“I kind of hate your dad.”
She gasps. “Ian, I’m sorry.”
“Here’s my truth. I’m thinking about retiring from football after this season to have what I want most.”
Beats of silence pass, deafening me. The ball is in her court and anticipation shoves tiredness even further away, causing my heartbeats to trip over.
“You’d do that?”
“You have no idea the lengths I would go to have you,” I say earnestly.
Another beat of silence follows, but I don’t take my wordsback.
“Ian?”
“Hmm?”
“What do you imagine your life to be in the next five years?”
I don’t even have to think about my answer as if my brain decided it long ago.
“Marrying you and having at least a kid.”
A peal of laughter reaches my ears. “That was quick.”
“I know what I want. What about you?”
There’s another pause that turns me into a nervous wreck. The anticipation is killing me. Nothing and no one has the same power over me as her.
“Imagining what it would be like to be a football player’s wife and carry his children.”
I smirk. “And?”
“It sounds dreamy.”
“If we keep talking about that, I’m getting you in my bed,” I groan, wanting to start already going through my life plan.
She giggles. “No. Hush. Let’s go to bed.”
As if I can sleep now after our talk.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to find sleep—in vain. It’s my time to toss and turn in bed.
“I can hear you not sleeping.”
I opt for sincerity once again. “I sleep like shit when you’re not next to me.”
“How’s your arm?” she asks, worry laced in her voice.
“It hurts a bit.”
I open my eyes when I hear her footsteps approaching.
She takes the spot next to me. “I can’t sleep either.”
I lift the thin blanket for her to get under it. It’s an invitation. She glances at me, then back at the door.
“Fine. Ugh, we’re hopeless, aren’t we?”
