Page 61 of Sportsball is for Lovers

“Oh? Chickening out?” A smirk curves her lips.

“Brat.” I shake my head. “I ought to put you across my lap and spank you for that.”

She inhales sharply.

“I don’t think I have the energy, though,” I admit.

“Do you want me to order something in?” She asks nervously. “You don’t have to go home right away.”

My chest bursts with hope. “That would be great.”

She putters around the house for a few minutes before she collapses on the sofa across from mine. Draping an arm over her forehead, she busies herself on her phone.

Her eyes are tired, her face weary, but there’s a lightness to her spirit that exudes from her pores. She’s content.

So am I.

Even though I keep feeling her eyes on me, whenever I look up, her gaze is averted. My dick reacts automatically to her submission. We don’t have to be in a scene for me to want her; it’s a default setting, I want her all the time.

We haven’t spent much time with our clothes on. From the little we have, though, I know I want to get to know her more. She intrigues me. I want to know everything.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rings, and Sadie forces herself upright. She putters down the hallway toward the door, coming back a few moments later with two big brown bags of food.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got a little of everything,” she says.

I blink. “So you got… everything?”

She nods. “I figure what we don’t eat tonight, I’ll have as leftovers this week.”

“Fuck, I love you,” I blurt.

Her eyes go wide.

I clap my hand over my mouth. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Good, because I barely know you,” she says, but a smile curves her lips.

“I’m going to wash up.” I don’t know why I feel the need to announce this.

She laughs, shaking her head.

On my way past her, I swat her lightly on the hip, and her eyes go bright.

“We’re not in a scene,” she teases.

“We could be,” I counter. Dropping a light kiss on her cheek, I squeeze her shoulder. “But I do want to get to know you. No sex, just this.”

“That sounds nice.” Her voice is soft, wistful. “I don’t know the last time I did that.”

“Get used to it, babe.” I wink as I edge past her toward the half bath.

Taking care of business, I wash my hands and run a hand through my messy curls. It’s almost time to get my hair cut again. My beard could use a trim, too. I didn’t have a chance this morning with the unexpected change in plans. My shirt is wrinkled and a little sweaty, a streak of dirt on the flank.

All in all: not the look I wanted for our first date.

Is this our first date? Or is this a precursor to our date?

In the main room, Sadie has set out a veritable feast of what smells like Chinese food. A dozen black plastic containers containing rice, noodles, soup, and every dish I can think of wait for us.