Page 24 of The Love Penalty

He’s very animated when he gets excited about a topic, and that makes me smile. I’ve started to notice lots of things about Robbie that make my stupid little heart stutter recently. Like how he talks with his hands and always tilts his head a little bit to the left when he’s giving me his full attention. Or how he always leaves generous tips when we get food or drinks together. But my favorite part about him is how his eyes light up and a smile takes over his face as he talks about his volunteer work with youth hockey teams.

“Sorry, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” he says after catching me looking at him too long.

“Not at all, I like it when you talk,” I say.

“Are you sure? You know, you don’t have to be polite with me. You can just tell me to shut up. I grew up with two siblings who were just as annoying as me. I learned a long time ago not to be offended when someone tells me I’m being too much,” he laughs, but it’s a sad one, and I can’t help but think how wrong all those people were.

How dare they tell him he’s too much?He’s perfect.

“You’re perfect,” I tell him, just like he did back in Chicago, although I don’t think he meant to say that out loud. He looks at me the same way he did that night too, soft and thoughtful. He blinks at me a few times and I can see how tired he is after a long weekend.

“I think it’s time to go to bed,” I smile and get up. I move to the linen closet by the bathroom and grab two pillows, sheets, and a big fluffy blanket for him. When I turn, I see he’s standing as well, cleaning up the pizza plates and glasses we used earlier. “I can do that, you don’t have to.”

“I want to help,” he says and heads to the small kitchen. I take the pillows and blanket to the spare room and make up his bed. I can’t help but think he doesn’t belong in this place. Not because I think he has high standards and would never live in a crappy house, but because he’s just too beautiful, he deserves better.

I could see him taking in the small living room when he first walked in, with the old, worn out furniture, and carpet stains that have been there for years because I couldn’t afford to replace it. I expected him to look disappointed or to pity me, like Weston did when I first brought him to my house. But instead, Robbie smiled as he looked down at me and asked “Where do you keep all your hockey memorabilia? I need to see it.”

I hear his footsteps down the hall and when I turn back I see him leaning sideways on the door frame watching me. He crosses his arms and part of his shirt rides up, givingme a glimpse of well-defined muscle. He looks so good in his athleisure black pants and T-shirt.

Did I imagine him? Make him up in my mind after reading too many romance novels?

“You didn’t have to do that for me, I could have made the bed,” he says and covers up a yawn.

“You’re my guest. Deal with it.”

“Well, you are an incredible hostess, Miss Wilson,” he smiles and moves into the room, plopping down on the mattress. As soon as his head hits the pillow he closes his eyes and lets out a satisfied sigh. I can’t help but stand there on the side of the bed watching him. My fingers itch to reach out and touch him. Anywhere.Everywhere.I want to push the long strands of hair off of his forehead and run my hands over his jaw the way he did to me earlier in the parking lot. I want to feel how soft his lips are. I want…

“What did you plan for us tomorrow?” he says, and I realize his eyes are now open and watching me. That soft smile is back on his face as he pats the bed next to him for me to sit.

I slowly perch on the side of the bed facing him and say, “Well, I’ll need to skip my league game, but I am taking you to a really delicious diner for brunch, then we’ll be mini golfing. Indoors, and glow in the dark,” I whisper that last part and notice a dip in his eyebrows.

“Why would you skip your league game?” he asks tiredly.

“Well, you’re my guest. I’m not going to ditch you and go play where you can’t join. But it’s fine, we can do something else instead. There is a museum of illusions around here, that could be fun?—”

“No,” he says, suddenly sitting up.

“You hate museums or something?” I try to joke.

“Olivia. Are you kidding me? You cannot deprive me of seeing you play hockey. That’s not fair. How many times did you see me play?”

“Robbie, it doesn’t count as watching you play if I’m there reffing,” I say on a laugh.

“Okay, what about yesterday?” he counters.

Well, he’s got me there.

“Fine, I’ve seen you play once,” I roll my eyes at him.

“And now it’s my turn. You’re going to that league game, and you’re going to win.”

I smile and shake my head at his insistence. “And if I don’t?”

“Then we can’t be friends anymore,” he says with mock seriousness.

“Shut up,” I lightly shove him back and he goes without a fight. I stand up and grab the king size fluffy blanket. It gets cold at night and I usually keep the temperature at 65 year round, so I want to make sure he’s comfortable. I fluff it up and throw it over him as he turns on his side and burrows in the pillows. I tuck him in lightly and he chuckles.

As I crouch down by his face I notice his eyes are closed, and I finally get my chance. My fingers reach out and gently brush his hair up and to the side. Robbie lets out a content sigh again and the corners of his mouth tug up. He opens one eye to peek at me and I run my hand over it and close it back, “Go to sleep, Robbie. Have a good night.”

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