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“Oh. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Voicemail would’ve been fine.”
“I was about to send it there, but I was told not to.” He winked at me. Too cute.
“Well, I’ll only be a minute. I had a craving for lasagna, and since I had the time, I made it. I made a pan for you too. I can put it in my freezer, and you can get it later, or today. Whatever you want.”
The noise of delight Kyle made was music to my ears. What else got him to do that? “You know that’s my favorite. Can I just come get it now?”
“Of course.”
He looked at me. I had no problem eating lasagna. And I imagined home cooking from his mom—who he already said could be a chef—would be pretty incredible. I lived a life of takeout because I didn’t know how to cook. It’d be a treat no matter where we ate it. I nodded to indicate my okay to go get it.
“One second.” He hit the mute button. “Are we to the point where we see parents?”
“I’m okay with it if you are.”
“Okay then.” He unmuted the call. “We’re at the arena, so we should be there in about fifteen minutes. It’ll make a good dinner.”
“Perfect. I’ll leave it in the oven on warm. See you soon.”
He disconnected the call and music kicked on—the nineties channel from satellite radio.
If he was the least bit nervous about bringing me home, he hid it well as he asked, “So, lasagna for dinner?”
“Sure.” The afternoon kept getting better. Not just dinner now, but his mom’s cooking.
“I promise you’ve never had anything this good. Ever. And it beats anything we might’ve ordered in from my place. We can certainly binge some more Parks and Rec.”
“I’d like that.” It seemed the perfect continuation of the day. “Anything I should know about your mom? Topics to stay away from? Stories I should ask about you?” I grinned, which he caught. I got a brief evil glare in return.
“Don’t you dare try to get stories on your first visit.”
“No promises.” I broke into a laugh. I’d managed to rile him a bit, which did not happen often.
“You’re the most different guy I’ve ever brought home because you’re not an athlete. She’s good though, very relaxed. She’ll ask questions in a way that you don’t feel like you’re being interrogated.”
“Exactly how many guys have you brought home?”
“I guess I did make it sound like a lot.” He hesitated. “I dated two guys in high school—one between sophomore and junior year and another most of my senior year. And I dated a football player part of my freshmen college year. Once I got drafted, it’s really only been occasional hookups. So you’re the third I’ve brought home—the football player didn’t make it that far.”
No one in the seven years since he joined the Arsenal. I envied him having high school boyfriends. I remembered him being out back then, but I didn’t recall any dating gossip about him—then or now. Although I wasn’t exactly plugged in either.
“I’ve never brought anyone home. No one’s ever been serious enough.”
“Maybe you’ll change that soon.” The earnestness in his voice nearly cracked my heart open. Did he want to turn us into boyfriends? Could I be one that he deserved?
He turned onto a street lined with houses. They were well-kept and some appeared to be recently renovated.
“This the neighborhood you grew up in?”
“Yeah. It was a great neighborhood. A lot of people left when the city got depressed, but some of Mom’s best friends are still here, and the new families who have moved in are good people.”
“I have these visions of you playing street hockey out here.”
He pulled into a driveway. The garage door was open with an SUV identical to his—except it was red and his was black—parked inside.
“You’d think, but no. We were snobs and our hockey had to be on ice. There was a kid who lived down the street and his dad froze a small rink in their backyard for winter. The ice was pretty terrible but we made do, and you couldn’t beat a sheet of ice right here.”
We got out and met at the front of the car.
