Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend #4)(16)

What am I doing, and why the fuck am I touching Miller like this? I went from freaking out about all of this to suddenly checking out Miller every chance I get and then waxing poetic about missing him. Not to mention, feeling him up in the bathroom while he’s wearing a hospital gown. Because he’s injured. And in pain.

Best friend of the year award, right here.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” I step back. “That was weird.”

Miller turns slowly toward me, struggling with shifting his weight on his bad leg. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and the more seconds tick by, the more embarrassed I become. When he does finally say something, his voice is cautious. “Uh, yeah, I’d say so.”

“Ignore me. My head’s been messed up since training camp.” I realize how that sounds as soon as the words come out of my mouth. “Not that I didn’t mean it. I did. All of it. But it’s weird, right? It’s weird.”

“Little bit.” His eyes are wide, and he’s even more freaked out.

I put my arm around his waist again. “Let’s get you back to bed and pump you full of more drugs so you can forget I said anything.”

Miller pulls back. “Talon, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Ignore me. A doctor once told me that being too awesome sometimes overloads my brain, and it melts down. True story.” When in doubt, bring out the jokes. It’s class clowning 101.

I go to move toward the door, but he holds strong.

“No bullshit time.”

“Aww, man, you’re bringing in the no bullshit rule?”

Miller and I moved in together my last two years of college. The first few months had been a nightmare trying to navigate our way of living on top of each other. Miller and I are similar in so many ways it was surprising to find out we had completely different living habits.

He was a slob, he thought I was too loud, I was an early riser—still am—and he liked to sleep in. It seemed the only time we weren’t arguing those first few months was if a girl was over, because even if we were pissed at each other, we never passed up an opportunity to fall into bed together.

We ended up instating a no bullshit policy where if we had a problem we’d say it out loud and the other couldn’t be pissed off about it. It worked, and those two years of living with Miller are my favorite memories of college.

“Why did you move to Chicago for me?” Miller asks, and his Adam’s apple works his throat like it’s hard to swallow.

I know that feeling. “Could we maybe not have this conversation in a hospital bathroom where all I can smell is disinfectant and all I can think is ‘I wonder if someone died in here’?”

“We could, but we won’t.”

My shoulders fall, and I relent, because as I’ve recently worked out, Miller is my one weakness—the guy I’d fucking kill for if he asked me to. I go to open my mouth, but he cuts me off.

“I need you to be one hundred percent clear here, because I’m pretty sure my meds are making my brain think things I shouldn’t.”

Things he shouldn’t? What does that even mean?

I take a deep breath. “I moved to Chicago for you because I’ve never had as much fun as when we were roommates. When I think about the happiest times in my life, it wasn’t when I was drafted to the NFL. It wasn’t when I won a Super Bowl or when I put that championship ring on for the very first time. It’s all those nights a million years ago being your roommate and friend.”

Miller refuses to look at me as he says, “Not to mention all the sex, right?”

“I thought that might’ve had something to do with it, but you know what has killed me since you’ve been avoiding me? Not that you used the media and our position as a way of putting a stop to repeating old mistakes, but that you ignored me afterward. I won’t deny the nights sharing a girl with you has been the best sex I’ve ever had, and I’ve missed it because I’ve never trusted another guy the way I trust you, but I wasn’t thinking about that when I accepted the Warriors’ offer. It was you.”

Why am I just working this out tonight? And why, when I keep picturing Jackson and Noah together, do they morph in my memory into Miller and some faceless guy? A faceless guy I wished was me?

“Talon—”

I don’t know I’m moving because it’s so slow, but then I’m suddenly there, pressed against him and catching his scent of sweat and dirt from the field. He smells of where I belong, because if there’s one thing in my life I’ve always been sure of, it’s football.

My mouth skims his rough cheek, searching, wanting. I expect him to pull away, but Miller turns his head slightly, moving closer.

Why does this feel so good? So right?

His much bigger body molds against mine. Warmth envelops me, and a sense of home makes my chest ache.

My suit pants become uncomfortably tight, and unlike Miller, I can’t blame drugs. But he’s not pushing me away either.

“Shane.”

“Mmm” is all I get as an answer.

Miller turns his head, and our lips find each other’s. The first touch has a weird sensation running down my spine. It’s not electricity but a jolt of something else. Realization, clarity … an epiphany maybe. Our mouths come together to create something that turns all my confusion from the past few weeks into something beautiful and warm and totally unexpected.