Chapter Twenty-Two
Pancakes & Romance
A few days after I fucked Regan so hard and deep that she could barely speak afterward, the woman in question leans over the counter, giving me an eyeful of cleavage that momentarily makes me forget about breakfast. She relishes any opportunity to tease me with her luscious body.
This morning, I plan to give her a fresh, succulent breakfast full of electrolytes and other good stuff.
Regan swings her stool back and forth with her feet dangling. "Whatcha up to, sweetie pie?"
"I'm multitasking." I slide a plate of bananas, yogurt, and spinach toward her, along with a bowl of fresh berries I painstakingly washed and arranged. "Made some avocado toast too, with that fancy bread you like. And I've got a spinach omelet coming up next for you."
She takes a dainty bite of her avocado toast and moans deeply that the act itself should be illegal outside the bedroom. "Wow, Mike. This is all so yummy I might orgasm while eating."
"You sound surprised." I feign offense while cracking eggs into a bowl. "Those cooking videos were extremely educational. A guy on YouTube showed me exactly how to make the perfect omelet."
Regan pops a blueberry into her mouth. "Not sure YouTube is the right way to learn."
"Hey, don't knock it. That guy knew his way around a griddle." I whisk the eggs with a flourish, adding a pinch of salt and pepper just like I learned. "Besides, I figured if I'm going to marry an Olympic-caliber athlete, I should step up my kitchen game."
Regan smiles sweetly and reaches across the counter to touch my arm. "That's incredibly sweet, Mike. And I appreciate it more than you know."
"Well, I figured I should learn something useful during the off-season besides how to dodge Brasher's attempts to take me down.
" I pour the egg mixture into the hot pan, watching it sizzle and begin to set around the edges.
"A blitz is when players rush the quarterback to stop any attempts to pass. "
"I see." Regan's brows wrinkle, but she shakes off her confusion. "Bohdan mentioned your pre-competition nutrition plan, and I wanted to know how to help with that."
Regan pauses mid-bite, her fork hovering. "You talked to Bohdan about my nutrition plan?"
"It was more like he lectured me about it for forty-five minutes after I brought pizza home that one time." I sprinkle a bit of feta cheese onto the omelet. "Did you know he has strong opinions about refined carbohydrates?"
"Bohdan has strong opinions about everything, even the way you tie your shoelaces.
" She thrusts two banana slices into her mouth at once and tries to speak while chowing down.
But I've learned how to interpret Regan's stuffed-mouth statements.
"Sometimes I dream about doing something crazy.
You know, the kind of thing my coach would have a stroke over if he ever knew. "
"Yeah, I feel that way sometimes too."
Once we've devoured our morning feast, I suggest we go for a drive, strictly for fun. Neither of us get much time off, so this is the closest thing to a vacation that we can reasonably hope to have.
As we jump into my truck, I roll down the windows to let the late morning breeze flow through the cab. Regan has tied her hair up in a messy bun, looking effortlessly gorgeous in a simple tank top and shorts. She kicks her bare feet up on the dashboard and stretches like a cat in the sunshine.
"So where are we going?" she asks while scrolling through her phone to find the perfect road trip playlist.
I back out of the driveway. "Don't know. That's the point. No schedule, no plan, no Bohdan tracking your carb intake. Just you, me, and the open road."
"A spontaneous adventure with the quarterback? How scandalous."
"Yep, I'm full of surprises today." I reach over and squeeze her thigh. "But first, let's grab some road trip snacks. Can't have an adventure without the right provisions."
We stop at our local convenience store, already mentally cataloging what junk food might make Regan's eyes light up. The thought of her breaking Bohdan's strict nutritional guidelines makes me strangely horny. I get a weird thrill of rebellion by proxy just thinking about that.
"You're enabling my worst instincts, Mike." She's already scrolling through her playlist with renewed enthusiasm as she settles on some upbeat indie rock that feels perfect for the sunny day stretching ahead of us. "First you feed me nutritional foods, then jump straight into junk. I like it."
