“See.” I tug the hoodie hem higher.
Heat flickers as his eyes trace up my legs before stalling on the curve of my hip. Though I’m technically covered by strawberry-print fabric, I hadn’t considered that these shorts are…well, really short. My heartrate skips at his darkening expression, at the slackening of his lips. Then Trevor runs a palm over his face, turning away.
“I’ve got— I forgot something in my room. Be right back,” he calls, all but running down the hall.
It’s several long minutes before Trevor reemerges empty-handed, his affable smile back on his face. He eats with enthusiasm, complimenting my cooking as usual. Then he gets on the ground with Jet in the living room, giving her tons of attention. I sit cross-legged with Banks on the couch, that odd buzzing sensation now resonating beneath my breastbone.
Trevor lies on his back, lifting Jet into the air while unabashedly making airplane noises. Jet’s loud purring spreads through the room like sunshine. My wayward brain suddenly subs the kitten out for a giggling baby, drool slipping down her pink lips onto her joyous father. There’s no doubt that Trevorwould make an excellent dad—engaged, playful, supportive,protective.
“We should make a video,” I blurt because my heart cannot handle the wholesome tableau before me—imaginary or otherwise.
“What?” Trevor pushes up on an elbow, andI swearI try not to notice how every muscle beneath his Waves technical shirt bunches.
“For Princess, that pig that needs adopting.”
We’d learned about Princess during our follow-up visit for Jet and that a soccer—sorry,football—player from London had made a promotional slideshow to encourage her adoption. Apparently, Princess the pot-bellied pig is a bit of a diva. Tiaras, dresses, and gourmet food are non-negotiables. Her former owner, an eccentric but tender-hearted older woman, recently passed away, and Fur-Ever Homes has been having a hard time finding a new family for her. Dr. Brooks had offhandedly suggested that having another professional athlete supporting Princess’s adoption search might help expedite the process.
“Oh, yeah. I’d almost forgotten,” Trevor says, sitting all the way up and setting Jet aside. “Want to film it now?”
“Um, sure. Let me get my phone.”
We spend a few minutes brainstorming what would be the best way to draw attention to Princess’s cause.
“I think Callum lays out the specifics, but there could be more of an emotional appeal,” I say, watching the slideshow again.
“I got it.” Trevor cradles Banks in the crook of his arm before moving in front of the windows.
With the sun shifting behind the house, all the young leaves on the trees twinkle like thousands of peridots. I love this time of year when bright, brilliant green returns to the world. It’s also an incredible backdrop for Trevor’s Waves-blue shirt and the pop of his bicep as he holds a relaxed Banks one-handed.
I give my head a slight shake and focus. “Tell me when.”
“Give me a ‘three’ aloud and then just count ‘two’ and ‘one’ silently with your fingers and then start filming,” Trevor prompts before lifting his lips in that well-known smile.
His response reminds me that this isn’t Trevor’s first time being in front of a camera. In addition to post-game press conferences and on-field interviews, he’s done numerous ads for a variety of products over the years. Throughout his career, he’s been in the company of not only other elite athletes but celebrities, billionaires, and politicians.
For the first time since we’ve met, I feel a little intimidated, which is ridiculous because Trevor is literally in his pajamas with bedhead, holding my favorite cat in the world. Jet paws at my fuzzy socks, reminding me she’s in the mix now too.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I say to Jet, causing Trevor to give me a questioning grin.
“You’re right.” He scoops up Jet and places her on his shoulder, where she ceases her incessant fidgeting. I guess if I was slung over Trevor’s strong shoulder, I’d surrender too.
What? No!
I grind my teeth together to stop myself from shoutingWe’re just roommatesaloud.
“We should include Jet too,” he says, unaware of my inner turmoil. “Though she’s not technically from Fur-Ever Homes, the viewers won’t know that.”
Then Trevor nods at me, all business. Ready to go.
I open my mouth to mention the bedhead, but it’s so endearing I don’t say anything. Instead, I whisper, “Three,” give the rest of the count silently, and press start.
“I’m Trevor Chapman, catcher for the Virginia Beach Waves, and I need your help finding an adorable pot-bellied pig, named Princess, her forever home. She’s special, but what rescue animal isn’t? This guy”—he pauses to give Banks a kiss behind his missing ear—“required a lot of care and attention when I first adopted him, but nothing, and I mean nothing, is better than the unwavering love from a feline…or porcine”—Trevor winks at the camera and I nearly drop the phone—“friend.”
Not to be left out, Jet takes this opportunity to voice her tiny kitten meow.
Trevor chuckles tenderly at Jet, and I swear I feel myself ovulating. “I didn’t forget about you.”
He holds her steady with his free hand before kissing her head as well.
