“How was practice?” I ask, tapping my fingers together in front of me. A weird nervous habit I developed around Chase when I was younger. My eyes follow the way his hands move under the faucet as he washes them. I could watch this man be still for a painting and my insides would still overheat.
“Another day in paradise.” He swats his hand at the faucet, turning it off and grabbing the towel.
His jaw clenches and he spreads his hands out on the marble countertop, flexing his fingers while his brown hair curls justslightly atop his ears. God, I love when he lets it grow a little like this. A little messy and a little unruly… it’s sexy.
“That bad, huh?” I ask, knowing that their coach has been on their asses. “I’m telling you, move Frank to left guard and it’ll help. Who do I have to call?” I ask, playfully, getting another small smirk out of him as he dries his hands.
“Summer Kincaid with all the answers.” He smirks again. If small smirks and half smiles are all he’ll give right now, I’ll take it and count it in the win column. I want him to trust me and feel comfortable with me being here more now. The fact that we’ve known each other as long as we have doesn’t seem to matter when it comes to CeCe. He’s still on edge and overprotective, almost to a fault.
There are moments when I look at Chase and think,get over him.And then there are others, many others, when I’m around him watching him do the most normal, everyday tasks, like filling a pot with water to boil, and my heart justpounds. Something embedded within my DNA is just so hopelessly in love with him. I can’t shake him. You’d think after years, literal years, of nothing happening and him never reciprocating the feelings, that it would be easy to let it go. But I just can’t.
“Do you want help?” The offer falls from my lips before I can register what I’m asking, knowing he’s likely going to turn me down. I can’t imagine he wants two favors from me in one day.
“With?” He doesn’t turn around to face me, just reaches for a box of macaroni and cheese from the pantry.
“Dinner. I can help if you want.”
“Cooking wasn’t part of our agreement, I’ve got it.”
I sigh, rolling my eyes as I walk around the island.
“You’re acting like this is some kind of business deal with a stranger from Craigslist. We’re friends, I can help you as a friend. Plus, you look exhausted. I can throw macaroni and cheese together for CeCe while you relax for fifteen minutes.” Ipull open one of the drawers and grab a spoon and make my best attempt toscootthis wall of a man out of my way.
“What was that?” he asks with a low chuckle.
“My shitty attempt to move you out of the way, obviously. Just go relax. You don’t have to do everything yourself. I’m here, let me help.”
I can tell he wants to tell me to kick rocks. Chase has these tells I’ve learned over the years and it’s so easy for me to see when I’m being too much for him. His nostrils are flaring and his breath begins to deepen. But then the soft smirk from his chuckle falls into a stare and he looks down at me, letting our gazes interlock for a brief moment until his eyes flick to my mouth and back up. Within seconds, a door opens down the hall and CeCe runs toward him calling his name.
“Go,” I whisper.
“Watch this!” CeCe says, tiptoeing across her balance beam in the living room as I kick my feet up on the ottoman.
I can’t remember the last time I just sat after practice and it makes me feel restless, even though I should be feeling grateful for Summer’s help. The sound of metal clanging against a pot, tied with some country song coming from the kitchen almost has me on my feet to see what she’s doing, but if I’m going to accept her help, I have to try to relinquish a little bit of control.
God, help me with that.
A timer goes off and Summer pops up in the living room, holding a pink bowl full of macaroni and cheese with a spoon sticking out the top for CeCe.
“All right. Come eat,” she says, running her free hand over CeCe’s head as they walk together back to the dining room. Summer’s blonde hair is cascading down her back in big loosecurls against a pair of denim overalls.Overalls. Who would’ve thought?
My hand runs through my hair and I let my head rest against the couch cushion for a few moments, closing my eyes in an attempt to relax.
“Yours is almost done,” Summer says.
I squint open one eye, but she’s already gone back into the kitchen before I’ve had the chance to say anything.
She can’t make me dinner. Doing it for CeCe is one thing, but me? I can’t allow it. Somehow, it feels like crossing a line in this arrangement we have, and I don’t need her to start getting overly comfortable in my kitchen.
Sighing, I get up from the couch to head into the kitchen. There’s an old country song playing on Alexa, and Summer’s back is to me as she stands over the stove. She sways a little to the slow rhythm of the song and I catch myself staring for just the briefest moment. It’s been years since I’ve had a woman in this kitchen. Well, aside from my mother or my sister. I shouldn’t be staring at her. Under any other circumstance, I wouldn’t be. But Summer’s always so… happy. I can’t decide if I find it irritating or something I’m actually envious of. She’s always been this way—bubbly and friendly—but a shark when she needs to be.
My mind flashes to three years ago when Summer found out that Kristen left. She was so angry and protective that day. I think if I would’ve given her the green light, she probably would’ve hunted her down that night. Something was different about Summer at that moment. I saw a side of her that was full of more than just jokes and positivity. She was sincere and thoughtful, earnest and strong. She spoke like she was making a speech in front of a room full of people, but it was just me and her. She was a friend in a moment where I needed one.
I shake my head, snapping myself out of wherever I was going with that memory.
“Thanks for making CeCe’s, but don’t worry about mine.”
“Well, it’s already done,” she says, spinning around with a pan of chicken, carrots, and roasted potatoes in her hand.
