But I’m having trouble leaving Nell’s room.
There’s no need for her to monitor me for another night, but twice now I’ve slept with her beside me. I know what it’s like to wake to her soft thighs pressed against mine, to be surrounded by the smell of her hair and skin—I can’t un-know something like that. And I want it again. Even though, as a general rule, I don’t spend the night with girls. I made an exception that first night because it was her first time, and I didn’t want her to feel like I was running out on her. But that was supposed to be it. Supposed to be.
But Nell is never easy to put into a box. Just when I think I know where she fits in my life, she rearranges things. And really, what would it hurt to break this one rule? Just every once in a while. Not all the time. I want to enjoy the feel of waking up to her again when my mind isn’t battered and foggy.
She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop, e-mailing excuses to her professors. Her long, dark hair is twisted into this thick knot on top of her head. There’s one lock that didn’t make it in, and it falls loose and curly against her long neck. Before I really know what I’m doing, I’m climbing onto the bed behind her and reaching for those rogue strands. I settle in behind her, one of my legs on each side of hers.
“Tunnels tonight?”
She frowns, tilting her head slightly back toward me. “We can wait for all that stuff until you’re fully recovered.”
I lift my hands to her shoulders, kneading gently. “Hell no. You’re on a deadline, after all. Gotta get all your wild and crazy out before you graduate.” She opens her mouth to respond, but then closes it. And I wonder if she can hear the slight edge to my voice when I talk about her graduating. Not that I have a right to be pissed about it, but I can’t help it. I don’t like having a deadline. I don’t like not having a choice about how much time I get with her. I decide to keep talking so she doesn’t have time to dwell on it. “Besides, it’s not like the tunnels are going to be physically demanding. If I can make it through practice, I can definitely walk down some concrete tunnels. And then who knows, maybe I’ll even feel up to some more physical exertion afterward.”
I lean down to kiss her shoulder, but her back straightens, and she shifts to look back at me. Ignoring that last statement, she says, “You’re going to practice?”
“First I’ve gotta go lift.” And I am so not looking forward to the sound of the weight room—all clangs and thuds and scrapes. It’s going to be a nightmare. But a necessary one. “Then practice, yeah.”
Her eyebrows furrow, and I can see her debating about saying something before she finally spits it out. “So, you’re not telling your coach at all? Do you think that’s smart?”
It would be cute that she’s worried, if she weren’t voicing the thoughts I’ve done a lot of work to keep myself from thinking.
“I told you. I’ve had concussions before. This one is so mild I’ll probably feel good as new within the next few hours.”
“Yeah, but if you were to hit your head again shortly after your initial injury, it could cause serious damage. You could die. It could—”
I lower my mouth to hers, cutting her off. For a moment she resists, not quite kissing me back, but not completely immune either. After a few seconds she relaxes and one of her hands travels up to my neck. I get a little lost in her mouth. In the softness of her lips. The taste of her tongue. The quickening of her breath.
I pull back before I get carried away and give in to the urge to toss her computer to the ground and strip her naked.
“I’ll be fine, Nell. I know my limits. I promise I’ll be careful. You’ll see. You’re worrying about nothing. You and me. The tunnels. Tonight.”
Her eyes flick over mine, narrow, but then finally she nods.
DESPITE WHAT I told Nell, I don’t feel good as new in a few hours. I take it easy during my workout. They’re unsupervised—at least technically—so no one will call me out for going at half strength. But even taking it easy, I’m exhausted before I get halfway through my hour. I’m worn out by trying to appear normal while my nerves feel more and more raw by the second.
When practice starts, I very nearly spill to Coach. But then I tell myself that it’s laziness talking. I’m strong enough to power through this. My reasons for staying silent are the same today as they were yesterday. So I stick to my guns and suffer through practice. I think it’s obvious to everyone that I’m not up to par, but I hope they chalk it up to a bad day rather than to the fact that I’m avoiding getting tackled as much as possible.
If you don’t catch the ball, not much point in someone taking you to the grass.
I even take a nap after practice, but it barely takes the edge off, which is why I’m exhausted when I get to Nell’s later.
I can tell by her worried look when she sees me on her porch that this isn’t going to be good.
“You ready?” I ask.
She fixes me with a silent, assessing gaze.
Maybe I should have canceled. I knew she would give me grief over “knowing my limits,” but I wanted to see her. So I figure I can take a little grief.
“Come on.” I hold out a hand to her. “I’m excited about this. Both of our first times, remember?”
“Mateo . . .”
“We’re just walking. It’s nothing strenuous. We’ll walk a ways in, explore a bit, and then we’ll leave.”
“And you’ll sleep?”