Page 32 of Chasing Clouds

“Let’s take you home,” he says to the dog in a silly voice.

His leash and collar jingle as Reid grabs them off the counter, and the two of them make their way out of the condo and across the hall. I’m glad for the moment; it lets me soak in his words. Patrick called me his girl once to a group of his friends that were down visiting from Boston, where his college is located, and it felt more like ownership, like I was his possession. Having Reid speak about me this way . . . it makes me feel more like I’m his friend, someone who is adored by him. I haven’t felt adored in a really long time, and I didn’t realize how badly I needed to. One day, if Reid ever decides to break his rules and settle down, some lucky girl will get to call him her guy. I sure hope she appreciates what she’s getting.

Once again, the door opens and closes. Rounding the corner, Reid walks into the kitchen, and just like every time I see him, I want to swallow my tongue. He’s wearing a dry-fit shirt that shows off his perfect huge arms, athletic shorts with a compression pair underneath, and sneakers—all the same brand name, one of his sponsors.

“Hey.” I smile at him as he takes a seat at the breakfast bar. “No nap today, huh?” I ask as he eyes the food I’m cooking.

“No, on Fridays we usually have an afternoon offensive team meeting. Strategies, planning, and crap like that for the offseason.”

“Gotcha.” In a bowl, I whisk together the ingredients for a mustard vinaigrette dressing.

“It smells great in here.” He rubs his hand through his dark hair, making it perfectly imperfect.

“Thanks. I hope you don’t mind, but I saw where you order your food from, so I opened an account and played around with delivery service today. I thought I’d make something different for you for dinner.”

His brows slant together with hesitancy. “What is it?”

A grin slips out as I tease him. “Don’t you worry, I didn’t deviate from your super strict diet. I made a cauliflower crust pizza and a salad.”

He groans. “I haven’t had pizza in forever.”

“Well, don’t get too excited—we haven’t tasted it yet.” The timer on the oven dings, so I grab a mitt and pull it out. I have to admit, I think it looks great.

“Princess, if that pizza tastes anything like the other food you’ve cooked this week, it’s going to be a slam dunk.”

The compliment hits me deep. Patrick never complimented my food. He expected it to be ready when he got home, and that was the end of that.

“Thank you,” I say, keeping my back to him so he can’t see what his words mean to me.

“I’m the one who should be kissing your feet and thanking you. I haven’t had someone cook for me in a long time, and I’m starting to feel a little spoiled.” He watches me as I slice the pie then lay it on the bar between us along with the salad.

“So how are you doing?” he asks a little cautiously while loading up his plate.

“I don’t know.” It’s the most honest answer I can give him. He nods, thinking about this as he dives into his salad. Silence falls over us as I sit down across from him and we both start eating.

“What did you do today?” he asks a few minutes later.

I can’t look at him, so I pick up my knife and cut my pizza into small bites. I’m not sure why I feel ashamed to tell him I did nothing, but I do. “Same thing as yesterday.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles as he devours more than half of the pizza by picking it up and using his hands. I can feel him watching me, and I’m torn between blushing because I like how it feels to be looked at by him and blushing because I’m embarrassed.

“I’ll get there, I promise. I just need a little more time.”

“There’s no rush. You’ve got at least two months here with me.”

My eyes lift to his. The green in them is warm, relaxed, not irritated and cold. “Are you sure this isn’t a problem for you? I’ve invaded your space and I feel bad.”

“What do you think?” He glances down at his now empty plate then back up at me. I can’t help but giggle and feel pleased by how much he liked the food. “Don’t feel bad. I don’t, and surprisingly, I don’t mind having you here.”

My eyes shoot to his and he rolls his eyes.

“What I mean is, I’ve lived by myself for so long, I thought it would be weird having someone else share my space with me, but it hasn’t been weird with you at all. It’s been easy.” He shrugs his shoulders then gets up to rinse his plate and put it in the dishwasher.

He’s right—it has been easy. We haven’t tripped over each other at all. In fact, we’ve just blended together like we’ve known each other forever.

“Have you talked to your sister yet?” he asks, leaning back against the counter and crossing one ankle over the other.

“I did, a little earlier,” I say, shoving the last of my food in my mouth.