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Colin opens the door, peering through the chained lock.
Would you look at that? My girl actually listened to me.
“Would you mind helping me, sir?” I ask as Colin quickly works to unlock the door, opening it just in time to catch the pizza sliding off my head.
He takes it to the table, quickly pulling out a slice and heading back to his room while I push in through the tiny opening, slinging bags as I walk. I reach the kitchen, dropping them off my arms and rolling up my sleeves, noting the warped, red lines from the bags tearing into my flesh.One trip, bitch.
Dylan runs out from the bathroom in an oversized sweatshirt with what appears to be nothing beneath, and a towel pressed to her damp hair. Those fit little exposed thighs have me forgetting what my name is, who I am, and what I'm doing with my life.
“What did you do?” she asks with an edge, eyeing the thirty grocery bags of food in her kitchen.
“Don't get your hopes up, Chief. It ain't for you,” I snap back, scowling at her as I say it.
I unpack the groceries, placing them on the counter, and I can feel the hesitation as she watches me, curiosity screaming at her to get me to explain.
“You're dating an athlete,” I begin. She opens her mouth to deny the truth, but I put a finger up to stop her. “And athletes eat a lot. If I'm going to be over here as much as I plan to, I wanna be prepared.”
“You're such a shit.” She shakes her head, glaring at me as a reluctant grin creeps across her face.
I simply shrug with a smug smile. I love making it impossible for her to turn down my help. When I make it about me, she can't say shit. I win.
After putting away the food, Colin calls for me from his room.
“Lake! Lake in here! Lake.”
Dylan's forehead creases as a hand comes up over her mouth. For a moment, it looks like she bit her tongue, so I approach her. She's going to cry.
“What's wrong?” I ask, cocking my head and sliding my hand down the back of her arm gently.
She tightens her jaw, shaking her head as tears pool in her eyes.
Pointing to his room once, she says shakily, “He just never does this.”
“Does what, exactly?” I ask softly.
She swallows down the emotion as her eyes find mine. “Just openly invites people into his room.”
It's so small. So insignificant, but dammit if it doesn't move my entire world. As she explains, Colin isn't the type to allow people to freely enjoy his space. I somewhat forced my way in here the last time we watched races, but this time, he's calling for me. Wants me around. The way it's making my girl highly emotional has me bending down and kissing those impending tears away.
“I don't want to just leave you out here,” I say, cupping her cute little face in my hands. My insides want to become outsides and smother her. I want to smother her with these strange emotions I'm feeling again.
“No, go ahead. I've got a couple loads to finish up anyway,” she says with a heartwarming smile. “Please, go ahead.”
I love you. I love you. I love you, Dylan.
It lingers there, in the back of my throat, my mind screaming the words as I gaze into those glowing embers with the black wispy lashes that curl up perfectly, opening the beauty of her eyes. But I can't say it. I'm terrified of what it means.
She grabs my wrists, pulling my hands from her cheeks before she kisses my palm, the slight gesture running like a fiery lightning bolt from my hand to my heart.
“And thank you, Lake,” she whispers quickly before kissing the other palm. “I don't like what you did or the way you went about it, but I'm not going to not thank you.”
Her cute sentence earns her an admirable smile as I gaze longingly at her. Help from me makes her uncomfortable, that much is clear. But she's so adorable when she's soft and accepting like this.
Turning away from me, she walks toward her spot on the couch, plops down, and begins folding laundry again as I stand there, just tonguing my teeth and trying to keep myself from smiling. A thank you is something I don't need from her. Not when I'm so willing to do everything and more for this girl. I'm finding more pleasure in buying groceries for them than anything I've ever bought for myself.
Taking the wooden chair from the table, I join Colin's side in his brighter than bright room. I take in the sunny curtains hanging from his window, the yellow-striped bedspread on his twin bed, complete with a wall of tiny vintage cars in perfectly organized rows, settling in to watch the races with our pizza.
“Want some hot sauce?” I ask, holding up the bottle after coating every inch of my slice.