Inside the store, we load up like teenagers without supervision---chips, chocolate, those little powdered donuts Regan pretends not to love, and enough soda to send Bohdan into cardiac arrest if he ever found out. I grab a few bottles of water too, because I'm not a total nutritional anarchist.
"Bohdan would have an aneurysm if he saw this haul," I point out as I pay for our contraband snacks.
The cashier bags everything with an amused expression, undoubtedly wondering why two athletic adults are giggling over junk food as if it's forbidden treasure.
Back in the truck, Regan tears open the bag of chips, crunching happily.
Before I can even start the engine, she declares, "freedom tastes like salt and preservatives. "
I pull out on the main road heading out of town with no destination in mind. The music fills the cab as Regan fiddles with the volume, finding the perfect sweet spot where we can still talk without shouting.
"So, which direction?" I ask. "North to the mountains or south to the coast?"
Regan considers the options while licking chip dust from her fingers with enough carnal hunger that I momentarily forget how to drive. I swerve my gaze back to the road.
"Coast," she decides, popping open a can of soda with a satisfying hiss. "I feel like seeing the ocean today."
"South it is." I merge onto the freeway, settling into the drive. "Any particular beach, or should we just see where the road takes us?"
My fiancée rolls the window down, letting her arm ride the breeze. "Let's drive until something feels right. That's the whole point of a spontaneous day trip, isn't it?"
As the highway stretches out before us, I glance at Regan off and on. Between my rigorous training schedule and Regan's equally demanding regimen, we rarely get moments like this---unstructured, unplanned, unobserved.
I glance at Regan just as the wind whips her hair around her face. "You know what's crazy? I think this is our first real day off together since before the season started."
"That can't be right." She hesitates, biting her lip. "Actually...wow. You're right. Between your games and my training schedule, we've barely had time to breathe."
I take her hand, threading our fingers. "Well, today we're making up for lost time. No coaches, no teammates, no schedules."
"No Bohdan tracking my protein intake."
"Or Coach Ernie texting me about film study."
As if on cue, my phone buzzes in the cupholder. Regan glances down and snorts. "Speak of the devil."
"Ignore it. Today is officially an Ernie free zone."
Regan grabs my phone and turns it face down in the cupholder. "Agreed. No coaches, no training, no obligations."
We stop at a lookout point near the coast, where we seem to be the only two people here. Just us and the seagulls. The sun is gradually setting, but we have enough time left to enjoy the view. The golden sunset looks like a painting.
I clasp Regan's hand. "I know our mothers and my team want us to have a big wedding they can turn into an event. But all I want is to marry you."
She kisses my cheek. "I want that too."
"Okay." I clear my throat---twice. "How would you feel about eloping?"
Her eyes widen, and for a minute I wonder if I've miscalculated the moment. Maybe she does dream of a big wedding with all the trimmings. I might've crushed her childhood dream of walking down an aisle in a princess dress while our families sob into handkerchiefs.
"Eloping?" Regan's eyes go wide. "Are you serious, Mike?"
"Dead serious." I clasp her hands. "I love you, I want to be married to you, and I don't want to wait six months or a year while our mothers argue about centerpieces and seating charts. We can give them that later."
Her lips gradually curl into a sweet smile. "Mike Hannigan, that might be the best idea you've ever had."
"Yeah? Sure you won't regret it? You'd miss out on the whole wedding extravaganza---no big dress, no DJ, no drunk relatives making speeches."
She laughs and rests her head on my shoulder, watching the waves crash against the rocks below. "I've spent my whole life performing for audiences. All I want is for our wedding not to become another performance."
The woman I love turns toward me. "Let's do it, Mike. Let's just...go somewhere and get married."
I pull her close. "Seriously?"
"Yep. I've never been more sure of anything." She kisses me softly and sweetly, tasting like salt and those ridiculous powdered donuts. "When?"
"Then how about now?"