I nod, biting my lower lip. “We could have another date.” I’m already thinking about getting him alone. I inhale, leaning forward. “But this time at my place.”
His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s trying to figure me out. “Your place, huh? What’s the occasion?”
I shrug, trying to act casual, though my pulse is quickening and blood rushes to my groin. “I thought maybe we could just hang out. How about Friday night? I’ll order something.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Friday night?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’ve got practice Friday night. Maybe I can get Maynor to cover for me . . . depending on the puppies.”
I try not to smile too wide, picturing him wrangling the boys. “What time does practice end?”
“Seven,” he says, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair.
“So . . . come after practice?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. My stomach twists with anticipation.
He looks like he’s considering it for a second. “I’d need to go home and shower first.”
“No, you don’t,” I say almost too quickly. “Just come over. You’ll be fine.”
The thought of Darius after practice, all sweaty and ripe, makes my dick lurch in my khakis.
His lips curl up at the corners, and he nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll be there.”
I grin, a little relief flooding through me. I’ve got him. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
“See you,” he says, standing and giving me a knowing look before heading for the door.
My heart races as I watch him leave. His ass perfectly fills out those damn track pants. Excitement and nerves swirl in my torso. Friday night can’t come soon enough.
11
HARRY
I glancearound my apartment as I stand in the bathroom, towel around my waist, steam curling up around me from the shower. The place is small, one bedroom, just the right size for me. It’s neat—almost obsessively so. Every book on my shelves is lined up perfectly: classics on the left, modern novels on the right, a few poetry collections in the middle. Aside from the occasional stack of papers I need to grade, my desk in the corner of the room is always neat. I don’t care for clutter. I prefer things in their place. It’s comforting, even though I can get too caught up in the details.
I finish brushing my teeth, feeling the cool bristles against my gums, and quickly step out of the bathroom. A glance at the clock—6:45. Darius will be here soon, and I want to be ready. I slip on a pair of black jeans and a soft blue sweater, simple but crisp. Nothing flashy. I don’t want to seem like I’m trying too hard, but I definitely want to look and feel good. Fresh. Clean.
I give my reflection one last check in the mirror andthen grab a mug and fill it with hot water and a tea bag. The warmth feels nice as I let it settle into my hands. I lean against the kitchen counter, waiting.
A soft knock on the door sends my heart skipping in my chest.
I’m already moving before I realize it, perhaps a little too eagerly. I open the door to find Darius standing there, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The bit of his hair escaping his baseball hat is matted, probably from practice. His cheeks are flushed, probably from the cold, and his eyes light up when he sees me.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and warm, and before I can say anything, he’s leaning in, brushing a soft kiss to my cheek.
“Hey, yourself,” I answer, my pulse ramping up.
He looks past me, glancing around the apartment. “Nice and tidy, as expected.”
I shrug, trying to act casual. “I prefer things to be organized.”
He grins, takes off his coat, then holds out a large brown shopping bag he’s been carrying. “Got you something.”
I blink, a little thrown off. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” he says simply, his eyes twinkling. He steps inside, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. “Go ahead. Open it.”
