I slide my hands under the jersey and take a few seconds to appreciate how warm and soft she is everywhere.
“I love this jersey on you,” I murmur against her lips. “Almost as much as I love taking it off of you.”
She helps me pull it over her head, and then I shrug out of my own shirt. The rest of our clothes end up scattered on the floor around us, and then it’s just skin and heat and the two of us exploring each other all over again.
I take my time, worshiping every inch of her with my hands and my mouth, committing every sound she makes to memory. She arches beneath me, her fingers digging into my shoulders, my back, anywhere she can reach.
When I finally sink into her, her eyes lock with mine as we move together, slowly and deliberately.
And when we finally fall over the edge together, she calls out my name while I cover her mouth—and then her entire, beautiful face—with quick, light kisses.
After we’re both cleaned up, we lie wrapped up in the sheets together, with her head on my chest and her heartbeat mingling with mine.
“Stay,” I say, then kiss the top of her head. “Don’t go back to your room.”
“Okay.” She smiles up at me. “I’ll stay.”
I wake before dawn because my internal clock doesn’t know how to sleep in, even after a game. But instead of immediately getting up and starting my routine, I take a moment to just lie here.
Heather is curled on her side and still asleep, facing me with one hand tucked under her cheek. Her hair is spread across my pillow, and she looks just as beautiful now, like this, as she does with a full face of makeup.
I don’t want to risk disturbing her, but my body eventually wins out.
I slip out of bed and carefully pull the covers back over her, then grab my workout clothes and head downstairs.
As much as I’ve come to enjoy having other people in the house, there’s still something I hold special about this quiet, peaceful part of the morning. I start a pot of coffee and then move to the basement to do a light stretch routine while it brews.
I’m taking things slow and easy today—not just because we won last night, but because I don’t want to irritate my knee. Whatever the issue was during that away game last week seems to have healed, but I don’t really want to push my luck.
A half-hour later, I’m back in the kitchen and just pouring my second cup of coffee when I hear a key in the front door. Colin lets himself in, carrying his usual caddy of cleaning supplies.
“Morning,” he says with a brisk nod as he hangs his coat by the door.
I take a sip and return the nod. “Morning.”
He moves into the kitchen and starts organizing his supplies under the sink. We’ve fallen into an easy routine over the past couple of years. He comes in and does his work, and we talk sometimes. Other times we don’t. It’s comfortable.
Today, he’s smirking—a lot like the last time I saw him. The time he almost caught more than an eyeful of me and Heather together.
“What?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the defensive tone from my voice.
“I watched the game last night.” He straightens up and gives me a knowing look. “Saw you kissing the glass like some lovesick teenager.”
There it is. And I have nothing to say in my defense. “You and a couple million other people, I’d imagine.”
“And she was wearing your jersey. Looks better on her, I have to say.” Colin shakes his head, but he’s grinning now. “You’re completely smitten, aren’t you?”
All I can do is nod. “Yeah. I am. But nobody uses the word ‘smitten’ anymore.”
“They should. It’s a nice word.” He grabs a rag and starts wiping down the counter. “Anyway, it’s about damn time you let someone in. Heather’s made you smile more in a few weeks than I’ve seen from you in the past two years combined.”
He’s right again, but I don’t want to give him too much credit all at once. Instead, I settle on another easy truth. “I’m really glad she’s here.”
“Well, then.” He nods, satisfied. “Don’t screw it up.”
“I’m not planning on it.”
“Good man.” He moves toward the living room just as I hear footsteps on the stairs.
