Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DREW
“Oh my god,” Caitlin mutters, shoving her plate away. “I may never eat again.”
“Good, right?” I ask with a grin.
She shakes her head, something like awe on her face, and the thought that I did something that impressed Caitlin Parker?
I’ll be chasing this high for the rest of my life.
“So fucking good. Like, I think maybe that was the best fettucine Alfredo I’ve ever eaten in my life, and I’m counting the time I ate it in Rome with pasta handmade by a ninety-year-old Italian nonna who insisted we try every dish on the menu before she would let us leave her restaurant. ”
I toss my napkin on the table and lean back in my chair, kicking my legs out in front of me.
Deliberately, with my eyes on hers, I hook my foot around Caitlin’s ankle and grin as she fumbles her glass a little, Sprite sloshing close to the edge.
It turns out catching her off guard is one of my greatest pleasures.
And when she doesn’t move her leg away from mine, I wonder if anything could be better than this.
There are so many things I want to do with her.
To her. So many things I want to talk to her about and hear her talk about with me.
But I think sitting with her in my kitchen, watching her eat a meal I cooked, seeing her sitting across the table from me, smiling like she’s happy too, makes this the best Sunday I’ve ever had.
And if there’s a part of my brain insisting this is temporary, saying people like me don’t get to have this for real, for now I can shut it down and pretend that maybe moments like this could be mine to keep.
That maybe she could be mine to keep.
“When did you go to Rome?”
“What?” she asks, her voice a little higher than normal, like the feel of my foot on hers scrambled her brain similar to how she’s been scrambling mine since I looked up during the game earlier and saw her sitting in the stands.
Walked out of the locker room and saw her standing all alone, looking around like she was trying to figure out what to do.
Where she belonged in the sea of people, even though so many of them were her friends. Her family.
The urge to tell her she belonged with me was strong.
That we could belong together. It felt selfish, like maybe people like me aren’t meant to belong to anyone.
But then I saw the way her face fell when Tyler was talking to her—the way she held on when I took her hand—and asking if I could take her home felt natural.
Right. Like us being together after one of my games is the way it’s supposed to be.
It felt like maybe we’re both missing some pieces, but together, we could make each other whole.
And sitting in my kitchen with her after eating dinner together is as whole as I’ve felt in so long.
Maybe ever.
“Rome,” I say with a smile, dredging the last piece of the sourdough I baked earlier today before the game into the mixture of olive oil and herbs in the middle of the table and handing her half of it.
She looks at it for a beat then shrugs, taking it from me and biting in, letting out a low moan that has my cock twitching and satisfaction humming in my veins.
It’s both a massive turn on and deeply settling to see Caitlin enjoy food I made.
To be able to take care of her in this way.
That she lets me. “When were you in Rome?”
Caitlin swallows, leaning her elbows on the table and propping her chin in her hands.
“All six of us went when Sophie, Emmy, Sarah, and I graduated from college. Three weeks in Italy, Switzerland, France, and Spain. Food, fun, and playing tourist in Europe the way you only can when you’re twenty-two and don’t have anything else in the world to worry about. ”
The edge in her voice is subtle, but I catch it immediately. “Why didn’t you have a good time?”
Surprise flashes over her face. “What do you mean?”
I take a sip of my root beer, watching her over the rim of the glass.
“A three-week European vacation seems like it would be the most fun anyone has ever had, and you said you didn’t have anything else to worry about.
But the way you sounded when you mentioned it told me something different.
That maybe it wasn’t all fun for you, and you were worrying about a lot of things. I’m wondering why.”
Caitlin blows out a breath and runs a hand over her ponytail, twisting the end around her finger in thought.
“It was stressful,” she admits quietly, and that she tells me this truth—that she’s comfortable enough to open up this way—is as important a moment as I’ve ever had.
