“I’ll tell you, son, I’ve seen you play a handful of times. With how good you are, I wouldn’t be surprised to find your name printed across the back of an official NFL jersey in a couple of years,” he states, clearly impressed by me.
I can’t help but grin. “That’s the plan, sir.”
Her father launches us into a full-blown conversation about football, and I feel bad for Olivia, since she can’t really engage in the conversation. She stands patiently, though, listening to us talk about previous seasons and tactics. If this was anyone else, I’d blow them off in a heartbeat to give my attention back to her, but I’m definitely not about to do that to her father in his own home.
Once the conversation dies down, Olivia cuts in to let her dad know that I came here to drop her off and grab something for class. As soon as I say goodbye to her father, she leads me up the stairs to her bedroom.
Her bedroom is almost as I pictured it. Neat and tidy with white walls and furniture, and a powder-blue bedspread that matches her backpack.
She drops her backpack at the foot of her bed before walking over to a large bookshelf and skimming the books. “It should be in here somewhere,” she mutters to herself.
I walk over to her desk, where her current textbooks are neatly stacked in one corner with a lamp resting in the other. Tacked to the wall behind her desk are some personal pictures of her with family and friends, making me smile.
“Found it,” she calls, making me look over my shoulder at her. I watch as she stands from a sitting position on the floor and pulls a book from the bottom shelf. She quickly flips through the pages before extending the lab manual to me. “Again, I hope you don’t mind that there’s some highlighting.”
“Not at all. Thanks, Finch,” I say, quickly flipping through the pages myself, spotting numerous words highlighted in different colors. I tuck the book under my arm, scanning her room further. “Nice room.”
She blushes a bit. “Thanks.”
“A lot cleaner than mine.”
She lets out a laugh, unable to deny that fact. “It looks like my dad really likes you,” she points out, a small grin on her face.
“Yeah,” I huff out in a laugh. “Sorry about all that football talk, by the way.”
She shrugs a shoulder nonchalantly. “It’s all right. He doesn’t have too many sports chats with two girls who aren’t really interested in the house.”
“You don’t have any siblings?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Nope.” She takes a seat at the end of her bed. “It’s just me, myself, and I. What about you?”
I walk over and cautiously take a seat next to her, watching her demeanor to make sure I’m not crossing any boundaries. She doesn’t show any signs of protest. “Same. Only child.”
“Ah, so you have a membership to the lonely club,” she jokes.
“It’s not so bad.” I chuckle. “Sometimes I think I prefer it,” I admit honestly, but in reality it’s because I don’t think I could stomach my mother having another kid and putting them through the hell I went through.
A soft knock comes from her already open door, and we both look up to find her dad standing in the doorway. “Hey, Bronx, how would you feel about staying for dinner? I’m making my famous lasagna,” he says, his tone persuasive and enthusiastic.
“I don’t want to intrude,” I say, trying to be polite.
“Nonsense,” her dad insists.
I glance over at Olivia to detect any signs of protest, but, again, I can’t find any.
She catches my gaze, giving me a soft smile. “It’s really good lasagna.”
“All right, I’m sold,” I declare, unable to pass up a home-cooked meal or the chance to hang out with Olivia outside of class.
Olivia and I head down to the kitchen to help make dinner. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time I helped in a kitchen or had a home-cooked meal.
Around a quarter to six, the lasagna is out of the oven and Olivia is placing the last set of silverware on the table when the garage door breezes open. A shorter blond woman rushes through.
“Sorry I’m late,” she announces, out of breath, setting her stuff next to the door before walking over to Stan, leaning up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “It smells amazing in here, honey.”
“Lasagna just got out of the oven,” he informs her with a loving smile.
“Perfect.” She smiles and her eyes sweep the dining room, where she finds me, a look of confusion passing her face. “Oh, hello,” she greets me.
