Put your tongue back in.I gulp. It’s a feat, but I succeed, not without some struggle.
In the kitchen, I open the oven, and when he sees what I cooked, he chuckles, wiggling his brows. “I ate the first attempt. I’ll do it a second time as well.”
I grab a towel and slap his fine, round ass. The atmosphere is light, playfulness enveloping us.
“I remember someone saying they miss my meals,” I sass.
He palms his chest. “It’s true. I’ve missed everything.”
His sincerity ignites mine. “Me too.”
When the chicken has a golden crust and the vegetables simmer, I take it out, placing it on two heat-absorbing holders on the counter.
He cuts the chicken while I plate the vegetables.
Carrying our dishes to the table, we take a seat across from each other, clinking our glasses.
Hours between us fly like seconds. But it’s getting late, and we both suppress our fifth yawn. I want him to stay over just as much as he doesn’t want to leave.
I am about to tell him to stay when he stands up. “Thank you for the delicious food. The company was better, though.”
I giggle. “I’m never going to make you a parfait again.”
“No. You can’t do that to me.” He pouts, those blue eyes of his giving off a puppy look that melts me.
“Fine.” He’s too charming, and I stand no chance.
“You can’t say no to me.”
He’s right.
TWENTY-FOUR
IAN
June
As soon asI answer the door, Lilly blurts out, the mix of frustration and panic clear in her voice, “Oh my god, Ian! My bathroom is flooded. The landlord isn’t answering the phone… I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t worry, I got this,” I say to calm her down. Grabbing some tools before heading over to her apartment, I immediately identify the problem when I look under the bathroom sink. “One of the pipes is leaking.”
“That’s just great. Wonder how long that’s been happening?” Lilly takes a closer look at me and asks, “Were you going somewhere?”
“I’m supposed to be at mandatory practice this morning.”
“Shit, Ian, you can’t be late for that, you’re one of the team captains!” Lilly says frantically. “You need to go. Now. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m going to wait with you until the landlord shows up.” My tone brooks no argument as I finish tightening the loose pipe. “I’lljust text the coaches to let them know I’m going to be late. It will be fine.”
It won’t be fine; I’ll definitely take some heat for this,I think to myself while typing a message to my coach. He’ll be angry, but taking care of Lilly is more important.
Thirty minutes later, the landlord shows up with a handyman. He pokes his head inside the bathroom, and I breathe in and out, not to lose my calm as he says, “Yes, it’s flooded.”
“We figured that out, already,” I gnash out, showing him where I tightened the pipe.
After the handyman inspects the damage, he says, “The repairs will take a few days.”
Is this some kind of divine intervention because I’ll gladly take it.
