I needed another shower and a change of clothes, stat.
That stupid grin of his widened when he saw how much his jersey swallowed me up. “You look too cute in my jersey to be this grumpy.”
My bare feet padded softly against the floor until we reached the bottom of the stairs.
I stopped dead in my tracks once we reached the kitchen.
When Nate said he had stuff for breakfast, I didn’t expect an entire buffet would be waiting for me.
I blinked at the spread in front of me. “You made all this?”
“I figured you would be hungry.” He grabbed the mug that he had bought me yesterday and placed it under the Keurig machine. “How do you take your coffee?”
“With a generous amount of cream, but I can get it.”
I walked over and went to pull the fridge open, but Nate stopped me. “I know you can, but I asked what you put in your coffee so I could make you a cup, not for you to make it yourself.”
“Well, okay, then.” I put my hands up in surrender and let him fix my coffee. I couldn’t recall a single time in my life when someone took care of me like this. And he made me breakfast.
Good grief. Get a grip, Becca. It’s just food. People cooked breakfast all the time. This wasn’t life-changing.
I cursed myself, knowing my infatuation with him was getting out of hand. I needed to be more careful. I was getting too comfortable, and comfort sometimes led to carelessness.
Like getting involved with a six-foot-two quarterback who could turn my world upside down.
I leaned against the counter, watching Nate push the fridge door open, bending his body to grab the cream. I’d gotten so used to doing everything on my own that I forgot how nice it was to have someone think about me without having to ask. Normally, I craved quiet mornings in my own space, but there was something comfortable and peaceful about watching him move around his kitchen with messy hair and sleepy eyes that made me want to get used to this.
That should have been enough of a red flag to send me running out the door.
“Did you want something to drink other than coffee?” he asked, placing the cup in my hands.
“I’m good, thank you.”
He smiled and started moving around the kitchen again. These simple little things felt mildly intimate. Like we were a couple who did this every day, not two people who had just spent their first night together.
He glanced over his shoulder. “How come you’re being so quiet?”
“No particular reason,” I lied and took a sip of my coffee, letting the warmth settle into my chest.
He leaned against the fridge, watching me carefully. “I can practically feel your brain spiraling.”
I sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island and picked up a croissant. “I’m just thinking.”
He grabbed a bowl of berries and set it down. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
I tugged on the hem of his jersey, suddenly aware of how the cool air was hitting my skin.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I said, looking back down at my mug.
He crossed his arms. “What do you thinkthisis?”
“I’m not sure.” I paused, trying to find words that didn’t make me sound so insecure. “I guess I’m not very good at casual.”
I’ve spent so much time being careful. With my work, relationships, and pretty much everything. This felt like we were moving too fast, yet somehow it still felt easy. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.
I glanced down at the floor, hoping I wasn’t screwing this up. “You probably think I’m overreacting, but the truth is, I’ve never slept with an athlete before.”
He leaned one hip against the island and narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what this is. And while I might not know what to call it either, we don’t need to figure it out today.”
