Page 89 of Forever Offsides

He releases me and walks ahead into the kitchen. I hike back up his sweatpants that by some miracle didn’t fall all the way down and join him. Rhett is moving around his kitchen, placing something into an air fryer, and he’s put music on—country music he’s humming along to, so we’re going to have to have a talk about that—while he takes things out of the fridge and removes a bottle of wine from a wine refrigerator under the counter.

“Can I help?”

“Sure. Uncork the wine and pour us each a glass. Lord knows I could use it, and I’m guessing you could too.”

Truth.

He has good taste in wine. It’s a Bordeaux that looks like it’s directly from France. I uncork it and pour us each a glass, sad that I’m not letting it breathe but not caring enough not to drink it.

“You’re a connoisseur?”

He laughs. “No. I bought it for you because I know you like wine, but I couldn’t remember what kind we ordered the first night I met you. The woman at the wine shop said this one is excellent.”

I pause. Wait a second. “When did you buy it?”

For a moment, I think he’s blushing, but he puts his back to me, so I’m not sure.

He keeps doing whatever it is he’s doing as he flippantly tries to respond with, “Uh, a few weeks ago.”

“A few weeks ago?” I’m incredulous.

He glances at me over his shoulder. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“No more than I already do.”

He snickers and goes back to the stove. “Fine. Fair. I bought it as wishful thinking. I didn’t anticipate getting the chance to open it with you, but I was passing the shop, and I had this fantasy. This very fantasy. So…”

So he went in and bought an expensive bottle of wine he thought I’d like, even if he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to open it for me. My hand covers my mouth as blood thrums in my ears and heats the back of my neck.

Oh my god. I’m going to get my heart so broken by this man.

I walk up to him and kiss the spot between his shoulder blades.

I’m not sure I can say anything to that.

I busy myself with the wine, my hands trembling. Finally, I manage to uncork it and pour us each some.

“What are you making? Here.” I slide his glass toward him since he’s now working at the island, lamb chops sitting open in paper while he works on chopping garlic and rosemary.

“Lamb chops, air-fried potato wedges, and broccoli. It’s nothing that fancy, but it’s fast, healthy, and good.”

“You know, you could have ordered in for us. I believe pizza is your favorite, and I never turn that down. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble after such a long day.”

I get a smirk. “There is nothing impressive about takeout, Quinn, even if I’m delighted you remember about pizza being my favorite.”

I hop up onto the counter and dangle my legs. “Are you trying to impress me?”

“Absolutely.” He turns on his gas stove and puts butter and olive oil, along with the rosemary and garlic, in a pan before he adds the lamb to sear. “Cheers.” We clink glasses, and each takes a sip, and wow, yeah, he is trying to impress me. I like that about him. Clearly, I’ve been dating the wrong guys.

But are we dating?

Is that even possible for us or is this exclusive fucking?

Maybe that’s crude, but I already know he’s not going to be seeing other women and I won’t be seeing other men. But it’s not a real relationship either. We won’t be going out to the movies or dinners together. We won’t walk through the park together holding hands. We won’t be seen in the light of day as a couple.

We’re a secret, and there is definitely something thrilling about that, but it’s not sustainable. Neither are we. This will be fun until we work it out of our systems or come to an impasse. The problem is, I’ll get hurt. He could too. I realize it’s not only me in this.

We have feelings beyond the physical.