Hail Mary: An Enemies-to-Lovers Roommate Sports Romance(82)

So, I kept my guard up, kept my eyes on Mary to make sure she was safe.

And at the end of every night, no matter how late it was, Mary climbed into my bed.

God, it was easy to get lost in that girl.

Whenever we were together, everything else slipped away. I was completely wrapped up in her smile, her laugh, her tired eyes, her wandering hands, her lush lips and soft, inviting body that I was sure I could never tire of — no matter how many times I had her. And I was insatiable. Early in the morning before practice, in the middle of the day any chance I could rush off campus, late at night when she came home from the shop — whenever I could take her, I did.

It was never enough.

On the Sunday after our win over the Rhode Island Trojans, we both had the day off for the first time in a month. After we spent the morning waking up slowly together and the afternoon having brunch and playing games with the roommates, I gave her instructions to get dressed and be ready to go on a date by six.

“A date?” she asked, one brow arching as she wrapped her arms around my waist. “Where are we going?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” I said with a swat against her ass.

She yelped, biting her lip against a smile before she pressed up on her toes and kissed me. “How dressy should I get?”

“Wear what you would wear on a date in high school.”

That made her blink in confusion. “Uh… I never went on a date in high school.”

“Then I guess the options are endless.”

It took me all of twenty minutes to get ready — a shower, shave, deodorant, and pulling on my favorite pair of joggers along with an old hoodie with our high school football team’s logo on it.

It took Mary two hours.

I didn’t rush her, just relaxed on the bed with Palico and watched as she showered and dried her hair — not before putting more products in it than I owned, though. She listened to Tame Impala as she moisturized her skin and did her makeup, dancing and singing in-between applications. Then, I didn’t even try to hide my smile as I watched her try on ten different outfits before finally settling on one. She’d gone through everything from a tight dress and leather jacket to jeans and a bodysuit, but she’d landed on my favorite of them all — leggings, an oversized sweater, and boots.

“You look perfect,” I told her, letting my hands float down to rest on her hips. It should have been a crime, the way those leggings hugged her ass, and she chuckled and shoved me away the longer I stared and appreciated the view.

“I’m trying to match your vibe,” she said, tugging on the strings of my hoodie. “Since I have no idea where we’re going.”

“One more thing,” I said, and then I ducked into my closet and pulled out my letterman jacket, draping it over her shoulders.

She rolled her eyes, but it didn’t stop her cheeks from flushing a beautiful shade of pink, or her hands from clutching it to her and making sure it didn’t fall off. She pulled it snug around her shoulders, and my chest tightened almost painfully as I stared at her, wondering if it could have been like this all those years ago if I hadn’t had my head so far up my ass.

I swallowed, snatching the car keys off my desk. “Ready?”

Only Kyle and I had cars, Braden and Blake usually hitching a ride with one of us or catching the train to campus. Mary had her car parked across the street. We hopped into mine — a gift from my dad when I graduated high school — and Mary kicked her shoes off as soon as we were buckled in and on the road. Her feet were on my dash in the next moment, tapping along to the beat of No Me Quieras Tanto by José Luis Rodríguez — one of my mom’s favorite songs.

I couldn’t swallow down the knot in my throat, not as I smiled at her or slid my palm to rest between her thighs. Just the sight of her bopping along to a song I’d heard my entire childhood had me imagining the first time she’d meet my mom. I knew Mom would love her, knew they’d get along right off the bat and probably be ganging up on me within an hour. I could picture it all — them sitting together at my games, Mom teaching Mary how to make gazpacho at Christmas — I could even see Dad proudly showing her all his trophies and awards in his basement, happy to explain all the rules of football to her if she was ever confused while watching me play.

I held tight to her the entire drive, one hand on the wheel and the other on her, my thumb grazing lazily over her thigh. We were both quiet, content to listen to the music and just be together, although I didn’t miss how Mary grew more and more confused with every turn.

When I pulled into our high school’s parking lot — one that had been unlocked just for me by special request to my old coach who I still had a good relationship with — she laughed.

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” she said, looking at the old brick building and then back at me.

I just smiled and cut the engine, rounding to open her door before holding her hand tight in mine and walking us toward the football field.

So many memories flooded back to me as soon as I opened the gate that led to the field. When my sneakers touched the grass and the distinct smell of fall drifted up to my nose on a breeze, I closed my eyes and inhaled it, feeling like I was seventeen again. Sometimes I missed it, that dramatic and yet simple time in life. My biggest worry was the game on Friday nights. I was looking forward to college, knowing I still had years and years left of playing ball.