is. Someone will get hurt.
I draw back, meeting his hungry gaze and reluctantly pulling my desperate lips off of his. “We probably…shouldn’t…”
To my surprise, he smiles a little, running his thumb along my flushed cheek and smiling at me. “I know. We’re not going to.”
“What? You do?”
He nods and rolls off of me, lying next to me on the couch. “It’s no secret that I like you. And now, apparently, it’s no secret that I’m not a heartless playboy. But I know who you are, just like you know who I am.”
I furrow my brows in confusion and turn onto my side, looking at him. “What do you mean?”
“Ellie, come on.” He laughs a little and runs a hand through his hair. “You made it pretty clear that you’re not exactly interested in anything even remotely serious. As soon as the baby’s born, you want to figure out a way to continue your crazy world-traveling international job.”
“Well…figure out a modified way,” I protest, feeling a weight settle into my gut.
He lifts a shoulder. “Sure. And I respect that completely.” He puffs out a breath and stares straight at the ceiling.
“It’s probably better not to get any more involved than we already are,” I say softly, trying to convince myself more than anyone else.
“Yeah. It probably is. Because…” He rolls onto his side and looks at me. “To be honest, Vice, I’m kinda sorta into you.”
Shock and surprise swirl through my head and twist in my chest. “Matt…we had a hookup. An accidental pregnancy. If you have feelings for me…that’s probably pretty heavily influenced by the fact that I’m carrying your child.”
He shrugs and turns his gaze back to the ceiling. “Maybe. But either way, you’re gonna be hopping on private jets again in less than a year, so it doesn’t really matter.”
I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach.
“It also doesn’t change how much I want to kiss you every time I look at you.”
That comment eases a little of the sadness, and I fight a soft smile. “Like we said before, none of this really makes any sense.”
He holds up an imaginary glass. “Cheers. To figuring this hot fucking mess out together.”
I clink his fake glass with my fake glass and turn my head to look at him, thoughts racing through my brain.
Having an unplanned baby with a virtual stranger has already thrown the world’s largest monkey wrench into my life. But…he’s into me? Like, in a relationship kind of way?
He can’t really have feelings for me, right? Like, real actual feelings that go beyond just wanting to rip each other’s clothes off. Right? And why do I have the nagging sensation that those feelings are starting to be reciprocated?
I was right about one thing. Someone could definitely get hurt.
Eleven
Matt
“Yo, Junior!” Chase calls from the sideline while I’m running through my passing drills.
The Riders quarterback coach nods at me and gestures in Chase’s direction. “Go ahead, you’re about done for the day anyway.”
I turn to face Chase and shield my eyes from the blazing sun. “What’s up?”
He gets up and jogs over, clearly itching to be a part of normal practice and hating that shoulder injury more and more every day. “Something’s off,” he says, walking next to me and snatching the football out of my hand.
“Fuck are you talking about, Kennedy?” I grab the ball back and shoot him a look.
“You. Your arm. Your throws.” He slowly and gently mimics a throwing motion. “It looks…off.”
I roll my eyes and laugh softly. “All right, King of All Quarterbacks. You know, one of these days you’re going to have to actually accept the fact that I’m QB1 for the rest of the season.”
He shoves me lightly. “Over my dead body.”
I shake out my hair and wipe a few drops of sweat from my forehead. “Don’t you want the Riders to win?”
“Of fucking course I do, dumbass. The hell kind of question is that?”
“Then why are you trying to get in my head and screw with me?”
He levels his gaze with mine, clenching his jaw. “I’m not. I’m telling you, something was a little off with your throw today. And it just takes a little bit to be off, and then boom. Playoffs are done, Super Bowl chance is ruined, everyone blames you…”
“All right.” I hold up a hand. “I get it. My throw felt…fine.” I shrug. “I think.”
“Not your throw.” He taps his temple with his index finger. “It’s mental. This whole damn game is mental, and I can tell