CLOCK MANAGEMENT – STRATEGY TO CONTROL TIME NEAR THE END OF HALF/GAME.
The next morning, I wake up to find Maya isn’t in bed next to me. Immediately, I panic because time is too precious between us to waste. We’re down to weeks and I want to spend as many minutes of every single moment with her as I can.
It’s slipping by far too fast.
With that at the forefront of my mind, I reach for the first pair of pants I can find, shove my legs into them, and prepare to hunt her down even as I recount what we did the night before.
After we had a late afternoon snack, we spent the night with a light charcuterie board and a bottle of wine, remembering all the times we were together in each other’s presence and how I held my true feelings back.
“Oh, come on, Troy. I was covered in mud from head to toe!”
I grinned at her, even as I tugged her hair. “It looked adorable dripping from here.”
She huffed. “I agreed to the trail ride. What I did not agree to was the skies opening up.”
“Because you have such control over Mother Nature?”
“That’s not the point.”
At that point, I kissed her pouting lips. “You are a beautiful woman when you’re covered with mud and an adorably sexy one when you pout. You know that?”
Maya studied me intently for a long moment before she threw herself at me.
We barely made it to my bed.
I snatch up my T-shirt from the floor after I almost trip on it in my haste to find her. “Stupido. After all that talk yesterday about her ex, what if you reminded her about…”
I’m about to head toward the staircase to seek Maya out in her room when I sniff the air and smell coffee. Immediately, I change course and head in the direction of the kitchen. “Maybe I can still catch her waking up.”
But when I enter the space, I realize Maya’s done more than wake up. She’s commandeered my kitchen—but not in a way that’s going to help her grace the cover of any food magazines. There’s flour on the counter, on her cheek, and somehow in her hair. The coffee’s sputtering into the pot like it’s desperate to escape the basket for air. A formerly white dishtowel now hasgray staining it. What could she have made that’s gray? I make a mental promise to save it from its fate, which is hanging from the front of the oven door.
Maya watches me as I take it all in, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “Before you say anything, I was trying to make pancakes. The emphasis is on trying.”
I bite back a grin. “Looks like the pancakes sacrificed themselves for the greater good.”
“They started it.” She tosses the spoon she’s holding into the sink with a clatter and leans against the counter, crossing her arms. “I was hoping to surprise you.”
“This is definitely a surprise.”
“Clearly, I’m only meant to photograph food. I’m certain that in some cultures I’ve been to, this might be considered abuse.” She whirls to the pantry and returns with a box of Baci di Dama we picked up a few days ago. “Here. Breakfast is served.”
My heart twists, and I open my mouth but quickly close it just in time to trap all the words that want to flood out because it’s far too soon to let her know how I feel about her. Even though she’s standing in my kitchen covered in flour and gray stuff that sure as shit wouldn’t be delicious, she’s the most incredible sight. “I love this surprise. No one’s ever cooked for me before who hasn’t been family.” I step closer.
“Really?”
“This rates up there with being drafted and then walking again.”Not to mention meeting you.“Totally the best.”
Her smile lightens her entire face. “I’m glad. Even if the effort didn’t produce the results I intended.”
I look down at my hard cock tenting my sweats. “I wouldn’t say that.”
She snorts, and a heartbeat later, I’m howling right along with her. For a moment, we forget all the other hissing of food and spitting of coffee makers amid our hilarity. Finally, Mayaregains some semblance of control. She steps up to me, placing her hands on my chest. Any air in my lungs disappears.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, voice gentler now.
“Depends.” I reach past her for a mug, letting my fingers brush the back of her neck–what might be the only place on her not covered in flour. “Am I going to be forced to eat this…or can I make us something edible later?”
Her eyes flicker with amusement. “Both. I’ll even clean.”
