Page 114 of The Love Playbook

“For what?” His fingers continue to play in my hair.

“For being here.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Lettie girl,” he promises.

Chapter 27

CHARLOTTE

With my mother asleep in the back seat and my thoughts too loud to hold any sort of conversation, the drive home is quiet with nothing but the rhythmic hum of the tires over the pavement and the hiss of passing cars. So, when Chis pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, the total absence of sound is deafening.

I sit for a moment in silence, realizing I hadn’t thought about one useful thing I need to do on the drive here. “I guess we need a plan.”

“It’s late. You’re tired,” Chris says, his gaze flickering over me. “Why don’t we worry about figuring everything out tomorrow and just get her in bed?”

Exhaustion settles over me like a weighted blanket, thick and heavy but without the comfort. “Yeah, that’s probably smart.”

Turning, he notes my mother’s sleeping form and says, “Why don’t you go unlock the door, and I’ll carry her to her room.”

“Chris, I can help her. You don’t have to?”

“You said it’s upstairs, right?” He cuts me off, and I nod. “I’d rather carry her up the stairs than have you help her up them while she’s drowsy and you’re both tired. The last thing I need is for you both to come tumbling down them.” He winks, then swings open the driver’s side door, leaving little room for argument.

Feeling oddly useless, I slide my keys from my pocket and head toward the porch where I unlock the door, then turn and watch as Chris lifts my mother from his car like it’s no big deal. Her head lolls against his chest as he cradles her in his arms, and a moan escapes her lips as she groggily blinks her eyes open.

“Mom, Chris is going to carry you to your room since you’re not supposed to take the stairs, okay?”

She grunts in response, her eyes falling shut once more as he steps inside the house, and I motion for him to follow me up the stairs. I take my time, waiting at the top of the landing with a frog in my throat at the way he gingerly shifts my mother in his arms.

Love spears inside my chest as I guide him down the hall toward the master bedroom, taking one look at the clothes strewn all over the floor, together with the dirty towels and empty water glasses, and my cheeks heat. If Chris notices the mess, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he lays her down in bed, then covers her with the blanket, his every move thoughtful and tender. They’re all clues pointing to how absolutely incredible he’ll be as a father.

My heart swells as he steps away from the bed at the same time Mom curls into the blankets, mumbling something incoherent before she rolls on her side and starts to snore.

The corners of Chris’s lips twitch as if suppressing a smile when it hits me just how handsome he is. There’s no denying Chris Collins is pretty to look at, with thick golden locks, a glacial gaze, full lips, and a jawline carved from stone. Don’t even get me started on his body.

But at this moment, he’s so much more than a pretty face or a hot jock. He’s breathtaking, a new breed of masculine beauty I can’t quite compare to anyone else, and it hits me all at once?I’ll never find another man like him. After a brutal football game that would put anyone on their ass, followed by a night out, he’s here with me, taking care of my mother instead of hanging with the guys, drinking a beer, or finding a willing co-ed to warm his bed. I can live to be one hundred, and I’m quite certain Chris Collins is the kind of man you find once in a lifetime.

Cocking his head, he furrows his brow, and I brush off the questioning gaze in his eyes with a shake of my head. I can’t put these thoughts into words even if I tried.

Taking his hand in mine, I lead him back downstairs and toward the kitchen where I ignore the dishes piled in the sink and turn to him with a soft smile. “You hungry?” I ask, mostly because Chris is always hungry, and I don’t yet want to say good night. The second my head hits the pillow, I’ll lie awake, thinking about my mother and how fucked her situation is. Then my mind will drift to all the other reasons I have to fret and worry, like how accepting Chris is of my mother while I’ve been nothing short of reluctant with his.

Chris runs his free hand over his stomach. “You know, I can always eat.”

Happy for something to do, I open the fridge, then the cupboards, unsurprised to find them fairly bare. “How does grilled cheese and hot chocolate sound?”

“Doesn’t everyone eat grilled cheese and hot chocolate at two a.m. on a Sunday?” he says with a chuckle before he closes thedistance between us, sweeping the hair off the back of my neck where the warmth of his breath ghosts over my skin. “Yes, Lettie, that sounds perfect,” he says, punctuating his words with a kiss.

With a shiver, I set about buttering the bread and heating the skillet while he leans against the island, arms crossed over his chest as he watches me assemble our sandwiches. Once they’re sizzling in the pan, I grab the old box of hot cocoa I’m pretty sure I bought and left here last Christmas, then microwave two mugs of water and stir in the chocolate mix.

Handing him one, I flip the sandwiches, then wait another minute before plating them and pushing one toward him. “Do you want to sit?” My gaze flickers to the table. “Or we can go on the couch . . .?”

“If I sit on your couch, I’ll be out like a light. I’m fine here if you are.”

I nod and move beside him, mimicking his posture and propping myself against the island at the same time he takes a bite of his sandwich with a satisfied groan. “You must be exhausted,” I say, stating the obvious. Even if he hadn’t just told me he was tired, after playing football all afternoon, then going out and rushing here to help my mother, I know he must be dead on his feet.

“I could sleep.” He grins, starting in on the second half of his grilled cheese. “But I’d rather be here, talking to you.”

The knot in my chest from earlier reappears, tightening at his words. “Why?”

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