Sweet as Syn

34: SYN-And Then He Leaves Me

Two weeks without Greyson. Two weeks of nightmares on a loop, exhaustion filling the empty cavity in my chest. He is my greatest sacrifice, and I really hope it was worth it.

I haven't had a chance to see him since the day after Thanksgiving, but tonight is pasta night before the home game, and I am standing outside the Playboy Brownstone as if I've never been inside before, and my four best friends aren't in there waiting for me.

Taking a deep breath and doing my best to keep my mouth above a pout, I open the doors and am greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of pasta and the even more mouthwatering view of all the football players. I am hugged and patted and fist bumped by the team as if I am one of them, the way they always make me feel so included, as I add my lasagna dish to the buffet in the kitchen.

I stare at the display of food in front of me, refusing to tear my eyes off of it because I can feel it—him, his eyes on me, searing into the back of my skull. The energy shifts, as it always does when he enters a room. Powerful, intimidating, all-consuming. Homey. God, I miss him so much. I'm petrified to turn around.

"The food isn't going anywhere."

The sound of his lethal voice forces a delicious chill through me, and for the first time in two weeks, I lift my chin and set my shoulders back. Just being in his presence fuels me.

"You can turn around."

I do, slowly, expecting his usual burning glower to be on me, but his eyes are soft and sad. And that alone stabs at my already gaping wounds.

"Grey—"

We both meet halfway and I melt into him, shutting my eyes and allowing myself to feel all of him, to smell his fresh-baked cookie scent and relish in the safety of his arms. Only for a second though, before it gets too intimate. Back to square one. Armor up. Too scared to get too close.

"Let's not do that again." Now that usual fire is sparkling back in his eyes, as if my presence fuels him, too. "Two weeks without my best friend? Fuck that."

He throws his arm around me, all buddy-buddy like, and carries me along as he fills a plate of food for me. Lord, he should be screaming at me, hating me and forcing me to explain myself, but I should have known better. Greyson is a freaking angel, and I am a freaking idiot for thinking he'd break his promise of friendship, even after he poured his heart out to me and I stomped on it without so much as an explanation.

"Yeah, not my best idea."

I gratefully take a seat in the chair he pulled up to the dining room table next to Cameron, Travis and fourteen other teammates that managed to squish in. He places my plate on the table and stares down at me.

"You're doing that thing again," I tell him, straining my neck to look up at his tall frame. He cocks his head in confusion. "The whole Great Dane-Chihuahua thing. I won't bite. Come sit."

I scooch my butt to the corner of the chair and pat it. I obviously won't sit on his lap like I used to, but I'd hope we could share a seat.

"It's okay, I'm set up on the patio." He daps Cameron up, then lifts the corner of his mouth in a lazy smirk at me. "Dig in, little bear."

And then he leaves me.

And that's pretty much how every interaction between us for the following week goes. Short, sweet and longingly painful. I have to constantly correct the impulse to climb onto his lap and the urge to melt against his hard body that taunts me with his tight T-shirts and dick-bulging sweatpants.

Three weeks without his fiery touch, his warm lips on mine, his protective grip around me. Thankfully, I've been preoccupied studying for finals next week, but the emptiness hasn't subsided. Every part of me stings all the time. The pain eases for those brief moments where it's just me and him, when he actually looks at me and allows himself to be near me, but increases the second he blinks and the moment passes.