Quarterback Sneak (Red Zone Rivals #3)(40)

“Can I say something mushy without you punching me?” Uncle Kevin asked as he slid the paring knife along the outside of a moon he’d carved into the pumpkin, giving it depth.

“No promises.”

He chuckled, eyes flashing up to me before he focused on the pumpkin again. “Your dad would be really proud of you, for how you’ve handled all this.”

I froze, heart skipping a beat before it picked up pace in my chest.

“It’s not easy, to be injured and have to support your team as a leader all the while working through your own complex emotions with not playing. It’s a testament to your maturity, Holden, and he would have been proud.” Uncle Kev swallowed, his eyes meeting mine. “I’m proud.”

My throat was tight as I nodded, unable to speak.

Joanne reached a pumpkin-covered hand up to my cheek, smearing the orange goop over my skin with a gurgling little laugh.

It broke the tension of the moment, and my uncles chuckled as I wiped my finger over the mess and tapped her nose with it.

It was only a few minutes, but it was the longest I’d gone without thinking of Julep.

Later that night when I got back to the Pit, I was thankful to find it empty. We always had an early practice on the Friday before a game so we could rest up, but I knew since bus time wasn’t until two tomorrow afternoon, a lot of the team was probably out, taking advantage of the rare time when we had an early night and a late report.

The Pit was almost eerie when it was empty, too quiet for comfort. But I savored it as a blessing, climbing the stairs to my bedroom to shower and change before I made my way back downstairs.

I was too wired to sleep, too distracted to try to study, so I flopped down on the couch and scrolled Netflix, trying to find something that would occupy my mind. I scrolled for about thirty minutes before I huffed and picked the first action movie I saw, hoping some guns and gore would be the cure.

As time passed, I slumped more and more into the couch, increasingly annoyed with how little the movie did to ease my suffering. I kept picking up my phone and pulling up Julep’s number, only to stare at our last few texts from weeks ago, write out a text, delete it, and close my phone again.

It was almost eleven when I decided I might as well just go upstairs and lie in the dark until I fell asleep. I stood, cracking my back with a twist left and right. Turning off the TV first, I went through the house and made sure doors were locked and windows were closed, knowing when the other guys came back drunk, they wouldn’t think to do it.

I reached up for the blinds of the large bay window that faced the street, the one that would be a perfect reading nook if we weren’t fucking animals. As it was, the beat-up cushion usually housed our dirty gym bags and cleats, an easy place to drop things when we came in the front door.

Before I could pull the blinds down, my eyes caught on the house across the street.

On Julep.

The only light on in the house was the living room one, and it was soft, warm, like the gentle glow of a lamp. I didn’t see Mary’s car in the driveway, so it didn’t surprise me when Julep came into view of the window a moment later, her hands hanging on her hips as she stared up at the pole in the middle of their living room like she was about to battle it.

With the lights out in our house, it made her even more clear, the dim silhouette of her body so crisp I could note the sheen of sweat lining her abdomen. I couldn’t make out the colors of any of the clothing she wore, only that there wasn’t much of it — just a high-rise thong that hugged the curve of her hips and a simple bra. It didn’t even look like a sports bra, but rather one she’d been wearing all day, as if she’d just walked in the door and stripped out of her clothes to immediately reach for the pole.

Look away, you perverted bastard.

I willed myself to close the blinds like I’d planned to, begged myself to leave her alone, to give her privacy, to remember that this was just fucking torture considering that I’d never touch her again.

But the masochistic part of me kept me rooted in place, heart thumping hard as I watched her launch herself onto the chrome.

It was mesmerizing, how easy she made it look as she pulled herself parallel to the pole before flipping upside down, her legs splaying out in a straddle. She held that shape for a moment before hooking one of her legs, and then her hands were free, and her silhouette hung from the pole in a blur of long legs and flowing hair.

She was wearing heels this time.

I marked the outline of them, how they lengthened her already-lean legs. I immediately thought of her that night at the party, how she’d worn heels then, how that tiny sliver of ankle had made me mad with the need to touch her.

I felt that tripled now.

I was in a trance as she flowed, and when she came back down to the floor, landing smoothly on her knees, she arched, rolling her body against the pole before whipping her hair. That sight nearly unraveled me. I thought I’d shred into nothing watching her on her knees, imagining what it would be like to be in place of the pole, to see her looking up at me with her legs spread wide.

I blinked, reaching up for the blinds again.

Close them. Shut this down now.

But I couldn’t.

And that’s when her head popped up, and she looked right at me.

I didn’t think she could see me at first, with all the lights in our house being out. Sure, the streetlights were on, but was it enough for her to see me standing here?