Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(89)

I stumble backwards, nearly dizzy with relief.

He lifts his head and there are creases on his cheek from the sheets.

“Goldie.” He smiles happily and pats the bed beside his body. “I was just dreaming about you.”

I ignore his invitation and walk over to his desk, collapsing in the rolling chair situated in front of it. My heart is beating so rapidly I’m afraid it’s going to jump out and flop onto the floor like a dying fish.

“It’s too much for me. You’re too much for me,” I gasp out.

Matty struggles into a sitting position and gives me a lopsided smile. “Too much what? Greatness?”

For once his teasing doesn’t come off as funny, but irritatingly arrogant.

“I can’t do this anymore.” I bend over and place my head on my knees, trying to catch my breath. I can’t remember the last time I took a glucose measurement. I feel weak and sickly. Hot and sweaty. It’s either I’m crashing or I’m experiencing physical side effects of my heartbreak. Maybe it’s some dangerous combination of them both.

“Do what?” he asks in bewilderment.

“I can’t take this risk with you anymore. My heart can’t take it.” I rub my palm across my chest as if I can eradicate the pain with enough friction.

I don’t know whether the pain is forming because I’m breaking up with Matty or because I dated him in the first place. I always knew this day was going to come. He’s going to hurt you was number one on the risk assessment. But stupidly, foolishly, I’d kept decreasing the weight I’d afforded that particular item on the list.

The truth is you can’t really prepare yourself for what it feels like because you never know how much anything hurts until the wound is inflicted. Until the knife is in your belly.

If I stay with him, he’ll only hurt me more. Just like my mom hurt my dad over and over.

I sit up and stare at him, into his precious blue eyes that I know I’m going to be seeing for years when I’m dreaming. When I’m just sitting and drinking coffee, I’ll see them. In that cloudy space right before I fall and asleep and right before I wake up, I’ll see him. It’s going to take a long time to get over him. A long time.

What did I expect, though? This is how I knew it would all play out. Oh, I didn’t have the exact scenario right, but it all ended the same. Safe may be boring, but it sure as hell isn’t as painful.

“You and me, Matty. We’re done.”

“What…what happened? I told you,” he stutters. His brain isn’t firing on all cylinders, and it’s taking him a moment, or five, to catch up. “I told you I wasn’t going to talk to you about Ace anymore.”

Still not with me. I lay it out as plain as can be. “Ace took some pictures of you kissing a girl last night.”

His face moves from confusion to comprehension to anger. “Goldie, I was drunk off my ass last night.”

The careless statement, the accusation that lurks behind his words that I’m the unreasonable one here, only fuels my rage. I feel myself shaking and this time I know it’s not because my blood sugars are out of whack. It’s because of him. Because I took a chance on him and he was supposed to understand this. He was supposed to act like he cared.

“I don’t care that you were drunk! If I was drunk, I would not be out kissing someone and getting my picture taken. That has never happened to me in all my years here at Western, in all my years of drinking.” I fling my arm out. “Even the night I drank so much my freshman year that Sutton had to call 911 because I went into a coma, that didn’t happen. I danced. I drank. I passed out. I didn’t press my lips against some random person!”

“I didn’t ask for her to kiss me. I didn’t want her to kiss me,” he insists. He swings his long, powerful legs over the side of the mattress and for a moment I’m distracted. His shirt is still askew, framing his defined abs like a half-drawn curtain. My eyes are drawn to the light dusting of hair that arrows from his belly button into his groin.

My mouth becomes dry for another reason.

He’s so damned sexy, and for a moment, my resolve wavers. I cover my eyes so I can’t be tempted anymore. A spot of self-loathing gets mixed into the cocktail of churning emotions, and suddenly, I’m just so tired. I want to be done here. I push to my feet and force my explanation out.

“I know you didn’t, but the point of the matter, Matt, is that your lifestyle is only going to get worse when you go to the NFL. There’s only going to be more women, more road games, more time for me to worry. Every sports blog, every forum, every newspaper is full of stories of pro athletes screwing around on their wives and their girlfriends. I don’t want that to be my life, and, really, you deserve someone who’s stronger than me—who isn’t as afraid of risks as I am,” I finish drearily. I’m disgusted at myself. At Matty. At Ace. It’s an ugly reality that I’m facing. I don’t like myself much right now, but at some point, I’ve got to protect myself.

“So you’re doing this for my own good is what you’re saying?” Matty’s own anger is beginning to fire.

I’ve burned through anger and now I’m swimming in regret.

“You can take it whatever way you want.”

“How big of you,” he growls. “This stuff you’re spewing is some of the worst bullshit I’ve ever heard. If you don’t want to be with me, then have the balls to say it outright. Don’t be mealy-mouthed about it.”