11. Chapter 11 #2
Shit, did I just say our girl? My eyes land on Savannah’s, but she doesn’t look mad that I called her baby our baby.
I mean, of course, I know she’s not mine.
Neither of them is. But I want to spoil Savannah.
And if that means buying something for her daughter, then goddamn, I’ll buy the whole fucking store to see her happy.
Sav’s eyebrow quirks as she looks at me. “Our girl?”
Clearing my throat, I rub the back of my head. “Your girl. Your girl, Peach.” I gesture at the rows of clothes. “Let’s get her something pretty.”
Rows of pastel onesies and impossibly tiny shoes stretch out in front of us. Her fingers skim a pink sleeper with ruffled sleeves, then a cotton dress covered in flowers in shades of pink, with a pink cardigan.
Reaching for the first onesie I see, I stare at the tiny scrap of fabric.
Her baby is going to be this small? How can something so tiny feel so overwhelming?
Hanging back at first, I let Sav explore the aisles.
I watch the way her whole body softens. Then I veer off to do my own shopping.
My eyes catch on a lemon-patterned outfit set—the kind that comes as one piece, but this bodysuit has ruffles across the bum.
It’s weirdly adorable, and I find myself questioning when I started to think baby clothes were cute.
I toss it into the cart without a second thought.
Down another aisle, a pack of bows catches my eye. Shades of yellow, creams, pinks. Everything that makes up Sav. Bright. Sunny. Her . I toss them in too.
On the endcap, there’s a stuffed calico cat labeled ‘Warmies.’ I have no idea what the hell a Warmie is, but it reminds me of a cat my mom used to have when my sister and I were younger.
I pick it up, flipping the tag. It says you microwave it?
Weird, but that’s kind of cool. It’s soft as hell, too.
I imagine a mini-Savannah curling around it in a crib and decide, yeah, she needs it.
I find Savannah two rows down, eyes bouncing between a set of muslin blankets and these weird Velcro contraption things. I really need to do more research on babies. A few pajamas and a pack of towels are pressed between her arm and her belly.
“What’s that?” she asks when she sees the stuffed animal in the cart.
I shrug. “Some kind of stuffed thing you warm up. It’s supposed to help babies sleep or something.”
She actually swoons. Physically. Her shoulders dip, lips part, hand goes to her chest like she’s trying to wrangle in her emotions.
And I don’t miss the way her eyes soften as she looks at me, the kind of look that makes my chest ache. When I kissed her today, it was because of the moment we shared in the doctor’s office—hearing the news about her baby’s gender. But maybe it wasn’t as dumb a decision as I thought.
Maybe this time, we can make it work.
She glances down at the cart, spots the bows, and then the lemon outfit. And the few other things I grabbed on my way to find her.
“You’re getting too much,” she murmurs, even as her fingers trail across the bows.
“You’re not getting enough.” I wink before giving her a look that says drop it . And she does. Smart girl.
But then she grabs the lemon set and holds it up. “Why lemons?”
I grin. “Are you kidding?”
Confusion lines her pretty face, and I can’t help the chuckle that escapes. “I’ve seen the wrappers, Peach. My girl has a craving for lemons. Lemon muffins, lemon bars, lemon scones. You’re basically made of lemon at this point.”
Her mouth falls open with a soft gasp. “You noticed?”
I laugh, nudging the cart forward. “Kind of hard not to when I’m taking out the trash.”
She gasps. “It’s not that bad.”
“Whatever you say, Peach. Whatever you say.”
We wind down a few more aisles. Savannah tosses in more outfits, a pack of pacifiers, and a blanket she claims is too soft to leave behind.
By the time we’re heading toward the front of the store, the cart’s at least halfway full.
My chest warms at getting to do this for her.
For once, someone can take care of her, and I’m glad it’s me.
She loops her arm through mine and rests her head on my shoulder.
“Take me home,” she says softly, “and feed me.”
Home. She called the apartment home . A dozen different answers catch in my throat—none of them appropriate. Because the only kind of hunger I’m thinking about right now has nothing to do with food.
But I nod, trying to focus on anything but how her body curves into mine, or how right this feels.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Let's go home.”
Because if we stay in this store any longer, I’m going to do something stupid.
Like kiss her again.
“If you were on death row, what would your last meal be?”
She snorts, tipping her head back. “That’s dark.”
