The moment the words leave her mouth, her nose scrunches like she’s realized exactly how that sounded. I lose it, shaking with laughter before I can stop myself. She groans and tosses her napkin at my chest, but she’s smiling now, the tension broken.
“What I’m trying to say.” Her cheeks have turned a rosy shade of pink. “Is that it’s been a while for me. And not just since I’ve had…” She makes a little waving motion with her hand.
“Table sex?”
She squeezes her eyes shut as she laughs. God, I love making this woman laugh. “Sex of any kind.” She clarifies. “But also it’s been more than a decade since I’ve been on a date. I started dating my ex when I was seventeen and I haven’t seen anyone since we split up. So…I’m not really sure how to do any of this.”
I swallow hard and nod, emboldened by her honesty. “Before my injury I dated a lot. Maybe dated isn’t the right term. I was never with one person long enough to consider them relationships. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t have a great personality. And getting hurt really didn’t improve my disposition. There have been a handful of few and far between hookups in the past ten years, but that’s it.”
Elliot smiles at me, soft and a little shy, and I hate the stretch of table between us. I don’t want anything creating distance right now. “Okay,” she says gently. “Sounds like maybe we’ve both been out of the game for a while.”
“Seems that way.”
“That was another sports reference,” she adds, eyes bright. “For your benefit.”
“I caught it,” I say dryly. “And I appreciate theeffort.”
The silence that follows settles around us, quiet and full. “I’m really glad you’re here,” I say, before I can overthink it.
Her expression softens. “Me too.”
Before doubt can creep in, I push my chair back and stand. My knee barely protests. Between the exercises and the warmer weather, my body feels lighter, steadier. I realize I haven’t moved this easily in years.
“Can I give you the tour?” I ask, holding out my hand. Maybe I’m trying to be polite. Maybe I just need to touch her. My heart thumps when she places her hand in mine.
I don’t let go as I lead her from the kitchen into the living room. Her hand is smaller, warmer, and fits into mine like it was always meant to be there.
“This is the living room.”
“It’s…cozy.”
I have to laugh because it really isn’t. There is a leather couch, a coffee table, two lamps, and the biggest television I could buy. It’s not much but it’s all I need. “I told the decorator to keep it simple. I’m no designer.”
“You don’t have to be.” Her hand squeezes mine.
“The bathroom is down the hall. And then there’s a spare room. And my bedroom.”
One angular eyebrow quirks. “So when you said tour, you meant a verbal one? I was expecting something a bit more physical.”
The fact that my dick starts to get hard when she says “physical” is exactly why I need to slow things down.
“Well, I can show you the other rooms, of course. The spare room is a mess. Just a space for me to do my physio exercises and a bunch of sports memorabilia.”
Elliot takes a step closer and now there’s very little space between our bodies. “And your room?”
I search her green eyes. “I thought bringing you to my bedroom on the first date might be a bit presumptuous.I don’t want to pressure you or make you feel obligated in any way.”
Her tongue wets her lower lip and I almost forget what we’re talking about. “You make me feel a lot of things, Coach. But pressured and obligated are not among them.”
“Christ, Elliot. I like when you call me that.”
Her small hands rest on my arms. “What else do you like?”
I kiss her because I physically need to. Because my body has decided it is no longer interested in patience or restraint or slowing down. The kiss is softer than the first one we shared in the treatment room, slower, but not tentative. When my tongue brushes her lower lip, she gasps, and the sound goes straight to my cock. I pull her closer, close enough that there is absolutely no doubt how badly I want her.
We lace our fingers together as I lead her toward my bedroom, both of us suddenly quiet. It feels ridiculous and intimate all at once, like teenagers sneaking around instead of two adults with a locked door and no witnesses. The room is dark when we step inside and I reach for the lamp, keeping the light low. Romantic, yes. Also, I want to see her. All of her.
The shyness creeps back in, uninvited but inescapable. This is real now. This is happening.
