The Perfect First (Fulton U, #1)(58)

My fingers tightened around the handle of the knife. “Do you think I should go to Harvard?” I let it out in one breath, keeping my voice low.

The spoon she’d been stirring the pot of gravy with rattled against the edge. “You’re thinking of staying in Philadelphia?” She shot a glance over her shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to make a decision.”

“Does your father know?”

I snorted and peered over at her.

“Of course not.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, you know your own mind better than anyone else.” Leaning in, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me like it might be her last chance. I held on to her tightly, resting my head on her shoulder.

Mom poured wine into the glasses in front of her.

The doorbell rang and my head shot up right alongside Mom’s. My phone, which was in my pocket, hadn’t buzzed since I’d come down. I sent up a silent prayer. Please tell me Reece got my message. Maybe this was someone whose car had broken down on their way to their own warm family Thanksgiving. Just please not Reece.





22





Reece





Standing on her doorstep, I rang the bell. The guys had thought I was crazy when I’d told them where I was going, Reece Michaels pulling a Meet the Parents without a gun to his head, but they hadn’t had to look into her eyes when she found out I hadn’t told her we’d be only a few miles apart today. It was a barb straight to the heart. I’d have to suck up my fears about not measuring up and do this for her.

On the bus ride into the city, I felt like I should have been cramming for a big exam. What was I supposed to say to the parents of a genius like Seph? How many seconds would it take for them to realize she was way out of my league?

My level of concentration during the game had been absolute shit, and Coach’s growl had shot straight across the field, his face a heart attack-inducing crimson as he’d stood with his hands on his hips.

I’d dropped my head and jogged off the field.

He’d stalked right over to me and grabbed me by my facemask. Shaking the white bars in front of my face, he’d thunked the top of my helmet. The vibrations had gone straight through my skull.

“What in the hell are you doing out there?” His voice had been low and level.

“Sorry, Coach.” I’d dropped the ball—again. Unsnapping the chin strap of my helmet, I’d tugged it off my head. The warm sweat warred with the freezing air and they’d fought it out on the tips of my ears.

“Do you know how many scouts are here watching you tonight and you pull something like that?” He’d jabbed his finger out toward the field where I’d lost all ability to perform.

“A lot.”

“You’re damn right it’s a lot. Are you sick or something?” Concern had shone in his eyes.

Standing out in the middle of the field with the eyes of thousands of screaming fans and rival fans on me, scouts taking notes about my every move, I hadn’t been fazed. However, knowing I’d be sitting in Seph’s family’s house in less than a couple of hours meant the spikes of anxiety hadn’t stopped.

I’d tugged at the neck of my jersey, shifting my pads on my shoulders, the newly exposed skin tightening in the freezing weather. I couldn’t wait for the pros where the sidelines were dotted with heat cannons to keep players from freezing their balls off in the winter.

It had been two days since I’d seen Seph. How had she so quickly become someone I looked forward to seeing almost every day? We’d fallen into a routine of almost daily meet-ups without even realizing it. I wiped my hands on the legs of my pants and bounced in the cold Boston air. Tiny flurries drifted down from the sky.

I’d have to be on my best behavior at her house, but I’d still get to see her, and that was good enough to tide me over until Sunday when her flight landed.

The second the post-game press conference had finished, I’d bolted with my button-down, sweater, and ironed pants. My black shoes were shined and I’d jammed my hands into the pockets of my slacks, waiting for the door to open.

All the other doors on the street were red, blue, and some even yellow. Decorative wreaths made of fall leaves or other seasonal decorations dotted each one, their shutters painted to match, or sometimes covered in designs. Seph’s house had black slatted shutters, no flower boxes or wreath.

Inside my pocket, I wrapped my fingers around the gift I’d gotten her. It wasn’t Christmas yet, but there didn’t have to be a reason to get someone something special. She deserved it, and she needed it. There were only so many ways I could tell her she wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever met. She needed to believe that.

The doorknob turned and Seph’s head popped out. Her eyes widened and she glanced over her shoulder.

The happiness I’d thought I’d see on her face when I showed up wasn’t even close to the look she gave me. This expression verged on fear. Stepping outside, she pulled the door behind her, leaving only a gap.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you get my message?”

“Yeah, I saw it. Did you think I’d chicken out or something?” I searched her face for clues about what had changed between yesterday and today. “I wanted to spend Thanksgiving with you.”