I chew, grateful for the slight run of the yolk that seeps out and is still piping hot. Somehow the sting on the roof of my mouth makes the question burn less.
"I'm not really sure, honestly." I wipe at the nonexistent mess on my lips, buying myself a few extra seconds. "But it's what everyone wants to know."
She swallows her bite and washes it down with a sip of coffee. "Well, yeah," she answers as if it should be obvious. She shrugs, grinning. "It's kind of a big deal."
"I guess." I sit back on my stool, my mug warm between my hands. "The problem is, I don't have the answer."
Tessa sets her toast back onto her plate after biting off another piece. She grabs a napkin of her own and dusts off her fingers. "There has to be a million things you could do." She sweeps the paper across her lips, and I follow it. "Like nothing for example."
She smiles, and so do I, because for the first time someone doesn't mention an idea that keeps me involved in the sport.
"Yeah," I laugh. "Nothing might be fun for a while." I shake my head, pouring another sip of warm liquid through my lips. "But that can't last forever. And everyone's immediate thought is that I should coach or critique or do anything really that keeps me in baseball…"
I get lost for a second in the swirl of the marble on the counter, replaying the ever-growing list of ideas I've been given.
"But you don't want that?" she asks cautiously.
My eyes move to hers. "I don't," I blurt. But then I sigh, backtracking. "At least, I don't think so. I'm just not sure staying close will be as great as everyone thinks it will be."
"I guess they assume you'll miss it."
"Yeah… but that's also my point."
She tips her chin up, picking up her spoon and dragging it through the deep purple slush. With her eyes narrowed, she thinks before she responds. "It must be hard to even figure out where to start when baseball has been your life for so long." She looks at me, her eyes almost apologetic. "When that's all you've known."
I stare back at her, telling her that she nailed it with just one simple word. "Exactly."
A silence falls between us—if you don't count the humming that's still buzzing off of every inch of my body. It's terrifying how much I want her closer—closer than this counter, closer than this conversation. Terrifying, yet… not at all.
"Well…" she starts softly. "I'm happy to help however I can."
Her words pierce my chest, shooting straight through to the untouched spot below my belt—untouched by her, which seems to be all that matters anymore. "Thank you," I say, my voice thick.
She continues swirling her wrist slowly, the spoon shoveling berries through the silky base, but she leaves her gaze on me. "I can helpbrainstorm," she offers. Her eyes fall to my lips, but she doesn't hurry them away. "Or research options…"
Somewhere between her first offer and now, I set my mug on the island and twisted toward her without realizing. Now, I watch as my hand moves to her knee without needing to be told.
Tess finds my palm as it lands on her lower-thigh, then glances back up, her eyes glazed with desire. "Or… anything else."
I pause for just a second, overthinking our speed again, but when her spoon hits her bowl with a clang, I startle awake.
Thank God.
The next thing I know, I'm hovering over her, one palm braced on the island, the other sliding into her cascading hair. I search her eyes for any hesitation—any sign that she's second-guessing our talk last night, this moment right now—and when I come up short, I lean in completely.
Tessa's hands fly to my sweatshirt, clinging to it and pulling me closer. Our lips press together, the perfect combination of the salt from the egg and the sugar from the fruit meeting in the middle. We hold that first kiss just like that, like we're both afraid if we separate it won't happen again. But when we finally part, it's only to suck in air, then we're right back together.
I groan when her thighs fall open for me and step one leg between them. She's immediately needy, still hungry for more than just Birdie's breakfast. And when she whimpers as my leg brushes the fabric at her apex, I dip my hands under her ass and lift her to the counter.
Just like the last time we were in this position, I settle between her. She rocks her hips into me, and I swipe my tongue past hers, but it feels different still than before—better.
Because now I know she wants this—that I'm not just acting on that magnetic pull between us, though that's still there—maybe stronger.
And now we're alone.
Our breaths harmonizing is the only sound in the room until she slips her hands under my sweatshirt.
“Wow,” she murmurs, her fingertips rising and falling over each muscle below my ribs.
