTER 12
PRESLEY
I don’t know how I’m able to make coherent conversation. Ever since Brock hugged me when he thought I was upset over Aunt Shannon not telling me about how she got the signature, Mom’s words about how we can’t stay friends forever are running through my head on repeat.
Friendships like this don’t last forever.
One of you is going to meet someone.
I don’t know what the single scene is like in Denver, but Brock is a pro-football player. He probably had a ton of opportunities to date beautiful, smart women. Maybe even someone he could introduce TOK to and they might love it.
I can’t help thinking those opportunities will double now that he’s in LA.
That makes this feel like now or never.
Besides with him moving to LA, shifting this relationship to something more makes sense. The timing is right.
And the fact that Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” starts playing is like a sign.
Brock is bent over his latest cookie, carefully drawing a red and green football on it. The decorating tools are dwarfed by his large hands, and it’s a funny picture. I grab my phone to snapone, and he turns to smile at me, so I take another one before moving to put my phone away.
“Wait a second,” he says, reaching for it. “Selfie of us together.”
I hand it over, and he uses his extra-long arms to hold out the phone. I lean into him, and since he can hold the phone out so far, he captures both of us, plus the cookies in front of us in the frame. I stare at the picture when I take my phone back from him, warmth filling me.
Maybe this picture will tell a story.This is the night I told Brock how I felt about him. The rest is history.
But how exactly do I bring this up? Straightforward seems like the best bet. Spit it out. We’ve always been honest with each other, so no reason to treat this differently. “Brock,” I say tentatively, putting my phone next to me on the counter in case we want some cute photos for after. “I like you.”
He turns to me and grins, making my heart flip over. This is a good sign. “Pres,” he says. “I like you too.”
I’m about to lean forward and seal this surprisingly easy moment with a kiss, but then I stop. That was … too playful. He’s gone right back to his decorating, and with a sinking feeling, I realize he thinks I mean that in a friendly way. Inwardly, I groan.
I put a hand on his arm to pull his attention back to me. “No. I mean…” I swallow. I don’t know how to say this. It’s going to come out like we’re in middle school. Maybe I should frost a cookie with a heart on it and drag him under the mistletoe.
Mistletoe.
If I kiss him, he’ll for sure get the point.
So I stand up. I have to if I’m going to reach his lips, and also that’s the easiest way to get closer to him. “Brock?” I say to get his attention. He looks up, and I lean in and press my lips to his, just like that.
His lips are soft and, for a moment, they melt into mine. I grip the sleeve of his shirt. I lean in closer and then?—
He pulls back, making me stumble into him. He puts both hands on my arms to straighten me, but also hold me at arm’s length.
“Presley,” he says. His lips are in a firm line, and when I realize that I’m staring at them, I snap my gaze up to his face. His eyes are wide, and he scoots me another inch away from him.
That’s not a good sign.
“I didn’t know…” He takes a deep breath. “I mean, when I said I liked you, I thought…”
My cheeks burn. I break out of his grip and take a few steps back, avoiding his gaze as I start moving the cookies I’ve decorated into a box to take them to work tomorrow. I shouldn’t be tempting the players with treats this full of sugar, but hey, it’s Christmas. Basically.
“No. I know you didn’t mean … that’s why … but…” Oh my gosh, there is no good way to have this conversation.
