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“For the next book club,” I tell him as his fingers graze the jacket of the suit. “You can be Captain America. Or would Thor have been better? Maybe I should’ve asked—”
He shuts me up with another kiss.
“I can’t believe you actually did this for me.” He can’t stop smiling, and it’s the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen.
“I can’t believe you gave me a box of special editions.” He pulls me into him, gazing at me with such adoration, I’m surprised I’m not a puddle of goo at his feet. “You really know how to meld our worlds together. I only got the idea for my grand gesture from yours, and it wasn’t half as good.”
“Sure it was.” He kisses my forehead. “I like the way you think. There’s no reason for our worlds to be separate. Not when they’re made so much better combined.”
“Me performing cheers I don’t know the moves to, you inspiring dirty daydreams cosplaying at work events.” We’re grinning like idiots. “Your world and mine.”
“Your world and mine,” he repeats. “Get in the car. Let’s go home so I can show the woman I love how much I appreciate her.” He says the word suggestively, in a way that has me sprinting for the front seat. When I ask about my car, he says we can go back for it after the game.
Four hours and the same number of orgasms later, I’m sitting on the cold bleachers with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and my Kindle in my hands. Every so often, Theo turns to send a playful scowl my way. I return the gesture by sticking my tongue out at him each time.
When I finish my chapter, I jump up in my seat and hold up the sign Theo begged me to leave in the car. I don’t even care about the odd stares I’m getting from parents and staff or the fact that I have no idea what’s happening on the field when I yell Theo’s name. He startles at the sound of my voice, but his frustration at whatever’s happening in the game morphs at one look at me, curling sign in one hand and pom-pom in the other. His face breaks out in a wide grin that shows off his teeth. He shakes his head slightly at me, but he can’t even feign exasperation.
“Don’t be sad,” I tell him after the game ends, the scoreboard displaying a 21–26 loss. “I’ll break out the pom-poms again if it’ll make you feel better.”
“How can I possibly be sad when the woman I love owns pom-poms?” He’s suddenly steering me to the car so fast, it’s an effort not to trip over my own feet.
At home, when we finally have the privacy to jump each other again, we take our time. There’s no rush, no place to be, no expiration date hanging above our heads. There’s only the two of us, and all the time in the world.
Epilogue
ONE MONTH LATER
Are you freaking out?”
Theo rubs his palms on his jeans, I suspect because they’re sweaty. He glances away from the blue painted door and down at me with wide, alarmed eyes. His smile is shaky, but when I reach for his (sweaty, indeed) hands, it eases into something more relaxed.
“Maybe a little,” he admits.
“Stop worrying! She’s going to love you.”
“I can’t help it.” His voice pitches higher than normal. He takes a step back off the doormat, pulling me with him. I stay on the top step so we can talk at eye level. “I’ve never been in a meet-the-parents situation before. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m the guy they warn you to stay the hell away from.”
“You were never really that guy.” I roll my eyes. When he shrugs, I squeeze his hands. “And it’s one parent, so that should cut the pressure in half. Come on—” I tug him back toward the front door, succeeding only because his guard is down. His eyes grow comically wide as I ring the doorbell of my mother’s house.
“Mija!” My mom pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, and I sink into her warmth. I pat her dark hair before pulling back from her. Her dark brown eyes flick over my shoulder. “And this must be the novio who took you away from me. Come in, come in.”
She pulls Theo into a hug next. He towers over her, her head barely reaching his chest. My heart warms as I watch his hands squeeze her shoulders affectionately, the way his eyes crinkle from the smile he greets her with.
We follow her down the hall to the dining table. Theo’s eyes roam the pictures hanging on the walls. The home I grew up in hasn’t changed much since I left for college. The light blue paint in the living room looks fresh, even though the shade has stayed the same. The cherry wood table near the front door is littered with mail and a ceramic bowl of keys. The smell of my mother’s cooking wafts from the kitchen, filling my nostrils with the scent of spiced ground beef and fresh bread. I may not live here anymore, but this house will always be home.
Theo pauses at a gigantic gold picture frame above the living room mantel. Twelve-year-old me is standing in front of a white backdrop, holding up the long skirts of a purple folklórico dress. My face burns as he grins and points at my chubby, adolescent cheeks. I bat his hand away, gripping his wrist and dragging him into the kitchen with all my might.
“I’ve got conchitas on the stovetop and tortillas fresh off the comal, so you two better be hungry.”
“I’m always hungry,” Theo tells my mom. She flashes her teeth, and I can tell she likes him already.
We serve ourselves soup and tortillas in my mom’s gigantic, mismatching serving bowls and take a seat at the dining table. My mom asks us what we want to drink, and when we tell her, she grabs two cans of Coke from the fridge.
Theo’s nerves evaporate as he gushes over my mom’s cooking. Her cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink at the compliments, and she even gets up from the table to serve him seconds. He finished his first bowl in record time, considering my own is still piping hot.
“Thank you for the meal, Ms. Ortiz,” Theo says, ever polite. Even though he has a good foot and a half on my mother, his voice is that of a terrified ninth grader. I rest a hand on his knee to stop its shaking. He stops, glances at my face, and takes a deep breath.
My mom’s smile is kind. I warned her beforehand that he was nervous about lunch. “Of course! Thank you for coming, even though I know you were scared to.” He freezes, and she rushes to reassure him. “No, no, that’s fine! I was nervous the first time I met Marcela’s grandparents. Of course, I was pregnant at the time—”
