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“How do you live like this?” I ask as he rummages in his messy suitcase.
He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand, but he tries to act like his room isn’t always a disaster. “I’m packing.”
“Packing is a generous explanation for this.” I gesture toward the mess.
There are a number of pieces of clothing lurking in and around the suitcase. None of them are in what I would consider wearable condition. He obviously disagrees when he pulls out a grey shirt and tugs it over his head. “I’m not done yet.”
“I hope not,” I say with mock seriousness. His lack of organization makes my brain hurt, but it’s also kind of endearing. I guess sex softens annoying habits.
We spend a couple of minutes deciding what we want to eat. After he places the order, we head out to the living room, and curl up on the couch. Slater turns on the television and asks me what I want to watch. It doesn’t matter to me because I plan to doze against his shoulder until the food arrives so I let him pick.
The doorman calls to let him know our food is on its way. It seems a bit strange that the front desk calls to warn him his food is about to arrive but allows strange women to sashay in without acknowledgement.
When he answers the door, I fidget, cross-legged on the couch cushion. I’m aware I should go. I asked for sex, not cuddling and dinner, but it’s hard to resist the urge to stay a little longer. It isn’t as if staying will give me expectations. I remind myself that we’re both on the same page about this being a one-night stand.
“You want to pick something now?” he asks when he returns with the food.
“Maybe a football game?”
He lights up. “Really?”
“Sure.” I don’t really care what we watch.
“Maybe I can teach you a little bit,” he says pointedly. Evidently he hasn’t forgotten about the soccer mix-up. “Have you ever watched a game before?”
“I’ve watched some of your highlights.” Truthfully, I’ve watched a lot of his highlights. If it’s available, I’ve seen it.
He shakes his head. “Highlights don’t count. I’m talking about actually watching a full game.”
I purse my lips and shrug. “I might have watched a game or two.”
“A game or two. Shameful.” He pulls two bowls out of the carryout bag and hands one to me. It took me a while to decide what I wanted, but I finally settled on spicy shrimp and veggies. Slater picks up his protein boost grain bowl and grabs the remote. He switches to a channel playing old games.
I reach into the bag and pull out the spoons.
I’m doing a remarkable job of pretending that I didn’t just experience the most intimate, mind-blowing sex of my life. He’s either doing the same, or sex is always like that for him. Is that even possible?
“Fourth and long,” he says as he takes a spoon and immediately starts eating.
“What does that mean?” I ask, studying the screen.
“They’ve got to punt the ball.” He shifts a little closer, his knee brushing my leg.
The guy on the screen kicks the ball, so I’m saved from having to ask what a punt is. “Is punting the only option?”
“In most situations, yes, but occasionally, you go for it.”
“Not now.” They’ve already kicked the ball.
“Nope. It’s only the first quarter. Not even teams that like to gamble go for it on fourth and long at the beginning of the game.”
“When do you go for it?”
He shrugs like it’s obvious. “When it’s your only chance to win. It’s a long shot, but if you’re going to lose anyway, you might as well take the chance.”
“It’s still a loss no matter how much you lose by.”
“Exactly. If you don’t get a first down on fourth and long, then maybe the other team has good field position and maybe they score easier. Garbage time touchdowns inflate the score, but they don’t change the outcome.”
