For a second, everything goes quiet. Soft and easy.
I take a sip of water, then glance at the couch cushions next to me.
“I’m not… like, laying on the crime scene, am I?”
He groans. “I’ll clean up. Get in the shower, Luke.”
I grin. “You joining me, Coach?”
His eyes flash with something between amusement and heat. “Only if you promise not to slip and crack your skull.”
“Romanticandresponsible,” I sigh dreamily. “God, you’re perfect.”
He shakes his head, biting down a smile as he pulls me to my feet—still completely, stupidly, wonderfully naked.
And happy.
Mess and all.
TWENTY-FOUR
SILAS
We stayon the couch for most of the day—eating, talking, watching something forgettable. Luke stretches out with his feet in my lap, demanding calf massages and making dramatic moaning sounds when I indulge him. I let him. Every bit of it. Because I don’t want him to leave. I like the domestic bliss that’s settled over my apartment. A taste of what we could really be.
My joggers and hoodie are way too big on him, but his clothes are dirty and having him sit around in just his boxers would have him unable to walk right, let alone run plays tomorrow. Because I definitely wouldn’t be able to control myself.
When he falls asleep with his head on my chest, curled into my side, I just hold him. And for once, I let myself want everything.
“I love you,hermoso,” I murmur against his temple. I might not say it to him in English while he’s awake, but I can’t help it as the words tumble out as he snores softly against me.
Eventually, I carry him to my bed again and cuddle up behind him, tugging him against me. He mumbles little incoherent words as I do, but settles in my arms.
The alarm doesn’t go off.
Correction:Myalarm doesn’t go off.
I jolt upright, heart in my throat as my eyes catch the bright light filtering through the blinds. Too bright. Too late.
I check the time.
6:43 AM.
“Shit.”
Luke groans beside me as I leap out of bed, grabbing my joggers from the floor. “What the?—”
“We’re late,” I snap. “Practice starts inseventeenminutes, and we’re twenty minutes away.”
Luke rolls onto his stomach, face buried in the pillow. “That sounds like a you problem.”
I stop, halfway into my shirt, and stare at him. “You’re on theteam.It’s your problem, too.”
He lifts his head just enough to peek one eye open. His hair’s a mess. His cheek has a pillow crease. And still—still—he smirks.
“Well, maybe if someone didn’t schedule early-morning practices like a sadist, I wouldn’t be forced to stay in bed until absolutely necessary.”
“Necessary wasforty-threeminutes ago.”
