My Player Bestfriend (Book #1)

Chapter Twelve

It started with something small.
A touch to her hand.
A look held for a little too long.
A smile that lingered across the center console of Luke's car as they drove in silence.

Mary knew things were shifting.

Luke had been consistent — gentle, patient, present. He didn't push her. He didn't demand anything. He didn't fill silences with apologies for mistakes he never made. He just showed up.

And for a while, that was enough.

He was everything Austin wasn't.

But sometimes, when someone's just right... it doesn't mean you're ready.

It was late when it happened.

They were on Luke's couch, a movie playing in the background. It was the kind of night that felt endless in the best way — candles lit, her legs curled under a blanket, the smell of popcorn still hanging in the air.

Luke had been watching her instead of the movie for the last fifteen minutes.

"You okay?" he asked softly, brushing a piece of hair from her face.

She nodded, her heart racing. "Yeah... just thinking."

"About him?"

She paused. Then, truthfully: "A little."

Luke nodded. He didn't get mad. He didn't shrink. He just leaned closer.

"I'm not trying to replace anyone," he said. "But I'm here. You know that, right?"

She swallowed. "I know."

The kiss started slow — careful. Testing.

Then it deepened.

And for a while, she didn't think.

Their clothes were off in pieces, and she followed him to his bedroom, the air humming with warmth and nerves.

Luke kissed her like she was something fragile. Like he knew she'd been broken once, but didn't need fixing — just holding.

When it was over, they lay in silence. His arm draped over her stomach, fingers brushing her skin lightly.

"You okay?" he whispered.

She nodded. But inside, she wasn't sure.

The next morning, she left early.

Didn't wait for breakfast.

Didn't kiss him goodbye.

She said she had errands — but mostly, she needed space. The walls felt too close. The air too tight.

She didn't regret the night. Luke had been kind. Tender. She felt safe.

But afterward, something unexpected had crept in.

Guilt.

Not because of Luke.

Because of how unready she suddenly felt.

Because part of her had closed her eyes and imagined someone else.

At home, she sat in the shower, knees to her chest, water hitting her skin like tiny truths.

She was supposed to be over Austin. She had told herself she was over him. And yet, here she was — curled up like someone trying to rinse off a ghost.

Luke texted her later:

Luke: "Last night was really special to me. I hope you're okay."

She stared at the message.

Typed: "Yeah, I'm okay. Just needed today to recharge."

But then she didn't respond for hours after that. Or the next day. Or the one after.

Luke noticed. Of course he did.

By the fourth day, he called her.

"Hey," she answered, her voice cautious.

"Are you ghosting me, or just emotionally retreating?" he asked, half-joking, but half-serious.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to. I just... I think I'm more messed up than I thought."

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then: "That's okay. I just need to know if this is something you actually want, or if I'm just helping you get over someone else."

Her throat tightened. "I thought I was ready. I really did."

"You don't have to explain yourself. I just don't want to be the guy who gets caught in someone else's story."

His words hit harder than she expected.

Because maybe she had pulled him into a story that didn't belong to him.

And maybe she was still in love with someone who didn't deserve her love anymore.

That night, she lay in bed thinking about how soft Luke had been. About how badly she wanted to be the girl who could fall into something healthy and safe.

But no matter how much she tried to convince herself she was ready...

Her heart still hadn't stopped bleeding where Austin had touched it last.