Page 29 of Catch and Cradle

“Me too.”

She’s whispering too, and the only thing I can see now is her eyes. She’s so close. She’s closer than she’s ever been before, and when she’s looking at me like this, I can believe I haven’t been making it all up. I can believe she wants me too. I can believe that moment when I raked my eyes down her bare back in the locker room has been on her mind all day just like it’s been playing on repeat in mine.

“Becca—”

“God, I’m tired.” Without any warning, she lets out a big yawn and flops onto her back beside me. “Training camp was amazing, but I think a break from double practice will do everyone good. We need to rest up a little and then buckle down once we get tryouts sorted.”

Right. Lacrosse. Our lacrosse team. Our lacrosse team of which she is captain and I am a player forbidden from thinking such thoughts about her.

At the moment, that’s just making them seem all the more appealing. She’s rubbing her eyes, and it gives me a chance to look at her stretched out on the bed.

My bed.

Becca Moore is lying on my bed in tight little shorts with her shirt riding up high enough for me to see a few inches of her stomach.

“Yeah. Tryouts will be fun. They always are.”

I follow her lead and collapse onto my back too. If I stay sitting up, I’m not going to be able to resist the temptation to keep staring at her even after she notices. It doesn’t give me any relief to be lying down beside her, but at least I can force myself to keep my eyes glued to the cracks in the ceiling.

“Coach wants you to help run them.”

“Huh?”

“We need a couple experienced players to help with tryouts, and Coach said you’d be perfect for it.” She shifts on the mattress. “I think you would too. We just need a couple reliable people who are passionate about the team—and really great on the field, of course.”

‘Reliable’ is not a word that’s always been associated with me. ‘Passionate,’ sure, but I don’t think the first thing people describe me as is ‘reliable.’ There’s been times I’ve daydreamed about doing more for the team, like when I get called on to lead a warm-up or give everyone a pump up speech that ends with a standing ovation. Something about those moments feels right and exciting in a way I can’t explain, but I’ve never taken the thoughts seriously. We already have an excellent captain, and besides, I’m still the dyslexic girl who has to work her ass off just to balance sports and school.

“Does CJ remember I recently tried to kidnap Jim after too many shots of Jane’s crazy whiskey?”

I feel Becca’s laugh vibrate through the mattress. “That was actually really cute, you know. Your face when I walked in...It was so cute.”

I stop breathing. She just called me cute. She thinks that I, specifically, am cute.

“Oh yeah?” I ask after a moment. It’s a stupid response, but I don’t know what else to say.

My voice has gone quiet again. I’m hyperaware of every inch of space between us and how easy it would be to obliterate them all. I want to pull her into me. I want to forget about all the reasons we shouldn’t and let ourselves explore every justification for why we should.

“Yeah. I...” She trails off, and I hear her swallow. “Yeah.”

Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her.

But of course I do. I turn my head just enough to see her face at the exact same time she does the same thing. She looks so soft in the glow from the lamplight. Her lips are shining like she just licked them. I want to lick them too.

I want to lick her, touch her, take her.

I want to feel what it’s like when she takes me. I’ve never wanted someone so bad for so long. Even before things shifted between us, I still wanted her.

Back then it was a fantasy, but now it’s real and here and so close all I have to do is reach for it. Even the anticipation is better than anything I imagined, sweeter and sharper than any thoughts I’ve ever let myself have.

I can hear her breathing. I can feel my own chest rise and fall. I inch my head just a fraction closer to hers, and she doesn’t pull back.

Becca. Becca. Becca.

My brain is chanting her name, using it as a metronome to pound out the rhythm of my pulse. In this moment, she’s everything. I need her. It’s more than just want.

I move even closer. She gasps mid-inhale and stops breathing altogether. Her chin lifts, bringing her lips in line with mine, and then our mouths are pressed together.

My eyes close. For a moment, we stay completely still. I feel numb, like I’m floating outside my body, but then her lips shift. She breathes in, and all my senses roar back to life. My hand reaches to cup her cheek, and now we’re kissing—really kissing. Her mouth is hungry on mine, and when she grips my hip and pulls me closer, I let out a moan that makes her growl.