The beer bottle freezes halfway to my mouth. I stare at the message, reading it twice to make sure I'm not hallucinating.
“Fuck,” I mutter, setting the bottle down and running a hand through my hair. I glance down at my wrinkled coaching gear, suddenly aware that I probably smell like sweat and frustration.
There's a soft knock at my door, confirming this isn't some weird hallucination. I stride across the apartment and yank it open.
Hennessy stands there in ripped jeans and my hoodie. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and she's clutching a paper bag in one hand. She looks like every fantasy I’ve ever had.
“Surprise,” she says, a hint of uncertainty in her smile. “Is this…okay? I probably should have given you more warning.”
I step back, pulling the door wider. “Get in here.”
She steps inside, clutching the bag to her chest like a shield. The scent hits me immediately—something rich and savory that makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.
“I brought you dinner,” she says, lifting the bag slightly. “Sopa de Albondigas. My abuela made it and sent me home with enough to feed an army.”
“You brought me dinner?” I can't keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Yeah.” She shifts her weight, suddenly looking uncertain. “If you've already eaten, you can just have it later. Or if you don't like Mexican food, that's totally okay too. I should've asked first.”
Her fingers pick at the sleeve of my hoodie, tugging at a loose thread. There's something fucking adorable about seeing her nervous like this.
“I'm starving,” I tell her, taking the bag from her hands. “Haven't eaten since noon.”
We stand side by side at my kitchen counter as I open the container. Steam rises, carrying the scent of tomatoes, spices, and meatballs. My stomach rumbles again, loud enough for her to hear.
I dip the spoon in and take a bite; the flavors exploding across my tongue—rich broth, tender meat, perfectly cooked vegetables. I can't help the moan that escapes me.
“Fuck, that's good,” I groan, immediately going for another spoonful. And another. And another.
Before I know it, I've devoured half the container, eating like I haven't seen food in days. When I finally come up for air, Hennessy is watching me with a pleased smile.
“I take it you like it?”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Your grandmother is a fucking savant.”
“I'll tell her you said so,” she laughs, hopping up to sit on my counter. “Though maybe I'll clean up the language a bit.”
“Probably wise.” I continue eating, slower now but still steadily working through the soup. “This is better than anything I've had in months.”
“Abuela would be thrilled to hear that. She's always trying to fatten everyone up.” Her legs swing slightly, heels bumping against my cabinets. “She took one look at me today and declared I was too skinny, yet again. Made me eat three tamales before I could escape.”
I eye her curves, perfectly outlined in those tight jeans. “There's nothing too skinny about you.”
A blush creeps across her cheeks. “Such a charmer.”
“Just honest.” I finish the last of the soup, scraping the container clean. “Thank you for this. Seriously.”
“You're welcome.” She watches me as I rinse the container in the sink. “Long day?”
“The fucking longest.” I lean against the counter opposite her.
She steps closer, reaching up to wipe a drop of broth from the corner of my mouth with her thumb. The casual intimacy of the gesture stops me cold.
“Sorry,” she says, pulling her hand back like she's been burned. “You had a little...”
I catch her wrist before she can retreat, holding her in place. “Don't apologize.”
“Beckham,” she whispers, and it sounds like a question.
