"What'll you have?" TD asks, hovering his cell above the QR code on the table.
"The grilled chicken panini with pesto and melted mozzarella."
"For dinner?"
I nod, even though it is a weird choice for a dinner meal, and it’s even weirder considering I ordered the exact same thing for lunch with Kimball today. But TD doesn't need to know that. "It's my favorite," is all I say.
He shrugs one of his beefy shoulders and taps the order through.
When two grilled chicken paninis come out a few minutes later, I can't help but smile.
Our eyes meet.
"Figured it's worth a try if it's your favorite," he explains, which makes me way happier than it should.
I sink my teeth in, and my eyes automatically flutter shut when the cheesy chickeny goodness hits. As I start chewing, I think ahead to what to talk about next. I've covered all the small talk topics I can think of. Bean's furniture. The fire that tore through this place. How, now that some mysterious new owner has rebuilt it, The Leafy Nook has become a community hub of sorts. The stretch of stable cold weather that's finally made the ice thick enough for safe ice fishing.
I need to come up with something else, preferably something that steers clear of anything to do with his recent past. I spent most of the afternoon at work online sleuthing and, boy, did TD's ex-wife do him dirty. She accused him of sexual misconduct with his footballoperations assistant, which turned out to not only be false, but a premeditated attempt to ruin him. And it worked. His whole life fell apart.
He lost his job as head coach of The Ironbarks. His wife is trying to take his kids away from him in a vicious custody battle, which I believe is still ongoing. And with his life crumbling, he turned to the bottle until finally admitting himself to rehab. A spectacular fall for a man who earned a reputation as one of the best, if not toughest, NFL coaches of all time.
So instead, I decide to bring up the other elephant in the room. Bean must have pre-warned him since he seemed cool with it at my place, but I want to be one hundred percent sure my career isn't going to be an issue.
"So, you really don't have a problem with what I do for a living?"
TD's lips quirk, and he lowers his panini onto the plate. "Interesting word that. Living."
I grin back. Humor. I'll take that as a good sign. "You're not freaked out?"
"Why would I be?"
"Because most people are."
"Most people are judgmental a-holes who go around mouthing off about shit they know nothing about and have no business commenting on."
I raise my glass of water, he does the same, and we clink them together. "Amen to that."
What a relief. I'm a pretty good judge of character, so while, yes, he could just be saying the right, polite thing to my face, I get the feeling he really is okay with what I do. After all the shit it creates in my life, it's nice to finally meet a new person who isn't bothered by it. Now I just have to remember Kimmy's advice, restrain myself, andnot start spouting off about the many environmental benefits of water cremation. No reason to push my luck.
"So, you like fishing, huh?" he asks, picking his panini back up and taking a bite.
"Yeah, I do…"
I tell him about how Dad used to take me out fishing when I was young, glad he had at least one kid to share his hobby with since Kimball squeals like a little bitch at the sight of a dead fish. That makes TD laugh for the first time, a deep, rich rumble that ignites a completely inappropriate spark I'm smart enough to know I need to keep at bay.
So, I'm good on the work front. Now all I have to do is banish any X-rated thoughts I have about my sexy-as-fuck coach roommate from my smutty little brain.
My smutty little brain is fighting an uphill battle the next morning. I walk into my kitchen to find TD freshly showered with just a towel around his hips, making himself a coffee on the one and only piece of kitchen equipment I own.
My groggy eyes spring to life as I shamelessly check out his solid, muscular body. A few dark hairs cling to his chest and stomach, and the towel slung low on his hips accentuates his round ass toperfection.
He lifts the mug to his lips and takes a noisy slurp that shoots straight to my throbbing dick and spins around, looking slightly surprised to see me. "Mornin'. Would you like one?"
One what?
Oh…coffee. Right.
"Uh, sure," I manage, dropping down onto a stool at the tiny counter, which is entirely normal and completely not an excuse to keep perving on him.