“Says the girl who watches Criminal Minds for fun,” I grumble under my breath. She shoves my shoulder, not missing the comment. “C’mon, it’s important information.”
Her lips twitch as she takes another large bite of lemon cheesecake ice cream.
I didn’t even know this flavor existed, but leave it to Target to surprise me with random flavors.
“Okay. I would totally pick fried chicken. Mashed potatoes and gravy. Chicken and noodles with a side of macaroni and cheese. And for dessert, peach cobbler with homemade vanilla ice cream.” She ticks each item off with her fingers, and I swear I see drool nearly escape her mouth.
“Damn,” I say with a nod. “Now I want that for dinner this week.”
She nods with a cocky smirk, like her meal was the best option. “What about you?”
“Easy. Give me a tomahawk steak. Mashed potatoes and gravy, same as you. Green bean casserole with fried onions. And a layered chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.”
Savannah gives me a slow, approving nod, like we both passed some kind of secret test. “I can’t lie; I’d be down for that too.”
We fall into a comfortable silence as she clicks the ‘continue watching’ button on the TV. Everything about tonight has gone smoothly—simple, yet perfect. Since Savannah didn’t want to go out to eat, we came home from Target to find something here.
Earlier tonight, while she changed into comfy clothes, I raided the fridge to see what I had to cook for dinner.
I found some leftover chicken, a new block of cheese, a jar of homemade salsa, and a few limes.
Digging through the pantry, I spotted a fresh package of tortillas and decided quesadillas were the move. A little fiesta for the two of us.
If being in Savannah’s presence wasn’t torture enough, hearing her moan through dinner definitely was.
With every bite, she’d let out this soft groan, and I swear I was rock hard the entire time.
She’s always had this effect on me, and it’s only gotten worse with her living here.
I’m trying my damndest to keep things amicable between us, but hell, my body remembers what it feels like to be inside her.
And it’s been months since I’ve been with a woman, which means I’m even more desperate for her.
We talked about everything over dinner. Her weird cravings for all things lemon, which came out of nowhere since she was never a huge lemon fan, to different baby names.
I couldn’t believe the list of names she had in her notes app.
But none of them were saying ‘pick me’ to her.
Savannah wants something meaningful—whether it be the name’s meaning or in her life.
The conversation shifted to me—how I was liking my job.
To say I love it would be an understatement.
There’s no greater feeling than helping an athlete work through a play or push themselves to the next level in the weight room.
Seeing their faces brighten with determination is a gift.
I told her about the freshman wide receiver who’s slotted to take my place.
It’s weird to have someone coming into my spot after I was the starting wide receiver for the last four years.
I think he’s going to be even better than I was, if only he’d keep the noise from the media out of his head.
After dinner, when our plates were cleared and the kitchen cleaned, we settled in on the couch— where we are now —to watch, you guessed it, Criminal Minds .
For the past hour, we’ve fallen into comfortable silence, watching the latest serial killer try to get away with their crimes.
That is, until one of us has something random pop into our heads and we blurt out what we’re thinking.
It’s an old game we’ve played over the years, and it’s been a fun way to get reacquainted. It’s our own version of 21 Questions.
“Alright, I’ve got one,” Sav says, grinning. “What’s a super random thing you’ve always wanted to learn, but haven’t yet, or you’re too scared to go through with it?”
I lean back, thinking. Shit, this is a tough one. For most of my life, football has consumed me. Training, playing, and now coaching. But what’s something else I’d want to learn?
“Learn how to fly.”
Sav’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”
I nod. “It’s always been something that interests me, but I’m terrified.”
“I think you’d make an incredible pilot.”
I smile softly as images of flying us around the country, visiting new places, flash through my mind. “Would you survive the zombie apocalypse?”
“Hell no,” Savannah answers without hesitation. “Zombies take over the world, I’m going out first. No way am I living off the land and trying not to get bitten.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously! Especially if the zombies are fast like those fuckers on The Last of Us .”
“Wait.” I whip my head in her direction. “You’ve seen The Last of Us ?”
She lets out a sigh, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Unfortunately. Ridge made me watch it with him over Christmas break. I swear I watched half of it with my hand on my face.”
I chuckle, tipping my head back against the couch as the energy between us simmers just below the surface.
It’s nothing but everything at the same time.
The later we get into the night, the closer she moves, until her body is curled against my side.
Her signature scent of peach and vanilla is all-consuming.
And we’re just supposed to be roommates.
God help me.