I press my lips together, trying to hold in the laughter. Finally, I can’t hold it back. “I-international b-booty c-call?”
She rolls her eyes and shoves at my chest. “This is what I get for trying to have a serious conversation with you right now.”
I cage her in between my arms. “I’m listening. Swear.”
Her lips twitch. “I don’t want chemistry to feel like a promise. I want to slow down, let the deadline we’ve been under fade away. Dial back our adrenaline. We need to live with who we are every day. We need to know every aspect of each other before we can call this what we both want it to be—so I can swear to you I’m all in the way you want.”
Excitement hums in my veins. “It’s not going to change how I feel, but I know you need time.”
“I do.” Her eyes hold mine. “Because I already know I’m falling for you, and I’m not going to lie—it’s terrifying with how natural it is with you.”
She just stares at me, throat working. Then she leans forward, presses her forehead to mine. Her breath heats the air between us, even as her lower lip trembles. “Hey, hey.Everything’s going to be fine.” My lips brush hers—barely there, soft, hesitant.
A promise, not a possession.
Finally, she murmurs, “I believe in this. In us. We’re really going to make this work long-term, aren’t we?”
“I think,” I say, “that if we keep telling the truth like this, we won’t have to worry about the long-term. It’ll just happen.”
Her eyes close, and I feel the tension ease out of her. “You’re not supposed to make sense this easily.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m noticing that. Just for the record, your cooking is definitely in your favor.”
“Coming from someone who slaughters coffee, I had little doubt about that.”
She laughs softly, then curls closer. Her head tucks beneath my chin. We lie like that for a long time—both of us lost in our thoughts. Both of us are eager to be lit by the light of love even as one of us is wary of the flame.
Eventually, her voice drifts up, sleepy, fragile. “Don’t let me ruin this, okay?”
“You couldn’t if you tried.”
“Even if I make you wait?”
“Especially if you make me wait.”
She smiles against my shirt. “You’re going to regret saying that.”
“Not a chance.”
Outside, the rain keeps falling. London hums softly below us, alive but distant. When her breathing evens out against my shoulder, I hear her whisper the truth she’s not ready to admit yet while she’s fully awake to acknowledge it.
“I’m already gone for you, Troy.”
Knowing I have to wait doesn’t scare me. After all, love—like football and wine making—takes constant diligence and persistence.
Neither intimidates me.
I wake to the sound of rain.
The first thing I notice is Maya is still curled against me—her breathing slow and even. The second is that we’re both still in the same clothes we were wearing yesterday.
Yesterday replays in pieces — the stadium’s roar, her standing toe-to-toe with Bryce in the locker room, the way her voice didn’t shake when she cut him down to size. Then the quiet here together—her hand in mine, her body under mine. Her words spill out in her sleepy daze like something she’d held too long.“I’m already gone for you, Troy.”
Her fingers twitch against my chest, brushing over my heart, and I swear it trembles. I reach up and nuzzle a wayward curl off her forehead, letting my thumb trace the apple of her cheek.
She shifts, a soft sigh slipping out as her eyes blink open—slow, heavy-lidded, that first moment when she’s still half-dreaming. Then she focuses, sees me, and smiles.