“For me. It was stressful for me. I put together the entire itinerary, booked the flights and hotels and everything. I found the restaurants and scheduled the tours and spent all three weeks making sure the proverbial trains ran on time.” She lets out a small laugh.
“The actual trains too.” Picking up her napkin, she starts to shred it, her eyes firmly fixed on her task.
“I sent everyone packing lists. Fucking packing lists,” she mutters, and when she looks back up at me, her cheeks are a little red, as if she’s embarrassed by what she just told me.
“What would have happened if you didn’t do all that?” I ask, choosing my words carefully, watching as her eyes widen a little, as if the idea of not taking control that way never occurred to her.
Her brow furrows like she’s really thinking about it.
“It would have been great,” she says quietly, slowly, as if she’s trying this admission on for size.
“I know it would have, but I’m so used to making the plans and solving the problems. Taking control and doing all the things.
” She shakes her head and sighs. “I don’t know how to be any other way, even though it’s exhausting sometimes.
” She huffs out a laugh. “Most of the time. Sometimes I kind of wish someone would just tell me what to do so I could follow directions for a change. I don’t know if I would be any good at it, but I think I would like to try. ”
I turn her words over in my head, knowing how much that admission cost her, knowing instinctively it’s something she’s never said before.
Reaching across the table, I take her hand, waiting until her eyes meet mine.
“Anytime you want someone to boss you around for a while, you just let me know. I would…” I trail off, running my finger over the back of her hand. “Really love to tell you what to do.”
Caitlin bursts out laughing, the pretty sound filling the room and making it instantly brighter. “Was that supposed to be sexy?”
Delighted with her, I grin, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, watching as her eyes swirl with just a touch of heat. “I’m not sure. Did it work?”
She rolls her eyes. “I would think someone who has fucked his way through every cleat chaser in the National Football League would have a little more game than that.”
“Hey, I’ve got game. I’m lousy with game. You’ve never been with someone who has more game than I do.”
Caitlin snorts. “Well, that’s not a tough threshold because I’ve only…
” She cuts herself off, slamming her mouth shut.
“Never mind,” she mutters, shooting up from the table and grabbing her plate then mine, her movements hurried and a little jerky.
She turns and drops everything into the sink, gripping the edge of the counter and leaning into her hands.
She hangs her head, chin to chest, back rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.
Standing from the table, I come up behind her and press my front lightly to her back, reaching around and covering her hands with mine. “You want to finish that sentence, Princess?” I ask, grazing my lips over the shell of her ear and smiling against her skin when she shivers.
“I can’t even tell you how much I don’t.” She talks to the sink, her hands rigid under mine. “It doesn’t matter.”
Remembering the moment in her office a few weeks ago when my hand drifted to her stomach and she shot away from me like she was on fire, then the way she doubled over in the hospital bathroom with her forearm pressed to her belly, I run a hand slowly up her side, careful to keep my fingertips away from where I suspect she doesn’t like to be touched.
My fingers drift over her shoulder and across her collarbone, my hand coming to rest lightly on the side of her neck, thumb grazing her jaw.
“Try that again, baby, because I think it does matter. I think it matters a whole lot.”
“Why?” she asks, still staring aggressively forward.
I chuckle at the word she uses more than any other, letting my lips trail down her neck.
“Because I know what your lips taste like, and I’ve been struggling to keep my hands off you for weeks.
Because you’re the first person ever to eat dinner with me in my kitchen, and I’ve never made pasta for anyone but you.
Because I stocked my freezer with pebble ice weeks ago, hoping one day you would be over here to use it.
Because even though I shouldn’t, I want you, Catie.
I want my hands on every inch of you, and I want to know what you taste like everywhere.
I want to watch your face when you come and hear what sounds you make when you do.
I want your clothes on my bedroom floor and the scent of your hair on my pillows, and I want to make you your first iced latte of the day and kiss you before you leave for work to go do all the brilliant lawyer things you do and know every day what color you painted your toenails the night before. ”