“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, leaning in closer. “What the hell is going on here?”
My hair’s a mess, sticking up in every direction from where I’ve raked my fingers through it a hundred times tonight. There’s a spot of marinara sauce on the collar of my T-shirt from the pizza, and my jawline’s beginning to show signs of a five-o’clock shadow.
Basically, I look like a guy who stress-cleaned his entire cottage for a woman and played a bonding game with his teammates.
“What am I fucking doing?” I slap the countertop for emphasis.
Leaning forward, I brace my hands on the sink, staring myself down. “You’ve got this, Bennett. She likes you—probably. Or she hates you. Either way, you’re not going to find out by hiding in the damn bathroom.”
What the hell am I saying? Why am I talking to myself?
“Get it together, Bennett,” I growl at myself, jabbing a finger at my reflection. “You’re a professional athlete. You’ve been tackled by grown men weighing three hundred pounds. You’ve faced down players who wanted tokillyou. And now you’re hiding in the bathroom because you’re too chicken to ask a woman to spend the night?”
My reflection doesn’t answer, which is so rude.
I swipe at my face with a towel and square my shoulders.
“All right. You’re doing this. You’ve got this. Don’t be weird. Ask her to stay the night. No pressure, no expectations—a casual, totally cool suggestion from one adult to another. You’ve got this.”
I give myself a thumbs-up.
“And for the love of God,” I add, pointing one last time. “Stop talking to yourself like a lunatic. She can probably hear you.”
With that final pep talk, I push the door open.
Lucy is curled up on the couch like she owns the place. Her hoodie is pulled up around her shoulders snugly, her legs tucked under her, and she’s scrolling mindlessly through her phone with the kind of focus that tells me she hasn’t sensed me standing here yet.
No big deal.
“Hey.” I step into the living room. “Did you miss me?”
She glances up. “Oh, hey you. Did you leave the room? I didn’t notice.”
Her eyes are twinkling.
My shoulders relax.
The clock on the wall ticks loudly, despite the television being on, each second dragging by.
“Ouch. Brutal.” I flop down on the couch next to her, keeping a careful amount of space between us—though it kills me not to lean in closer. “And here I thought we were bonding.”
“We were.” She sets her phone down on the armrest, tilting her head. “You ruined it by leaving for an entire ten minutes.”
Oh shit—so she is aware how long I was fucking around in the bathroom.
Awkward.
“What were you doing in there for so long anyway? Talking to yourself? Staring at your reflection?”
She’s teasing, but my ears burn regardless.
“What? Pfft.No.Who talks to themselves in the mirror?”
“Uh-huh.” Her smile widens. “Sure you weren’t.”
I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Fine. Maybe I was—hypothetically—mentally preparing for something. Is that a crime?”
“Depends.” She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “What were you mentally preparing for?”
