Page 141 of Made Better Together

The Princeton Soccer T-shirt I gave her at Bree’s party over two years ago. Tucked into her shorts so she could hide the reveal.

“You…you kept it?”

“I did. I…wasn’t sure exactly why then. But I’m so happy I did now.”

“A keepsake,” I say faintly, digesting the sight before me.

She smirks. “Like my panties…” Oh yeah—from our drive home after the club. Still sitting in my dresser drawer, except when I want to hold them while I…

And now I’m turned on. I reach and pull her down on the bed, gripping the shirt. “Come here, beauty.”

She bounces against the mattress, and I roll on top of her, connecting our lips in an instant. I pour all the gratitude, affection, and trust I felt earlier into the kiss. The promise of what we’ll be together, what I’d do for her, which is pretty much anything she needs.

“Mmmm,” she moans underneath me, her fingertips rolling up my back. She begins reciprocating, nipping my lips, rubbing her tongue against mine. So sweet, and in that shirt, so fucking mine.

My dick hardens as the kiss intensifies, and I grind against the gap between her legs. And shit—the motion shakes the little bed. I try to ignore it, but then it happens again.

I pull my head back, and she chuckles lightly underneath me. “Did you miss this part of college life?”

“The child-sized furniture? Not at all.” I ease up, and she follows suit, so that we’re both sitting again.

“We’ll need to get creative when you stay here.”

I click my tongue. “This weekend may be the final sign for me to get my own place. I don’t want us to be hamstrung by Rawley’s schedule, and I can afford it now with the practice squad checks.”

“I mean…don’t feel obligated for me, for us.”

I grasp her hand. “I want to be able to live my day-to-day without worrying about imposing on someone else, or sneaking around.”

She squeezes my hand. “I get it.”

“Plus whatever we both find in common on our lists”—I flick my eyes down to the duffle containing mine—“we’re going to want space to explore.”

“More than this three feet right here?” She drags her finger along the width of her bed.

“Exactly.”

“Well, why don’t we begin by discovering what things we have in common?”

This is the second time she’s nudged this discussion along. I’m fucking glad she’s as intrigued as I am to see how we match up.

“Okay, grab your answers, and we’ll compare.”

I open my duffle and pull out mine while she picks up some papers and a notebook off her desk.

The questionnaire has over fifteen categories, and in most you answer whether it’s a favorite, like, curious or not for yourself, and for the partner or partners you’re with.

“Let’s start with the general intimacy category?” she proposes, while raising her notebook. “I’ll take notes here when we overlap.”

“Good.” Her demeanor, like she’s in a lab, examining clinical data. But with a closer look, I spot that telltale blush spreading on her cheeks. I hope she’s as excited as me, anyway.

We each lift our sheet so the other person can read it. I see she answered the subtopics similarly to me. Likes to: hugging, kissing (body), kissing (mouth), and using real names. She’s given a “favorite” tag to romance, spooning, and sleepovers. Nothing marked as “no.”

“You have the kissing ones listed as favorites?” she asks. “Both body and mouth?”

I push my glasses up, then lock our eyes. “Yes.”

She squirms a little, for reasons I can only guess, before taking up her pen again and scratching something down in her notebook.