“To toss the football with Sam.”
She throws the covers off and her face lights up. “Can I go?”
I stop. “You want to go toss a football in the park?”
She nods enthusiastically, her eyes shining. “There are a lot of things I can’t do. But football isn’t one of them.”
“You play football?”
“Played,” she clarifies. She takes on a strong man pose. “Four years with the pee wee league.”
I laugh. “Get dressed. You can come with me.”
She jerks on a pair of jeans and lifts her hair into a messy pony tail. Damn, she’s pretty. She picks up her bra, turns her back to me and hides her arms in the shirt, adjusting the bra beneath the fabric. Within seconds, she’s ready to go. She slides on her boots and nods. “Ready?” she asks. “You look like you’ve never seen a woman get dressed quickly.”
“I’ve never woken up with a woman,” I say. She stops moving and stares at me. “So, no, I’ve never watched one get dressed to start the day.” It’s usually a quick shrug into clothing after I kick someone out of my bed. Correction – after I make her come and then kick her out of my bed. But one day soon, I hope to watch her get dressed without holding the shirt over the best parts. “It seems really intimate, and I’ve never paid attention to anyone getting dressed after getting out of my bed.” I shrug. “I like it.”
“I’m your first,” she teases, her face going soft.
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. “You’re my first,” I say, walking toward her. She thinks I’m going to squeeze her into a hug, and she leans into me. But I jerk her into the crook of my arm and give her a noogie instead. “That’s for messing with me,” I growl.
She jerks back, running her hand over her hair. She bends and takes her toothbrush from her bag.
“We don’t have time for tooth brushing, woman,” I say. “It’s time for football.”
“I am not leaving here without brushing my teeth,” she says pertly. Then she signs the word no.
I point her toward the bathroom and smack her ass. She jumps and turns back to me, walking backward. She shakes her finger at me and I chase her into the bathroom. She brushes her teeth standing two feet away from me while I brush mine. I imagine her humming, and I find that I’m right when I place my hand on her throat. “Don’t stop,” I say.
She mouths something at me, but her mouth is full of toothpaste and I have no idea what she’s saying.
“Don’t stop humming,” I say.
“Why do you care?” she asks after she spits. “You can’t hear it.”
“You look happy when you do it. So, don’t stop.”
She freezes, nods at me and rinses her mouth. I do the same. I grab her by the belt loops and tug her to me. “Is it safe to kiss you now?” I ask.
“Unless you want to be late,” she warns, but she’s smiling and she’s already threading her fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck.
I slam the bathroom door shut. “Let’s be late,” I say.
Emily
Sam is irked because we’re running later than he’d planned. I can’t say I blame him. But when Logan kisses me, I can’t think about anything but him. He always calls for the stop before I do. I can’t figure out what to do about that, aside from giving him time to trust me. We just met a few days ago, but I feel like I’ve known him my whole life. He’s kind, considerate, and he doesn’t treat me like I’m somehow lacking because of my dyslexia. He doesn’t seem to care.
Ahead of us, Hayley walks alongside Paul, her fist clutching his index finger. She’s dressed warmly in a pink coat that has fur around the hood. She’s adorable. Paul looks at her like she hung the moon and stars in the sky. Sam and Pete walk side by side in front of them, and they stop to shove one another across the sidewalk every few seconds. Logan tosses a ball in the air as we walk together. I bite back a shiver.
He makes the sign for cold, asking me with his brows raised if I am. I show him my fingers about an inch apart. He hands me the ball, unzips his hoodie and puts it around my shoulders. I pass the ball back to him, tug the hoodie more tightly around myself, and slide my arms into it, and zip it up to my chin. I lift it and sniff. It smells like him.
Why he asks in sign, then he mimes my sniff. Why did I smell it? I know the sign for why, and my heart thrills that I do.
I don’t know how to sign the words, so I say, “Smells like you. I like it.” I shrug my shoulders. I turn around backward and walk facing him because I’m sure it’s hard for him to read my lips from the side. He holds a hand in warning. He shakes his head.