The Problem with Players (Problem #2)

by Brittainy C. Cherry

The best types of human beings were the ones who shut up. Or at least the ones who didn’t try to talk to me.

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His brown eyes still reminded me of heaven, and his wicked smile reminded me of hell.

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“Nathaniel.” He chuckled. “Using the full name to show how much you missed me, huh?” “I only use your full name as a sign of hatred.” “You used to say it for very different reasons.”

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“I’m just saying. I like his butt. I envy his butt. It made me almost want to do squats to tighten my own. But then again, the thought of working out makes my eye twitch, so I started watching The Office again for the eighteen-millionth time.”

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I loathed that man. I hated how he smiled, how he spoke, how he smelled like oak trees soaked in lemon drops. I hated how he chewed gum. How he clapped his hands. How he wore a backward baseball hat. I hated his breathing pattern, and his eyes, and his stupid dimples.

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“Say one more bad thing about Avery, and I’ll slam your fucking face into this glass display.”

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Yet there he was, Mr. “Bad Guy.” The only one who could read my truths when the rest of the world seemed addicted to my misprints.

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“Because sometimes love feels so big in my chest that it leaks from my eyes.”

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The thing about one’s heart was that it felt so deeply, even if the brain told it to shut off.

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“Roommate cuddling isn’t a thing, Nathaniel.” “Then what’s the point of having a roommate?” She placed her hands against the edge of her door and gave me a small smile. She smiled at me.

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“I like my eggs scrambled, Nathaniel.” He smirked bigger. “It would be an honor to scramble your eggs, Avery.” He slightly bowed and winked before he headed off to get the meal going. Oh crap. I think I just orgasmed on the field.

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But I should get a shower in after working all day.” “Turns out you’re the filthy one tonight.” “You have no clue how filthy I can get.”

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Did I love kissing her all over during the wild makeout sessions? Of course. But kissing her in the quiet moments? During the fleeting seconds? Those kisses fed my soul.

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“That sounds dangerous.” “I like danger.” “That’s funny. I tend to run from it.” “Don’t run from this, Coach.”

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He pulled back slightly and looked at me with wonderment in his eyes. I raised my eyebrow. “What is it?” “Nothing,” he said, falling back to his pillow. “I’m just trying to figure it out.” “Figure what out?” “How I lived all these years without you.”

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“Because how can you love me when I don’t even know how to love myself?”

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