“Really? You’re not going to give me your last name?” He asks, covering the head of his invisible microphone. “Alright, Ms. Savannah, what is… a movie you could watch every day?”
“That’s the hard-hitting question?”
“It seems like a safe enough place to start.”
I smile and sink back into my chair. He can either sense my hesitation or he’s nervous himself. Either way, I’m grateful.
“Twilight.”
“Twi—” His chin juts out before he falls over on the tabletop, dramatically.
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “Hating onTwilightisn’t cool anymore.”
He pulls himself up, resting his elbow on the table and the side of his face in his hand. “I mean, for a movie you could watchevery day,I would think you would go for a classic, but okay—Twilight.” He clicks his pen and scribbles on his paper.
“Edward getting out of the car in his Ray-Bans just does something to me, alright?”
His answering laugh annoys me.
“Okay, Mr. Kingston,” I mock him. “What movie could you watch every day?”
“Easy. Mighty Ducks.” He holds up his index and middle finger. “Two.”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “A true classic.”
I open my laptop, and the light in the corner flashes red. “Could you hand me that charger?” I point to the kitchen island just behind him.
He reaches for the cord, but it’s painfully slow and strained.
“You alright there, Champ?”
“Yeah, just a little sore from practice.”
“You still get sore?” My eyes narrow as I plug in my computer. “I mean, you do this every day. Don’t you have your recovery down or whatever? Magnesium and all that jazz?”
He leans back in the chair, mouth twitching. “All that jazz?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” He covers a yawn. “I just had to do a little extra work last night… and again this morning.”
I might not ever go to the arena, but I do know my dad’s schedule pretty well. I also know that if he had practiced with my dad this morning and told him he had an assignment to work on, he wouldn’t have been late.
“Do you want something to drink?” I stand, heading to the kitchen.
“Just a water would be great, thanks.”
With his back to me, I steal a moment to watch him. His sweater is loose, but I can make out the way his back muscles flex beneath the fabric, and now that I think about it, he had a slight stiffness about him when he walked in, too.
I open my water bottle and grab a glass for him before turning to find Noah rubbing his neck and upper back. His fingers sneak under his collar and dig heavily into his skin. A sigh falls from his lips, and I can’t stop myself from imagining my own fingers roaming over his body. I imagine his skin iswarm and the muscles are taut. I imagine dragging my fingers through his hair, lightly scratching down his neck, rubbing my palms over the smooth planes of his shoulders, and the electricity that would run through my hands as I dragged them down the front of his bare chest. Suddenly, he’s holding himself up on top of me, the weight of his body nestled between my legs. I feel him everywhere.
“Easy there, messy.” That husky voice crashes down on me like a whip, causing me to jolt.
“What?”
He nods his head, eyes pointing to the counter where I’ve just overfilled the cup and water is now dripping off my countertop.
I duck down, dragging a kitchen towel through the puddle, reminding myself who I was just fantasizing about.
