Page 92 of On Her Team
He glances at me over his shoulder. “The team foots most of the bill.”
“Wow. I need to push Otis to train more if this is how professional NFL players live.”
He returns his attention to the pan in front of him. “Otis is good. If he wants to go pro, he could. He just needs some discipline.”
“Otis and discipline are not words I’d associate together.” I don’t want to discuss my brother this morning. Too much of my mental space is usually occupied by my siblings. Not today. “How can I help?”
He nods to the coffee machine in the corner. “Your coffee is ready, and there’s orange juice in the refrigerator if you want some.”
I snatch the coffee from the machine and take a sip. “Yum. What is this?”
“Hazelnut mocha.”
“It’s good. You want one?”
“Black coffee for me.”
I fix him a coffee and hand it to him. “Thanks, songbird.” He kisses my forehead.
“Are you making eggs and pancakes? Weird combo.”
“The pancakes are for you. The eggs are for me. I need to make weight.”
I lift my eyebrows. “A dozen eggs are okay for making weight, but not a pancake?”
“I’ll burn these eggs off during my morning run. The pancakes will sit in my stomach.”
My nose wrinkles. “I’m sorry. Am I messing up your morning routine?”
He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me near. “I’d exchange my normal morning routine of a protein shake and a morning run with waking up beside you in my arms any day.”
I melt into him. “You say the sweetest things.”
“Only to you, songbird. Only to you.” He squeezes me before nudging me toward the refrigerator. “Get the orange juice. Breakfast is nearly ready.”
While he finishes, I pour the juice and set out the napkins and silverware. I sit down to watch him.
“I could get used to this,” I say when he sets a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of me.
“Move in with me and I’ll cook for you every morning.”
“Every morning? Don’t you spend half of your life on the road, living in hotel rooms?”
“Not half of my life.” He digs into his scrambled eggs.
I pour some syrup on my pancakes before trying them. I moan at the delicious taste of chocolate, butter, and maple syrup. “These are good.”
“Some day you’ll stop sounding surprised by my cooking.”
I wish I could spend an abundance of mornings with him. Until his cooking no longer surprises me. Until I no longer wake up tingling from the feel of his arm around me. Until I no longer feel a pit in my stomach at the idea of him leaving.
He wags his fork at me. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided all discussion of moving in with me.”
“Gage.” I huff. “I can’t abandon my family. No matter how much I may wish it otherwise.”
Oops. I didn’t intend to say the last sentence.
“You would move in with me otherwise?”
