Page 83 of Game On
Ella
It’s the day before Whitland’s short Thanksgiving break and I’ve finally made up my mind about what I want. Coach Morgan will allow Hudson to join our team provided he meets all the other academic requirements.
He does, of course. He’s been on the football team for the past three and a half years. He’s a star student who’s kept a solid GPA despite all his extracurriculars. And he’s committed to finishing the year strong.
Morgan was oddly impressed with Hudson’s skills, in both stunting and tumbling. She didn’t require much convincing, but I suppose it makes sense. We needed someone to step in for the pyramid now that Ash is out of the running, anyway. Even if he’s fully healed come April, he wouldn’t be able to practice with us over the next few months.
I figured it would be more of a long shot than it was, Hudson joining us. Some sort of unprecedented exception to the rule—to allow a football player to try out for the squadthree months into his senior year. But these kinds of things happen more often than one would assume.
Last-minute additions to the team. Well-known athletes getting a boost with admissions. In my case, study-abroad students competing in a singular season before heading back home.
The world isn’t as fair as they teach us in primary school, and that makes me feel even guiltier about Ash. He’s worked harder than anyone to be a part of this team, and now he’s being replaced by Hudson, who’s only been practicing with us for a few weeks.
But that’s life, right?
Which is why I’ve decided to continue with my and Hudson’s trysts for the time being. I think we can continue to compartmentalize things, and I enjoy our time together too much to quit now.
He has this pull, a magnetic force that seems to yank me towards him. I’m so painfully aware of him at every practice session, every chance meeting, every time we’re in the same room together. It’s baffling and intoxicating all at once, and not something I’m willing to give up.
I’ve gone back and forth about this in my head over and over again. The pros, the cons, the potential pitfalls—yet here I am, standing at his front door, ready to plunge forward.
Hudson comes to greet me, looking casually disheveled in his usual jeans and simple white T-shirt. His dark hair is slightly mussed, as though he’s just woken up, andthose gray eyes spark with confusion at my unexpected arrival.
It’s quite a heavenly sight.
“Good morning,” he says, surprise written all over his face. His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a quick swallow, and a rush of heat sweeps through me. But I hold my ground and force myself to give a casual smile.
“Just thought I’d stop by,” I say. “Give you that talk I promised.”
“Ah.” Recognition flickers in his eyes, quickly replaced by a guarded curiosity. “Sure. Come in.”
We make our way into his kitchen, and he pours me a cup of coffee. He leans against the countertop as I sip, crossing his arms over that muscular chest, watching me.
“Alright,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s see the list, then.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “The list?”
“Your pro/con list.”
“I didn’t—I mean, it was more of a mental list.”
“Hmm.” His lips twitch into an amused half-smile. “So, what’s it gonna be, Davies? How do I measure up?”
I set my cup down on the counter. Despite his casual demeanor, there’s a tension in his pose that tells me he’s anything but relaxed. I meet his gaze head-on.
“I’ll continue,” I say. “Continue with … us. Whatever it is we’re doing, so long as we agree to three things first.”
Tension drains from his shoulders and he smiles fully now. “Yeah?”
I give him a firm nod. “Yes. And before you sayanything”—I quickly hold up a finger, stopping him—“the things we need to agree on are important, and I’ve thought about them a lot.”
His smile doesn’t falter. In fact, now it carries a hint of that familiar mischievous charm. The cocky confidence that first drew me to him. “Alright,” he says with a raised eyebrow. “I’m listening.”
First,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, mimicking his stance from earlier, “we need to be clear about what this is. I’m not ready for another relationship, Hudson. I just got out of one a few months ago. And I know you’re not looking for one, either. Plus, I’ll be leaving for England at the end of the school year.” I gesture vaguely in his direction, my gaze dropping to the scuffed hardwood floor between us. “Whatever we are, it will continue to be casual. No strings, like you said. As soon as it starts feeling like more than that, we’ve got to end it.”
A moment of silence. The rapid ticking of the old-fashioned kitchen clock.
“Second,” I continue, lifting my gaze back to his. “We should still try and keep things behind closed doors. It doesn’t matter that we’re strictly professional on the field, or that our coaches are currently none the wiser. No more kissing in the middle of parties, no canoodling on the mat. That gives us an easy boundary.”
