Block Shot (Hoops #2)(82)

“Jared, you don’t have to—”

“People who get this human thing right. People who are actually kind. Actually have a conscience. Actually feel guilt when they hurt other people.”

I’m on dangerous ground here because it’s her guilt that keeps her across the hall instead of sleeping in my bed tonight, but this is more important than me getting laid. Which is saying something since few things take precedence over me getting laid most of the time.

“I’ve had beauty queens, porn stars, waitresses, strippers, lawyers,” I list.

“Okay, Jared, I get the picture,” she mutters, lips pressed together suppressing a laugh.

“Senators, ambassadors, stewardesses,” I say. “Excuse me, flight attendants. I even had a princess, though I’m not allowed to talk about that.”

“Oh my God.” She rolls her eyes, but that beautiful mouth is no longer stiff, instead pliant and softened into a smile.

“And some were pretty, some were smart, some were funny. Some probably had square asses. I can’t even remember now.” I frame her face and hold her eyes with a look that goes serious so she’ll know I mean it. “But none of them were you. There’s only ever been one Banner, and her . . . I’ve never been able to forget.”

Her smile falls away and she swallows hard.

“This blogger bitch person has no idea who you are.” I caress the silky skin covering one high cheekbone. “She has no idea that you’ve always been the girl I liked most, and I don’t even like people.”

We stare at each other. I’m afraid to blink and shatter this unflinching moment. Everything I’ve laid out says so much about how I feel about her. I don’t feel for women. I fuck them. I date them. I don’t feel for them, not what I feel for Banner, and now she knows.

“I, um . . . Thank you.” She clears her throat and pushes a swathe of hair back over her shoulder. “You probably want to get changed, right? To shower?”

Disappointment drains some of my fervor.

“Uh, yeah. Right.” I drop my hands from her face and shove them into the pants of my suit. “And you probably want to shower.”

“Yeah.” She runs a palm over her arm. “Sunscreen is kind of sticky.”

“Great.” I start toward the stairs, and she joins me. “So we’ll both shower and then maybe scrounge up something to eat?”

“The kitchen is fully stocked.” She shoots me an almost shy look on the landing at the top of the stairs. “Fridge and pantry loaded.”

“Great.” I rock on my heels for a few seconds of awkward silence. “Well, we can come up with something for dinner and maybe eat out tomorrow?”

“Sounds great.”

“Great,” I say again and turn toward my bedroom. She turns to hers. “Have a good shower.”

Have a good shower?

That’s your parting shot, Foster? I ask myself once I’m under the stinging spray of the shower in my bathroom. How things got so awkward there at the end, I have no idea, but I was fumbling and stumbling like some college boy. No, in college I had more game than that. This was middle school level awkward.

Keep the cards close to your chest.

That’s Negotiation 101, but what did I do? Laid them all out on the table—and too soon. Banner’s relationship just ended in an epically bad way because I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants, per usual. She’ll be dealing with the fall out, personally and professionally, for weeks, months. She needs time, but what do I keep doing? I keep pushing. I’ve always prided myself on knowing when to press and when to hang back, to let things come to me, but I don’t have that with Banner. When she doesn’t come to me, I chase her. When she needs space, I crowd her. I’ve always known how to get what I needed from women, and I’m realizing now it was because I needed so little. Mutual physical satisfaction. This is different, much more complex than simply getting in Banner’s pants.

I rest my head against the wall and fist my painfully erect cock.

Though getting in Banner’s pants . . . I wouldn’t turn it down right about now. I need more than that, though. And it’s disconcerting because I’ve never needed more before.

I walk out of the shower, dry off. I’m pulling on briefs when the air changes in the room. The leftover steam shifts with the opening of my bathroom door. I glance up and couldn’t be more shocked to see Banner standing there, wearing a white fluffy robe like the one hanging on the back of my door. Damp hair falls past her shoulders. I don’t speak. I don’t move toward her. I don’t do anything but stare because I’ve screwed things up enough doing things. I wanted Banner to come to me.

The next move is hers to make.





28





Banner





“I don't need to be so full of myself

that I feel I am without flaw.

I can feel beautiful and imperfect at the same time.

I have a healthy relationship with my aesthetic insecurities."





- -Lupita Nyong’o, Oscar-Winning Actress





Why are you here?

The perfectly reasonable question ricochets inside my head, a lonely echo bouncing around.

I’m just a girl standing in front of a boy asking him to . . . what do I want from Jared? We’re well past just liking each other, but not ready for the l-word. We’ve already bumped uglies—twice. I’m the one who insisted on my own room. So what exactly am I here asking him to do?