I know she’s probably having an internal debate. This isn’t an uncommon activity for us, but it’ll be the first time we’ve done something like this since we had sex.
“Okay, I’ll come over.”
My heart thumps, and I close my eyes for a second. “Good. Bring your appetite and be ready to critique the episode.”
“Give me an hour. I need to shower, and then it’ll take me thirty minutes to get to your place at this time of night. Trafficwas horrible on the way home this afternoon, and I don’t think it’s let up much from what I can tell.”
I pull up the traffic report and see that she’s right. “Okay, see you soon, Doc.”
“Make something good. I’m starving. I need more than a protein bar and snacks.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hangs up without saying goodbye.
What’s with these women in my life hanging up on me?
I sit there for a beat, looking at her name on my phone with what probably looks like a stupid smile on my face, before I kill the engine and head inside.
I take a quick shower and throw on a pair of grey sweats and a black T-shirt. Then get to work on dinner. I like to grill outside as much as I can while the weather is good, so I’ll make a salad and some steaks and baked potatoes for us.
By the time Presley walks into my house, everything is ready, and the table outside on my porch is set.
She’s also wearing a pair of sweats and an oversize T-shirt that hangs off her shoulder. Her blonde hair is down tonight,still a little damp from her shower, and she doesn’t have any makeup, except maybe some ChapStick.
She’s so beautiful, without even trying.
“I brought some bread. I wasn’t sure if you were planning on carbs, but it’s a carb day for me.” She holds up a bag with some bread sticking out of it. “Smells good. You grilled?”
“Yep, dinner is ready too. Do I need to grab anything for your bread?”
“My bread? Don’t act like you’re not gonna eat most of the loaf.”
I laugh. “Are you food shaming me?”
“Never. You’re a much better cook than I am, so you deserve to eat all the bread.” She sets the bag down and leans her hip against the counter, studying me with a smile.
“That’s better. Feed me compliments, and I’ll feed you dinner.”
She laughs, and it settles into the room like it belongs here.
That’s the thing about Presley. She can walk into any space and make it feel less empty.
“Come on. Let’s eat.” I tilt my head toward the patio but wait at the door for her to walk outside first.
She pulls the bread out of the bag and walks my way. “We can just pull it apart. I don’t think we need a breadbasket, do you?”
“Nah, let’s eat the bread like savages,” I tease.
We eat and talk. She tells me about a piece of land she’s scouting for a youth sports foundation she’s talked about starting since college but doesn’t think it’ll still be available by the time she can do it. Then she tells me about the rookie she was working with today, who almost passed out because he thought if he told her he was getting dizzy, she’d think he was a pussy. And she tells me about our left tackle getting into an argument with the strength coach over whether stretching was a conspiracy theory.
She rolls her eyes at that one.
By the time we settle in on the couch, I feel like I’m in a food coma, trying to keep my eyes open.
Her legs are tucked under a blanket, and she glances over at me. “Why are you so quiet tonight?”
I keep my eyes on the screen, watching Bullseye shove a toothpick into straws, using it as a weapon to kill the task force that’s going after Daredevil. “I’m not.”
