“Permanent?” I squeaked.
Eva couldn’t hold back the teasing smile for long. “It’s just stubborn, that’s all.” She opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a pack of astringent wipes. “Sit.”
I dropped onto the closed toilet lid while she knelt in front of me. Her fingers worked gently as she swiped at my cheeks with the cool, damp cloth.
“Nearly as stubborn as the woman herself,” she murmured, leaning closer. “But we’re getting there.”
I focused on the steadiness of her touch and the light scent of lavender from the wipes. Bit by bit, the layers of paint disappeared to reveal my usual pale complexion.
“There’s my girl,” Eva said softly. She tossed the final wipe into the trash.
My stomach flip-flopped hearing the possessive pronoun.
Eva smiled and stood, offering me her hand. “Next time, we’ll tell them no to the heavy stuff.”
I took her hand and let her pull me to my feet. “Next time, they can use one of those generic avatars for me.”
Eva chuckled, threading her fingers through mine as we left the bathroom. “Not a chance. You’re too pretty to hide.”
I groaned but my cheeks warmed. For the first time since the photoshoot, I felt like myself again.
Eva tugged me in the direction of our shared bedroom.
“You were good with those kids today,” she observed.
I followed her onto the mattress, the exhaustion of the long day finally catching up with me. We reclined on the bed, above the covers and facing each other. “Does that surprise you?”
“I guess not,” she decided. She tucked her hands under her head like a pillow. “But not everyone is. They freeze up or don’t know what to say around them.” She smirked. “Like Dez.”
I laughed. “Oh my God, Dez was so awkward. Did you hear when she asked that little girl if she ‘also enjoyed dribbling’?”
Eva grinned at the memory. “And then she tried to give a kid her used water bottle like it was a collector’s item.”
“Do you want kids someday?” she asked.
“Your mom actually asked me about that.”
Eva made a noise. “She did not.”
“She did!” I insisted. “When she came to Connecticut during the playoffs. She asked, or rather insinuated, that I should want kids.”
Eva was quiet with the information. Her parents had yet to come see her play as a professional athlete. We hadn’t spoken about it, but I wondered if she’d spoken to them about coming to see us play in Miami. My own family had plans to come down during Paige’s spring break.
“So do you? Want kids?” she finally asked.
“They’re not on my radar at the moment,” I deflected. “I’ve got a lot of living to do before I consider that.”
“I want kids.”
I quirked an eyebrow, surprised by her candor and the immediacy of her response. “That easy, eh?”
“I don’t have their names picked out or anything,” she shrugged.
“Would you … want to be pregnant?” It was the next logical question, but my stomach felt funny for asking.
She reached across the distance that separated us and stroked idle fingers down the length of my arm. “I guess it all depends on who my partner is when I’m done playing,” she said noncommittally.
Okay. Ouch.
