She quickly relaxes as we move through the house and settle in the back. Erin sits with her legs crossed on the sofa and eagerly waits as I pull out everything from the bags.
She drenches her bean, cheese, and mushroom taco in dark green salsa. She shimmies after her first bite in her own world, swaying to a song only she can hear.
Captivating.
After we eat, we watch the sun go down. We have the perfect view, but no sunset will ever be prettier than the girl tucked into my side.
I look over at Erin to ask if she wants to head in and notice the way she’s rubbing at her arm, eyes tracking the faint streaks of paint and glitter that didn’t wash away. Little flecks of color dust the cushion when she leans away from it, and her mouth pulls tight like she’s cataloging every mark she leaves behind.
“Am I going to have to guess what you’re thinking, or are you going to tell me?” I ask.
She glances down again. “I just feel like I’m leaving a mess everywhere.” She gestures at herself. “And I know you said it was fine, but?—”
I cover her hand with mine, cutting her off before she can spiral. “Erin.”
She looks up.
“You could cover this place with your mark for all I care.”
A small laugh slips out of her, but it fades almost as quickly as it comes.
“Hey,” I whisper, my voice slipping into a smoother tone. “What do you want to do?”
She hesitates, then sighs. “I just want to freshen up. And maybe get out of these clothes.” Her volume drops. “But I don’t have anything to change into.”
I shrug. “Then borrow something of mine.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not one bit,” I say with a grin. “In fact, if being in my clothes makes you comfortable, you can steal the lot.”
Her skin flushes with that delicious, maddening color I long to see appear with a single touch of my tongue spreading across her collarbone.
“Come on,” I say, offering my hand to pull her up. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
I lead her up the stairs and she follows behind slowly.
“I love this one,” Erin calls out. When I turn around, she’s staring at a picture on the wall of Rudy and me, sitting inshopping carts eating ice cream. We were drunk, but I remember every bit of that night.
“Let me show you my favorite.”
Erin follows me into my bedroom where the en suite is.
“Take a look,” I say, gesturing to my bedside table.
Her breath hitches. “This is me,” she says, her voice laced with surprise.
“That’s exactly why it’s my favorite, sweetheart,” I reply as I stare at the frame in her hands. She’s in black jeans and a Tornadoes hoodie, that green beanie I adore on her head. A joyous expression coats her face as she watches the game. I remember thinking how badly I wanted to make her mine when I first saw the photograph.
“You’ve had this since the start of the season?”
“It was the first game you watched. The photographer always sends us photos he takes. Usually, they’re just players, but sometimes there’s a few of the fans. Valerie found this gem among them when she was looking for shots for a post.”
“You have a picture of me in your room,” she says, like it’s not real even though she’s looking right at it.
I chuckle and kiss the back of her head. “There are fresh towels in the bathroom, and you can take anything you want from the drawers. Take your time and meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”
Twenty minutes go by before she walks into the living room wearing my joggers and a Tornadoes T-shirt.
