Silence stretches between us.
Then he exhales through his nose, almost reluctant.
“Keep it going.”
“Yes, Coach.”
His gaze lingers a second longer, then he walks away.
***
The rest of my day is the usual grind. Training center. Physio. Video analysis.
I sit with the coaches and watch clips, jaw tight while someone freezes the frame to point out that my shoulder angle is off by a degree. I get my hip flexors worked on until I’m biting back a curse. Mobility drills. Strength work. Reps on reps.
All while pretending I’m not thinking about the fact that I’m going home to a woman I can’t stop picturing naked.
By late afternoon, there’s one more thing I need to do.
An errand.
I want to give her something.
Because I didn’t exactly make her feel welcome when she first moved in. It’s only been a few days, but something has already shifted.
I still hate the mess we’re in.
But I also know we’rebothresponsible for it.
And now that she’s here, I can’t imagine anyone else in my house without it feeling like an intrusion.
With her, it doesn’t.
I’m actually glad to have her there.
So I need a gift that says “I’m glad you’re here and you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”
Earlier, I looked up a specialty art store in the city. The kind that sells real pigments, stretched canvases, brushes that cost more than a decent dinner.
On the way to my truck, I pull out my phone and open her contact.
It’s the first time I’m texting her.
I stare at the blank screen longer than I should, overthinking every word.
In the end, I go with something simple.
Me:
Hey. Running late. Don’t wait for dinner.
Her reply comes fast.
Talia:
Wow. Abandoning your wife already?
Me:
