I almost consider it. The couch is comfortable enough, but sleeping this close to Sarah when we’ve both been drinking feels like playing with too much fire.
I force myself to shift away from her and stand up. “Come on,” I say gently. “You’ll be more comfortable in your bed.”
She flops onto the couch as soon as I’m out from under her. Apparently, she wasn’t kidding about thesleepypart. It only takes a little effort to crouch down and scoop her intomy arms. She wraps herself around me, her head resting on my chest, and lets out a moan that makes my blood heat. “Mmm, I like it here,” she says.
Sarah’s room is on the main level of the house at the end of a short hall off the living room. There’s a lamp on in the corner, illuminating a space that already feels very Sarah, even in the short time she’s been living here. There are three different bookshelves, all crammed full of books, and the top of the dresser is littered with half a dozen pairs of glasses, hair ties, and three empty mugs—probably from her tea.
The room smells like her, and it makes me wish I had a reason to stay longer.
I move to the bed and lower Sarah onto her pillow, but when I try to stand up, she tightens her grip around my neck. “Don’t leave me,” she says, her voice soft and sleepy.
“You need to rest,” I say, and her eyes flutter open. She gives her head a tiny shake.
“Let’s play truth or dare instead.”
Oh, this woman is killing me.
She reaches up and brushes her hands over my jaw, her thumb touching my bottom lip. “I dare you to stay with me,” she says, then she pulls me down for a kiss.
Her mouth is soft and warm, her lips pliant against mine, sending a heady wave of desire crashing over me. She’s my wife, and she’s telling me to stay, but I can’t do it. Not when I have no idea how much of this is the wine talking. Not when I can’t be sure thatshe’ssure this is exactly what she wants.
I make myself pull back, then I lift my hand to trace the side of her face.
Her eyes are already closed again, making me even more certain the best thing I can do for her right now is to walk away.
“I want nothing more than to stay,” I say. “But not yet.” Not ever is more like it—unless we’re torching our agreement. Which isn’t a decision either of us is capable of making right now.
She takes a breath and sinks a little deeper into her pillow. I lean down and press one more kiss against her forehead, then I stand upright, turn off her lamp, and leave my wife to sleep.
20
CARTER
Sarahand I quickly fall into an easy routine. If I’m not on the road, we do dinner together, either something one of us has cooked or takeout of some kind. We finish watching the first season ofTed Lasso, then move on to the second, and to my surprise and horror, we both become totally addicted to a reality dating show.
In the mornings, we’re usually up at the same time, having coffee before she heads up to her studio to paint or over to Anna’s to help out with the girls, and I head to the complex for practice or training. According to her, she paints best in the morning, so when I get home in the afternoons, she’s usually stretched out on the living room couch reading a book or listening to an audiobook while she bakes.
She’s on a sourdough kick and has been taking full advantage of having a kitchen at her disposal. I’m not complaining, but I’m definitely having to pay closer attention to my macros.
As for Gordie, he seems to have completely forgotten he ever belonged to me. He sleeps in Sarah’s room, follows heraround the house, and sits on the steps outside her studio when she doesn’t let him inside.
She’s close enough to her gallery show now that keeping the cat out is probably a good idea. She has all the pieces on display so she can study them as a group and, according to her, find the inspiration she needs to finish the last piece. Gordie is much too sneaky to risk him getting into trouble when the stakes are so high.
Two weeks after the wedding, the Jaguars are back in the Vortex for a three-game homestand after five days of away games in Florida and North Carolina. We only have ten more regular-season games before playoff season, but since our spot in the playoffs is already secure, we’re pretty much coasting. Taking it easy to avoid injuries, trying to stay in the best shape possible. We’re happy to have an entire week at home for a change, but I’d be willing to bet I’m looking forward to it the most.
“What about you?” Fly looks at me like I’ve been listening to the conversation he’s having with Theo and not totally zoning out. We just snagged an easy win, and the locker room is buzzing with energy, but my brain is already on the way home.
“What about me?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Are you up for going out?”
“He’s only been married two weeks, man,” Theo says. “And they didn’t get a honeymoon. Let the man get home to his wife.”
I glance over at Miles, who’s watching me as he peels off the last of his gear. I won’t say things have beenbadsince the wedding. But they’ve definitely been different. I worried it might be stressful trying to convince everyone the marriage was real, but with Miles around to back meup, my teammates took everything in stride like it wasn’t a big deal at all. To them, it seemed less like we met and got married really fast and more like we got married not long after telling people about a relationship that already existed.
But Ididn’tworry about Miles treating me like I’ve done something wrong, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Every practice, every game, he watches me like I’m his kid sister’s screwup boyfriend, and he’s just waiting for me to make a wrong move. It’s really starting to piss me off.
“Yeah, I’m heading home,” I say to Fly. “Y’all have fun.”
