Page 150 of Hat Trick
You’ll get over it.
* * *
There’s nota line of women at my door, but there is a knock at six thirty in the evening that confuses the hell out of me.
It’s not a book club night. Team dinner isn’t until tomorrow. None of the guys said they were stopping by, and thanks to two great back-to-back performances, Coach gave everyone the full day off.
Frowning, I push back from the bar stool I’ve been sitting on for the better part of an hour answering emails. I pad across the kitchen floor and into the foyer, smiling when I see Lexi on the other side of the door.
“Well”—I lean against the frame and cross my arms over my chest—“this is a nice surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure, Lex? Do you want me to put my head between your legs?”
“Tempting.” Her grin is intoxicating and addictive. I could stare at her mouth for hours. I probably already do. “But we’re going out tonight.”
“Out? Where? I don’t feel like going to a club or anything like that.”
“To dinner, which is something both of us need because I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet.”
“I haven’t, and my fridge is bare as fuck after being on the road the last few days.” I glance down at my joggers and black T-shirt. “Let me change really quick.”
“We’re not going anywhere fancy.” Lexi grabs a paperback off my shelf and sits on the couch, relaxing against the cushions. “And take your time. I started reading this one on my Kindle. Could hardly put it down.”
“Don’t get too sucked in or we’re never going to leave. You want a drink while you wait?”
“Nope.” She flashes me a smile but doesn’t look up from the page she’s on. “I’m all set.”
I stare at her for a minute. She looks perfectly in place there, with a blanket over her lap and her legs curled under her. I don’t even mind that she didn’t take her boots off. I’m too distracted picturing her like this every night: after a game, in one of my shirts, a mark on her neck that I left behind.
It’s easy to imagine it. We’ve been spending more and more time together, and the fantasy is starting to dance around in my head. Loudly, obnoxiously, and it feels like I’m four seconds away from screamingdo you like me back? Yes or no?just so I don’t have to keep this inside anymore.
In a fit of spontaneity, I walk over to her. I touch her cheek, and she finally looks up at me.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say to her, and her face softens. A smile pulls at one corner of her mouth, and I bend to kiss her right there, just so I can have the beam all for myself. “If you want to stay on the couch and read all night, I’ll order us takeout.”
“No. I’ll happily put the book away for you.” She grabs my shirt and tugs me toward her, kissing me again. There’s the swipe of her tongue, the bite of her teeth on my lower lip. I sigh against her mouth, and she pulls away far too quickly. “Can’t wait to see what you’re going to wear, Mitchy.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“I don’t need to. You always look great.”
I blush, the compliment meaning more from her than it would from another woman. “Right back at you, Armstrong.”
“Go.” She swats at my arm, and I can’t help but laugh. “You’re distracting me from my reading.”
“I’m going to get dressed extra slow just so you can finish that chapter.”
“A man after my own heart.” She winks, and I rub a hand over my chest.
It feels more and more like myheart isn’t even my own anymore.
It’s hers, and I think it’s always going to be hers.
* * *
The sports barLexi picks is loud and busy. I put my hand on the small of her back as we make our way through the crowded restaurant, not wanting her to get jostled by the group of drunk guys around the bar who are yelling about our shitty baseball team.
We find a table toward the back against the wall, and we slide onto the wooden barstools across from each other. Our knees are touching because of the small space, but I don’t mind. I like her close to me. I like having the option to touch her if I wanted to, andfuck, do I want to.
“I’m not totally digging the ambience, but they apparently have good burgers. I’m hoping that will make up for the douchebags screaming at the TV. I’m glad the pitcher can’t hear them. Sports fans are ruthless,” she says.
