Page 64 of Worth the Shot

Or at least I try. Except my brain keeps looping back to Brennan and his mouth, the way it devours mine and my body instantly warms. The way being in his arms always feels like it’s pumping serotonin directly into my veins. The way a single wink from him can make me melt into nothing but a puddle at his feet.

And somewhere between memories I’m trying to let go of and ones I’m not ready to admit I want, sleep finally starts to creep in. Tomorrow is my date with Brennan, and as shocking as it is, the thought of what comes next doesn’t terrify me.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Brennan

Between away games and Delaney’s work schedule, it’s been almost a week since I’ve seen her in person, and somehow that feels a lot like a lifetime. Pathetic? Probably. Do I care? Absolutely not. She said she’d come over after her shift, and I’ve been stalking the clock like I’m waiting for my crush to show up to a school dance. The apartment is cleaner than usual. I changed the sheets, fluffed pillows, shoved half my life into closets. I want everything to be perfect.

I was supposed to take her out, but after hearing about her last few shifts, I had a feeling she’d rather stay in. It’s ridiculous how nervous I am, which is probably why I went the extra mile and decked out the place like a scene from a romance novel. The lights are dimmed, candles lit, my record player spinning something you’d hear at a fancy, Italian restaurant. I have a fire going because I know how much she loves that, and I really want tonight to feel special for her. It’s the least I can do to show her that I’m serious about this. Us.

I hear a short double knock before she walks in, and I swear my heart trips. She’s in her navy scrubs, hair twisted up in a messy clip that she’s just letting loose as she closes the door. Her cheeks are flushed a perfect shade of pink from the cold, and she looks exhausted but beautiful in that effortless way of hers. The kind she never seems aware of.

“Hey,” she breathes, closing the door behind her. The second our eyes lock, something unclenches in my chest.

“There’s my girl,” I say, trying it out, seeing if she flinches.

She doesn’t. In fact, her lips twitch into the kind of smile that tells me she might actually like it. She drops her bag, kicks off her shoes, and walks straight into my arms like this is home. Like I am home. I wrap her up, grounding myself in the weight of her body, the warmth of her cheek against my chest. She melts into me instantly, and I feel like whatever this is, whatever we’ve been dancing around, it’s definitely not casual anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time.

I give her a soft, slow kiss and then pull her back into me, my lips landing on the top of her head.

“You okay?” I murmur into her hair.

She exhales, her whole body sagging against mine. “It was a long day.” She pauses. “I needed this. I needed you.”

“Well then,” I say, guiding her toward the couch. “Sit. I have dinner for us.”

Her head snaps up. “You…what?”

“I figured you’d be tired.” She looks equal parts relieved and impressed. “I may have a few tricks in the kitchen too. I hope, anyway. If you don’t like it we can order whatever you want.”

She stares at me, her gaze somewhere between admiring and thankful.

“Brennan…” she sighs, “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” She takes a step toward me, grabbing both of my hands in hers as she looks around, taking it in. “It smells delicious. I’m sure I’ll love it,” she says, kissing my cheek.

And shit, I’d cook her whatever she wants every day for the rest of my life just to see her look at me like that again.

After dinner, and Delaney saying “This is the best Chicken Francese I’ve ever had” approximately fifty times, mouth full and all, we settle on the couch. Her legs are draped over mine, body curling sideways into me, as her head finds the same place on my shoulder that feels carved out just for her.

“How was the game?” she asks, yawning.

“Good, but not great. Mostly just me trying not to blame myself for every play we couldn’t capitalize on.”

She snorts. “So your usual personality?”

“Watch it,” I warn, nudging her thigh with mine.

Her smile softens, eyes fluttering closed as she traces idle shapes on my arm. I swear that tiny motion could bring me to my knees. She’s quiet for a long moment before she says, “I think you’re being really hard on yourself. All I ever hear from Shayne and the guys is how lucky they are you signed here. How well you fit in and how much you’ve contributed.”

“Yeah?” I try not to sound desperate, but I fail miserably.

She opens her eyes, studying me like she can see every hidden bruise inside me. “Yeah. I think you just need to be more confident. Believe in yourself, because everyone else already does.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “You know what helps?” I ask.

“What?” she says softly.

“You.”