The Shameless Hour: A Sports Romance (The Ivy Years Book 4)

THAT NIGHT, I worked the dinner shift. Thankfully, I was on prep duty, dicing onions and garlic in a corner of the kitchen where I didn’t have to talk to anyone. Because I was in no mood.

Somehow I’d managed to make Bella cry when that was just about the last thing I wanted to do. Ever.

Even more boggling, I’d turned down sex with the one person who made me feel hot just by smiling at me. I’d actually said no.

What I’d done seemed ridiculous. But I’d had a very good reason — what would have been awesome today would have made me feel like dirt tomorrow.

Bella was a friend. (I hoped she still was, anyway.) And I had it pretty bad for her. If I declared us friends with bennies, or fuck buddies, or whatever, that would be dishonest. There was just no way I could have sex with Bella, and then walk away like it didn’t matter.

It would matter. A great deal.

My brain chased this impasse around and around for several hours. Bella wasn’t just a girl I wanted. She was the girl I wanted. There was only one solution, but I didn’t like my chances. She and I could have lots of sex if she’d be with me for real.

Be my girlfriend.

I leaned over the garlic again, shaking my head. A girl like Bella could have anyone. Even if she did decide to break her rule against relationships, I was two years younger. I played the wrong sport. I was too conservative, apparently.

And my hands smelled of onions and garlic after every shift.

Also, I wore a paper hat.

Dios. The odds were terrible. They were worse than winning money off Mat on the Patriots game.

I groaned over the cutting board. If I was honest with myself, a relationship with Bella was exactly what I wanted. I hadn’t tried to go there, because she’d sworn off men.

Or so I’d thought.

When she’d propositioned me, I’d been caught off guard. Way off guard. I’d ended up giving her a speech about how I’d only have sex in a relationship. (As if I knew a thing about that.) The problem was I’d stopped short of telling her I wanted a relationship with her. I’d hinted at it. Sort of. But I hadn’t manned up and said so.

Which meant I’d rejected her twice inside of half an hour. Rejected the very person I wanted in my life. And in my bed.

I’d pushed her away, when I really wanted to do the opposite.

Classy, Rafe.

After work, I went back to our suite. For a whole blissful minute I believed I was home alone. But when I walked into our bedroom, I found Bickley lying on his bed. He rolled onto an elbow and shot me a shit-eating grin.

“What?”

He chuckled. “Nothing.”

Today that was all it took to get me steaming mad. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Why? And ruin my fun?”

I was just done with him. “I’m not in the mood for your superior bullshit, Dickley.”

If I wasn’t mistaken, my roommate paled. “What did you just call me?”

The stupid nickname had just come rolling off my tongue. It wasn’t even clever. A sixth-grader could probably do better. “I just need you to mind your own business for once in your sorry life, okay?”

He lifted his aristocratic nose in the air, then turned away from me.

Great. Now my roommate and I weren’t speaking, either. The day wasn’t over yet, though. I wondered who else I might piss off before I went to bed.

A quick inspection of my cell phone revealed five missed calls from Bella, and a voice message. I touched play.

“Rafe,” she’d said in her message. “I need to talk to you. And I want to apologize. I didn’t… I wasn’t looking at things the same way you were. So…” I’d never heard Bella at a loss for words. “Please can I apologize? Would you stop over? Pretty please?”

I wanted to. But I hadn’t yet figured out what I would say to her. Asking a girl out was like a tough soccer practice. You had to warm up before you ran onto the field.

In the common room, I threw myself down on the sofa and tried to think what to say.