ROMAN
I scorea hat trick against Colorado but all I’m thinking about is how Marnie’s mouth felt on mine in the medical room.
This is a problem.
“Cap, you good?” Dex asks during the second intermission. “You just bodychecked a guy into the glass for looking at you wrong.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not fine, that’s unhinged.”
He’s not wrong. I’ve been playing angry since we got interrupted. We haven’t been alone since. Haven’t talked. Haven’t finished what we started.
After the game, I text her before I can overthink it.
We’re still on?
Dinner. Tonight. My place.
Marnie
That’s a bad idea
Probably.Come anyway.
Marnie
What time?
Seven
She showsup in jeans and a sweater that makes her look softer than usual, less guarded.
I’m suddenly aware my apartment is aggressively bachelor—leather couch, massive TV, gym equipment where a dining table should probably be.
“Nice place,” she says, looking around. “Very you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Protein powder where normal people keep decorative bowls.”
“Decorative bowls serve no purpose.”
“Neither does a bench press in your living room.”
But she’s almost smiling as she moves toward the windows. “View’s good though.”
“Yeah.” I’m not looking at the view.
She turns and catches me staring. Her cheeks turn pink.
“So. Dinner?”
I ordered Italian because cooking is not in my skill set. Marnie sees through it immediately when the delivery guy arrives ten minutes later.
“You said you’d cook,” she says, but she’s almost smiling as I unpack containers.
“I said I’d feed you. Semantics.”
