I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(64)

My body melts. Damn him for these romantic quirks. They’re havoc on my heart.

“What should we talk about?”

Uneasiness flashes in his eyes and he flicks them to Sawyer, then back to me. “You free tomorrow night?”

“Romy needs me more since she made the hip hop team. Homework never ends. Plus, her practices run late, and she isn’t allowed to drive yet. She is seventeen, but she wrecked my car, and honestly, she needs more lessons before I trust her—”

He drops his hand. “I’ve been chasing you, Serena. You want this?”

I know what he means by this. Sex. Just sex.

I swallow at the fear that swirls in my stomach.

Can I do this without getting burned?

I take a breath. “Alright. I need monogamy while we hook up. I won’t be one of a string of girls. Once you get bored or I do, we’ll end it.”

He frowns and pulls back from me. “Not acceptable.”

Cement drops on my chest, and I grapple to find the right words. All I can push out is, “I see.”

He lets out a rough noise and looks up at the sky, back at me. “No, you don’t see.”

“Dillon…” My phone pings with a series of incoming texts then rings, and I snatch it out of my purse. “What?” I snap.

“Serena, baby, where are you? I’m at your place.” Vane.

I sputter, “What? You can’t just show up…” I dart my eyes to Dillon, tempering my tone. I turn to the side and lower my voice. “Don’t do this to me.”

“Give me five minutes, baby, please. That’s all I’m asking. You owe me a conversation,” he implores. “I gave you a no-contest divorce. I did what you wanted. I haven’t seen your face in eighteen months. Am I asking so much?”

I curse. Vane can be a dog with a bone, especially if he’s driven all the way from Memphis. Just rip the Band-Aid off and get it over with.

“Who is it?” Dillon asks, frowning.

I shake my head at him and tell Vane, “I’ll give you five minutes, but not at my house. Nana…”—might find the shotgun and shoot you—“won’t like it.”

“Alright,” he says softly, hope in his voice. “The park, the one with the big trees. You remember it?”

“Fine. Okay.” I click off.

“That was Vane,” Dillon says, and it’s not a question.

My eyes avoid his. “He wants to talk.”

“You still talk to him?” His tone is incredulous. “Fuck that.”

“Not by choice. He calls me a lot. I—we didn’t have closure, I guess.”

A deep breath rises in his chest, and he lets it out slowly. His jaw pops. “Let me go with you.”

“Dillon. No. I don’t want drama or you—”

“Punching him?”

I rear back. “No. It’s complicated. We have a history—”

“And you still love him.”

I frown. “Not like that. He won’t give up until he sees me. I know him. He’s been on tour and he…” My words trail off. There’s so much more I could say: We’ve been through hell together, I was with him for years, or that yeah, maybe I need to see him. “You don’t get it because you’ve never been with someone for a long time.”

Hurt flares in his eyes as a long breath leaves his chest. He scoffs. “Right. I’m too young to know how screwed up relationships can get. Doesn’t matter that my own parents couldn’t even stand to be in the same room together while I was growing up. Doesn’t matter that my mom flits from guy to guy, that my dad dumped me. No, that doesn’t count. I don’t know jack. You’re the only one who knows what it feels like to be hurt.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and takes a step away from me. “I’m a womanizer. I’m not good enough. Hell, you don’t even like football. You want to fuck me and move on.”

“Dillon, I didn’t word that right…” I search for more words, but I’m so unsure of where we stand. What are we?

He clearly said I want to fuck you at yoga.

How else am I supposed to take those words?

Last night was incredible, and yeah, I want him again—but it’s terrifying.

I went skydiving once. Jumping out of the plane was exhilarating, freefalling with the blue sky above and the green grass beneath. It felt like flying as I stared adventure straight in the eye, and it was breathtaking. Spending time with Dillon is like that, only instead of a smooth landing, I’m terrified I’m going to crash and burn.

“Dillon—”

“See you around,” he mutters.

Before I can say another word, he stalks away from me.





I push Dillon out of my head and focus on the meeting with Vane.

When I pull into the park, he’s already there, leaning against a red Ferrari. My gaze sweeps over him as I get out of my car. Wearing ripped jeans and a tight black distressed shirt, he looks like the rocker he is. His hair is longer, past his shoulders, the black curls sprinkled with copper highlights. There’s a new tattoo, a Day of the Dead skull, on his bicep.

Seeing his beauty is like a slap in the face, yet I know what’s underneath his pretty package.

I wait for the weak feeling that comes when I catch sight of him on TV or hear his music, but…