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“You are a good boyfriend,” Ali told him, setting her things on the counter. “Just not a great cook.”
Bouncing his leg, Cornell looked down. “Look, Ali. I know I’m supposed to lead this team. I know I’m not just some assistant coach anymore, it’s just… ” He paused, shaking his head. “What happened—or didn’t happen—with Graham…I can tolerate a lot of things. But Lucy, she’s probably the same age as that girl.” Cornell’s grip on the counter tightened thinking about his sister, making a mental note to ask if she carried pepper spray.
Ali sighed, her face softening. “I know.”
“I’m not a saint, alright? But that kind of stuff, I can’t just ignore it. And him being my quarterback means I have to do that. It’s like I support it and that’s fucked up.”
Quickly, Ali crossed the kitchen. “No. That’s not what it means, Cornell. It just means you’re doing your job. We still don’t know what happened—”
“Ali—”
“I know, I know. Something happened. But what kind of message are we sending to other kids if we’re being judge and jury? You don’t have to like him. But accepting him, showing your team—this community—that you do is going to make things a lot easier for everyone.” Ali stepped in front of him, her honey-brown eyes focusing intently on his. “They watch you, they hear you. Send the right kind of message to everyone looking, Cornell.”
Cornell pressed his lips together for a moment, fighting a half-smirk. “Can I steal that for a pregame speech?”
Ali rolled her eyes.
“Come here,” he said, pulling her flush against him. “I’ll try. I promise.” He bent down, kissing her softly. “By the way, this reminds me. We need to lay down some ground rules in this house.”
Ali peeked at the garlic bread. “You’re not allowed to use the stove except under supervision?”
“Ha ha,” Cornell mumbled, unamused. “No. More important. Kiss good morning, kiss goodbye, kiss goodnight.” He bent his knees, hovering his head closer to hers. “Even when we’re mad at each other.”
“We work and live together. Aren’t you worried you’ll get sick of me?”
“Sick of you? Maybe.” He pressed his lips to hers again, smiling against her mouth. “Sick of kissing you? Never.”
* * *
Two helpings of pasta later, Cornell gathered the dishes in the sink. “I need a favor.”
“Girlfriend favor or colleague favor?”
“Both. I want some brownies.”
Ali raised an eyebrow. “Brownies?”
“A lot of them. You know how these guys eat.”
“Why?”
Cornell turned the water on, grabbing the sponge. “I want to have the offense over for a barbecue on Wednesday. You know, a little team bonding. I’ll take care of everything else, but I need dessert. And your homemade brownies are my favorite.”
Ali bit her lip. “I have a confession to make.” Walking over to the pantry, she bent down to the bottom shelf, nudging Mowgli out of the way as he tried to stick his nose in the cabinet. Ali stood, holding a box.
Cornell’s eyes flew to hers, his lips pressed together. He narrowed his normally soft, round, brown eyes. “You’ve been lying to me this entire time?”
“I never said they were from scratch.” Ali shrugged. “You just assumed.”
His mouth dropped. “You deceived me. You know how seriously I take my dessert.”
Ali stood on her toes, trying to kiss him.
“You want a kiss after making me boxed brownies for a year? Get lost.” He playfully scoffed. “I’ll never move past this. I almost burned the house down cooking dinner for you.”
Ali wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “It’s hard to beat Betty Crocker,” she mumbled into his back.
Cornell reached for the dirty saucepan. “You’re lucky you’re a better cook than you are a baker. Exact opposite of my mom.”
