“Levi is the first guy you got in a fight with, right?”
I nod, and she props one elbow on the table to rest her cheek in her palm.
“So what about Levi makes you mad?”
I can’t. I couldn’t explain it to Coach, and I won’t explain it to her.
“I’m not talking about this, Dylan.”
“You asked me how to fix it. How am I supposed to help if you won’t let me?”
“I don’t actually expect you to help—”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not your charity case.”
She stands and crosses toward me, and my kitchen feels too damn small with her this close. All I can see are all the surfaces I want to press her against to end this conversation.
She lays a soft hand on my forearm, and her touch burns.
“You’re not a charity case.”
I thought the night that we met that she was one of those “good girls” looking to take a bad boy and pretty him up to take home to Mom. I’ve had my fair share of those that I have gladly kicked to the curb. I’m not about to let someone else change and manipulate me to make me into something that makes them happy. Then I thought she was a nice girl looking to get a little wild, maybe freak her parents out.
But looking into her eyes, I don’t think that’s her anymore. She wants to help me for my sake, not for her own. I am her charity case, no matter what she says. But I’m not so sure I mind that.
“Maybe I want to be your charity case. Would you do that? If I asked?”
Her eyes widen. “Do what exactly?”
I drag my hands through my hair and pace away from her. “I don’t f**king know. Fix me.” She makes a noise almost like laughter, and I cross back to her and grip her shoulders. She swallows, and her eyes are serious on me now. “It sounds stupid, I know. But I’m so close to losing it all, Dylan. This life I have now . . . it’s everything to me. And Coach is ready to cut me if I don’t completely clean up my act. I’ve been doing it my way, and I’m failing. So I think I need to try something different.”
Maybe it’s not enough anymore to pretend that I belong here. I have to change.
“I’m just not sure what you’re asking of me, Silas.”
Goddamn it. Neither am I.
“You help people. That’s what you do. That’s what I’m asking for. I need to be better . . . be good. For the team. For me. I just need to get my shit together.”
“Just the fighting? Is that what you’re talking about?”
“All of it. The fighting. The partying. Booze. Pot.”
“Bad-boy rehab?” She still looks skeptical.
“I’m supposed to be a leader, Dylan. I’m supposed to make this team stronger, but right now I’m its biggest weakness.”
And God, I must look so f**king pitiful, because she bites her lip, her big eyes soft and sorry. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll help.”
I want to f**king kiss her. Pull that bottom lip between my teeth, instead of hers. But I settle for pulling her against me and squeezing tight.
She makes a little squeak, and it takes her several long seconds before she rests her hands lightly against my bare chest.
“You have to actually listen to me, though.”
It’s distracting, feeling her breath against my skin, but I nod and say, “I will.”
“And you have to talk to me. Answer my questions. I can’t get to the root of your actions unless I know what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling.”
I stiffen. I know she’s right, but that doesn’t mean I relish the idea of talking about my shit . . . especially not with her.
When I don’t reply, she tries to pull back, but I keep my arms locked around her waist. So with her stomach still tight against mine, she leans back her shoulders and looks at me.
“If you want my help, that’s the price.”
I ask, “What if we worked out a trade? Like the other night.”
Pink floods her cheeks, and her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “You want me to kiss you to get answers to my questions?”
“I was thinking more a question for a question, but I’m fine with your idea.”
She shakes her head quickly. “No, question for a question sounds good to me.”
I must be twisted because the more she tries to pull away, the more I want to kiss her. Maybe there’s something to that whole hard-to-get thing after all.
“First question,” I say. “What are you afraid of?”
“What do you mean? Like spiders? Heights?”
I smile. “No. I mean what are you afraid of with me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I trail my fingers along the smooth skin of her jaw and cup her cheek. “You want me. I know you do. But every time you get too close, you run. So what about me scares you so bad?”
She exhales, and her breath fans over my mouth, teasing me.
“It’s not you. Not really.”
“It’s not you, it’s me? That’s what you’re going with?”
“I should have said it’s not completely you. You’re intimidating, definitely. But it’s more that . . . I don’t know what I want.”
I use my other arm still around her waist to tug her body tighter against mine. “Liar. If the number of times you’ve looked at my mouth in the last minute is any indication, you know exactly what you want.”
“I can’t trust that. Myself. Have you ever woken up one day and realized that you’re not who you thought you were? That you have no idea who you really are? Because I have. And it’s awful. To not be able to trust your own mind. And I can’t think about what I want because I’m too busy trying to find the rug that was pulled out from beneath my feet.”
“Sounds to me like you’re thinking too much.”
“I have to think. Otherwise, how can I—”
“No, you don’t, babe. I might not know much, but I know the things that matter, the things you love . . . you don’t have to think about that. You just know.” Like I know that I’d do whatever it takes to stay on the team. Because it’s what I want . . . more than I want to party and have a good time, more than anything. “Fact is, knowing what you want and knowing who you are . . . those are two separate things. One is complicated. The other isn’t. You’re trying to take something simple and make it hard, and there are enough hard things in life without you adding more for yourself.”