“I did.”
“You were consistent. That’s what we were striving for, right?”
Did we set clear goals when I first started sessions? I don’t think we did.
“I was consistent for three quarters. The fourth got messy.”
“But you adjusted.”
I shrug and saunter towards her. “Maybe I had the right motivation.”
Her gaze flicks to mine. She didn’t make a professional house call for a session. We can pretend that’s what she'sdoing but it’s not why she’s here. I’m unsure if it’s to continue what we started or if she just needs to talk.
“What does that mean?” she asks as her fingers skim along the back of the couch.
“Means dropping the ball wasn’t what was on my mind.”
“What was on your mind?” she asks, her chin lifting.
Our eyes meet.
I take a stuttering breath. “You. I was thinking about you.”
“That’s not sustainable,” she says, her voice carrying a softer tune.
I love this vulnerable, and tender side of Annika as much as I enjoy her fight and grit and the constant banter. So instead of saying the reasons why it could be sustainable, I reply, “I only meant it worked.”
We could have sex again and see if it works twice or three times, but there’s something going on and I want to be here for her.
Prove myself to her.
She looks away first.
“So,” I say, changing the subject before she can raise her walls again. “I heard you met my sister.”
“I did. She found me in the library.”
I feel my mouth pull into a grin thinking about our college study sessions together and how even back then Annika interested me. She didn’t care who I was, what I played, or how well I played it.
“Sounds like Noelle.”
“How did she recognize me?”
My lips tug at the corners. “Anyone playing with an O’Ryan head is going to be researched… thoroughly.”
Her mouth drops open just enough for me to want to explore it all over again.
“Oh. So, your family knows everything about me.”
“Not everything,” I wink. “They don’t know that you have a freckle on your inner right thigh. Or a scar on your stomach.”
Annika’s head pulls back like she’s shocked that I noticed. “Hockey injury,” she says, but I can see in her eyes, she’ll move the conversation in another direction.
“Noelle had a baby strapped to her chest and still managed to interrogate me.”
Laughing, I admit. “Yep. That’s Noelle.”
“She’s nice,” Annika says, like it surprises her.
