“Where’s Lottie?”
“Where do you think?” My words earned me a light chuckle.
“Bed and glued to ESPN?”
“You know it.”
Venturing over to me, he asked, “Is she doing okay?”
Meeting his gaze, I nodded, welcoming the warmth and concern in his voice and eyes. “Tender, demanding, which means she’s going to be just fine.” I picked up the lettuce to return to the fridge, turning fully toward Pearce for the first time. His brows shot high, eyes widening, and I realized he was looking at what I was wearing.
I fought hard to push away the heat traveling through me at his attention, but it was useless. This was the reason I never should have shaved my beard.
Pink touched the apples of his cheeks before he cleared his throat, a shit-eating smirk appearing. “Holy shit. Let me grab my phone. Eddie Phelps in an Eagles jersey…”
“Fuck off.” I grinned and pushed past him toward the fridge. “As you’re more than aware,” I said pointedly, “I have so many Eagles jerseys and paraphernalia that I have nightmares.”
He chuckled. “Most with my number on. I know.”
I glanced back, and he bounced his brows up and down. “Uh-huh. For your birthday you received what from me and Lottie, and what did I get in return?”
“VIP Tickets to see Tay Tay, which, I’ll say giving me three tickets was awfully generous of you.” He leaned against the countertop, grinning. I smiled back, remembering what a great night the three of us had.
“And?” I prodded.
“You were the lucky receiver of forty items of Pearce Malcolm merch. Eight of which are one-of-a-kind, I’ll remind you.”
Perhaps this wasn’t the best thing to be joking about right now as it was doing nothing to distract me from what an incredible man he was. Forty gifts for my fortieth birthday. Nor was he exaggerating about the one-of-a-kind merch either. Throw cushions, beach towels, a pack of condoms, even a bottle of lube, to name just a few of the special items with Pearce’s face or Eagles number printed on them.
I kept every single item. Admittedly some—the PG stuff—had been swiped by Lottie, but did I like relaxing in clothes with his number printed on them when at home? Maybe a little too much. It was no wonder that Wayne was convinced there was something going on between us.
We stood for a couple of beats, smirking at each other.
“So, dinner?” he asked, breaking the spell, and I noticed a new spread of red on his cheeks. “What do you need me to do?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I’ve cooked up some fries for Lottie, so keep your hands off them,” I said, heading to the oven to pull out the tray.
“Why does Lottie get fries and I don’t?” He pouted, his bottom lip sticking out so far, I was tempted to nip at it.
“You really need me to answer that?”
A dramatic huff pushed past his lips. “Nope. I can be a responsible adult when I need to be.”
“Uh-huh. And an athlete who has the first of many incredible playoff games of his career coming up.”
“Yeah, that as well.” He eyed the plates I finished preparing. “I, um… promised you a celebration.”
I fought hard not to get flustered, remembering exactly how he’d wanted to celebrate.
“That’s a little tricky, what with Lottie and her wound. So I thought, Lottie won’t be able to come sit with us, right?”
“Not today. Maybe in a couple of days, but she’s not up for it at the moment.”
“So, I thought maybe a picnic in her room. I know it’s cheesy and not exactly a proper celebration, but…”
A fizz of happiness bubbled in my stomach. “She’d love that.”
“And you?”
