“Sorry. That was clumsy.” She looks up at me for the briefest of moments before a soft blush spreads over her cheeks. She bites her lip and turns her head down to the task at hand, putting the plates in the dishwasher.
I release my hands from her sides way too slow, and my heart rate picks up because all I can think about is how much I want to kiss her, take her lush lower lip in my mouth and pin her up against the counter. But I stop myself because I try not to be in the habit of making stupid mistakes.
“It’s okay. I’m clumsy all the time,” I say, trying to make her feel better and keep the conversation going, so I’m not thinking about other things.
“Right. I bet that’s why you’re a D1 athlete. The clumsiness.” She shoots me a look that says she doesn’t appreciate the patronizing help.
“You’d be surprised. Sometimes it’s like my brain short circuits.”
“Uh huh. I’ll believe it when I see it.” She gives me a little grin and puts the last of the dishes in the dishwasher before she starts it.
“Could I watch the next episode with you?” I ask abruptly. So fucking smooth. Like I said, it short circuits, especially around her.
“Of the show?” She looks confused.
“Yeah. If you don’t mind. I want to know what happens.”
“Oh, um. Sure, I guess.” She wipes her hands on a towel.
“If you don’t want me—“
“No. It’s fine. Just my room is small and there’s really nowhere to sit but the bed.”
Which was exactly why it was such a great idea, or bad idea depending on if you’re a glass half empty or full type of person.
“Worried you can’t keep your hands off me?”
Her eyes flash up to mine and she shakes her head. “I’ll find a way.”
“All right. Meet you in there in five?” I ask.
She nods and then heads off for her room.
* * *
I needthe five minutes to convince myself not to try to put my hands on her. If she was any of the other women I dated I’d be moving faster, trying to charm her and get her to admit she wanted me to kiss her. Because I’m fairly certain she does, but I also think she hates that she does. So instead, I’m going to try to be on my best behavior with her, even if it kills me.
When the time is up, I knock on her door, and she calls for me to come in. She’s already propped up on her bed, flipping through the channels to get the show set up. She looks up at me and smiles.
“So what do you think? Poltergeist? Aliens? Someone living in the ceiling?” she asks and pats the spot next to her on the bed when I hesitate.
I lay down next to her, fixing the pillow, and then laying back against it.
“I don’t know.” I shrug as I take in the surroundings of her room.
It feels odd to be in her space. I’d never seen her room as kids, as only Nora had ever been invited inside or over for sleepovers. I’d always wondered, especially as a teenager what posters she had on the wall, whether she was messy or neat. The room now is neat, which makes sense because Violet always seemed put together. But there are little hints of chaos; makeup and hair stuff spilled over the desk. A pile of dresses and clothes draped over a chair in the corner.
“Sorry. It’s a little messy.” She frowns, catching me scrutinizing the space. “I’m used to being alone in here now.”
“This is not messy. You have not seen messy until you live with other athletes.”
“Yikes. I don’t know that I want to imagine that.”
“Yeah. One of the benefits of being here.” I smile at her.
“You really are welcome here. Joss is just teasing you, so you know.”
“I just feel bad because I know you could be getting more rent for the room.”
