We fall into silence, watching more and more water gather on the surface of the field as the soil loses its ability to soak any more liquid up. Thunder rumbles in the distance, suggesting the worst of the storm is far from over. I’m soaked and sweaty. The ground is hard and muddy, and yet I don’t move. I don’t feel any inclination to, and Beck doesn’t seem to, either.

I don’t know how long we remain sitting before Beck stands and offers me a hand. It could have been mere minutes, or hours that have passed.

Time has ceased to exist.

I grasp his palm, and his firm grip propels me vertical at the same moment I start to stand on my own. The combined velocity sends me crashing into Beck’s chest.

I pull back slowly.

“Saylor—” Beck starts, but I don’t let him finish. I kiss him. Partly because actions always seem to serve me better than words, and mostly because I want to. For once, we’re not racing toward something more. This kiss is the meal, not just the appetizer. There’s no nearby bed we’re about to fall into. Waterlogged clothes aren’t easy to grope or caress through.

So, we just kiss. For another indeterminable number of seconds. Until my lips feel chapped and my heart is racing just as fast as when we were playing soccer.

I started it, so I end it, pulling back slowly until Beck lets me break his hold entirely. I stare into his confused blue eyes for a brief moment, and then I turn and walk away, leaving the perfect moment behind me.

Chapter Sixteen

I wake up the following morning to Emma’s suspicious expression. She was already asleep when I snuck back into our room, leaving behind a trail of water that has thankfully dissipated.

“Where were you last night?” she asks as soon as she sees I’m awake.

“I went to the gym.” Sadly, I think Emma actually believes me.

“You’re acting weird, S,” she calls after me as I head into the bathroom.

“I know,” I say before I close the door.

She lets the subject drop as we change into our Lancaster jerseys and head down to the banquet hall for breakfast.

Anne asks where I was last night when Emma and I reach the table our team is sitting at.

“She was working out,” Emma explains, rolling her eyes.

“Jesus, Scott,” Cressida comments. “Thank God I’ll never have to play against you.” Unlike me and Emma, Cressida has no plans to pursue a professional soccer career following graduation. Anne’s still undecided.

I grunt as I grab a bowl and a box of cereal. There’s no buffet like last night. Staff have distributed tiny containers of cereal and cartons of milk on each table for us to help ourselves to.