“It’s beautiful. You have talented hands.” Her eyes glimmer, teasing, then she shouts out, “Lovestruck quarterback.”
“That’s not even a category.”
“It should be.”
Chuckling, I say, “You’re cheating somehow. There’s no way you figured out the phrase that fast.”
“I love game shows and this is my favorite. Face it, I’m better than you,” she counters. Her laugh, unrestrained and heartfelt.
“Debatable. We’ll see who wins at the end.” Because I’m sure it will be me. I can’t lose with Annika on my couch.
“There it is,” I say quietly.
Her brows pull together. “What?”
“That laugh.” I can’t stop staring at her mouth. “You hide it like it’s classified information.”
And the worst part?
Hearing the happiness in her voice makes me want to become the reason for it.
She smacks my leg and grins. I end up watching her reactions more than I watch the screen, loving how her face changes when she’s thinking.
The way she smiles when she guesses right.
The way she relaxes when she forgets to be guarded.
I shouldn’t be in this deep—emotionally and mentally. And yet, I can’t remember ever being this content or alive.
“I like this,” I whisper in her ear.
“The show?”
“You… at home with me.”
She stills then softens. Her soft is my kryptonite.
“I already feel more for you than I ever did…” I trail off.
My ex.
The girl who thought so little of me that she cheated with my teammate.
The girl who broke me. Made me a quitter.
Annika doesn’t let me finish my sentence. She doesn’t need to.
“That’s not a fair comparison,” she says softly.
“Maybe not, but it’s true.”
The words hang between us like a tapestry separating spaces, real and unavoidable.
She doesn’t run or deflect. She stays.
Right when I think she’s going to tell me in words how she feels, a knock on my door breaks the moment. I stare at her long enough that she shifts on the couch.
“Expecting someone?” she asks.
