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“What’s that awful smell?” Anna walks out of my room, wearing one of my T-shirts, which engulfs her to midthigh, and a pair of black yoga pants. My heart flips over in my chest.
“Hey.” I shift over to block the evidence of my egg debacle. But she isn’t looking my way. She wanders over to the mantel where my Heisman trophy sits. The swell of pride I feel over the fact that she notices it is probably ridiculous, but it’s there all the same.
Her slim finger runs along the base where my name is etched.
“Got that my sophomore year,” I say. “When we won our first championship.”
She glances at me, her eyes bright. “This is kind of a big deal, isn’t it?”
“Ah, yeah.” The biggest in my career so far.
She isn’t fooled by my humble act. “You’re amazing, Drew.”
So are you. I don’t voice that, however. I’m in danger of dropping to my knees and confessing all at this point. Instead, I keep a casual slouch, as she walks toward me.
“Where’d you get the pants?” I ask, pleased that my voice doesn’t crack.
She glances around the kitchen, her nose wrinkling as if she’s scenting out the crime. But then she stops, runs a hand through her tangled curls, and smiles. “Stuffed in my bag in case of emergencies.”
“Emergencies?” Like unplanned overnights with guys? I’m not going to be jealous.
“After Dave crashed into me with three gallons’ worth of fruit punch during an alumni picnic, I’ve never gone into work without backup clothing.”
But she’s wearing my shirt.
Anna’s curls tumble about as she shakes her head. “Unfortunately, no hair products, so I couldn’t wash my damn hair.”
It’s then I notice her skin is pink from a shower. “In case you failed to notice, I do have shampoo.”
She gives me a look as if I’ve just said a dirty word. “I’ll wear secondhand clothes, buy cheap T-shirts from Target, but I am not using drugstore shampoo on this hair. Not if I want to walk among the living.”
I can’t hide my grin. “Oh, well, don’t sugarcoat your distaste.”
“It’s fine for you. You’re a guy. You could probably use soap on your hair and it’d look good. Annoying, tend-to-fuzz-out-of-control curls are a whole other story.” She walks further into the kitchen and sees the eggs.
I cross my hands over my chest, feeling distinctly flustered. “I tried to cook.”
Her lips twitch. “I can see that.”
I shift my weight onto my other foot. “Not sure what happened.”
A small laugh escapes her. I find myself laughing too.
“Too-high heat would be my guess.” Her hand lands on my chest, right over my heart, as she goes up on her toes and gives me a kiss that makes my breath hitch. Instantly, my arms wrap around her. She feels warmer in the morning, softer. I kiss her back, exploring deep, and taste my toothpaste on her tongue.
Anna’s voice drifts up between kisses. “You got practice today?”
I hold her just a bit tighter. “Yes. Damn it.”
And she laughs, a slow, contented sound.
For the first time in my life, I want to skip practice. I don’t want to do anything other than spend the day with Anna and convince her to stay another night.
I’m seriously considering letting her talk me back into the bedroom right now, but she pulls back and gives my chest a friendly pat.
“Then let’s get some food in you. Eggs, I can make us,” she says. “I just need some coffee first.” She glances around my countertops.
“Uh...” I scratch the back of my head. “I don’t have any.”
