Page 23 of Lucky Baller
“Nothing fancy,” I say, following her into the kitchen. “Just bagels and coffee. I didn’t know how you took yours, so I had them add cream and sugar to the bag.”
“Thank you.” Her reply is polite and formal. I want the teasing Tessa back.
“So, how do you take it?” I ask when she doesn’t volunteer the information.
“Black, two sugars.”
I nod. “Good to know.” I hand her a bagel and unwrap my own. We eat in silence, and it’s not as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. I find that I just like being near her. Crumbling my wrapper and tossing it in the bag, I finish off my coffee.
“There’s more in the pot if you need it,” she says before taking another bite of her bagel. She wraps up the remaining half and stands.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t want to make you late for practice. Besides, I ate a piece of toast when I took Advil this morning.”
“Well, take it with you. You can eat it later.”
“Okay.”
Just like that, she stands and hobbles down the hall to finish getting ready. I fight the urge to follow her. Instead, I call out to her. “Hey, Tessa.”
“Yeah?”
“You need help?”
“I’m good.”
Damn, is that disappointment that she doesn’t need my help? I take care of my trash, and although another cup would be nice to make up for my lack of sleep, I forgo another and instead grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Ready,” she says.
She’s got makeup on now, covering her freckles, and I hate that she’s covering them up. “Why’d you cover them?” I ask, pointing to her face.
“What are you talking about?” She pretends like she doesn’t understand the question, but by the set of her shoulders, I know she does.
My feet carry me to stand in front of her. My hand rises as if it has a mind of its own, and my thumb lightly skims across her cheek. “Your freckles, why did you cover them?”
“I’d prefer not to look like sixteen-year-old me.” Her green eyes stare up at me.
“Sixteen-year-old you must have been gorgeous because, you now… with freckles exposed… you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” I didn’t mean to lay that out there, but I’ll be damned if she thinks of herself as anything but a knockout.
A blush coats her cheeks. Even under the makeup, I can see it. “We should go.” She steps back, and the connection, the moment, is lost.
“Right. Where are your bags? I’ll carry them out to the car.”
“I can get it.”
“I’m sure you can, but I’m doing it anyway.”
She sighs. “On the couch.”
I hold my elbow out for her, and after a few seconds of hesitation, she links arms with me. We stop by the couch, and I grab her bags, then guide her outside. I wait while she locks up and then help her to the passenger side of my SUV.
Once we’re on the road, the quiet starts to get to me. Time to break the ice. “So, did you think of me last night?” I glance over to catch her rolling her eyes. Perfect. I want a reaction out of her.
“How did you know? Did you hear me call out your name?” She gasps and places her hand to her chest as if she’s offended or embarrassed.
The problem with that is, she may be teasing me, but the thought of her touching herself while thinking about me is making things very tight down below. My cock twitches, and I have to shift in my seat. That makes her giggle.
