Page 36 of Rebound
This whole week she’s gone out of her way to annoy me as often as possible. The tea slurping and refusing to decide what she wants to eat are two big ones. Along with not being a morning person, Tamara is also not a breakfast person. Which is preposterous, since it’s my favourite meal of the day. It’s also the most important meal, but that’s been a difficult lesson to teach her. I keep reminding her she’s now eating for two people and needs to get her shit together.
How does she respond? Fuck you.
I’ll admit, my initial approach was wrong. So I give her the choice of deciding what she wants to eat. She’s tried to stump me with demands for dosa and appam?1, but I’m a master at making even the most complicated Malayali breakfast items. I credit my grandmother, Mariammachechi and my mother for teaching me the basics. The rest came from following recipes and knowing I had to feed myself during the off-season. Plus, with my career as a professional athlete, eating healthy is a requirement and I don’t like to starve myself of what I enjoy, just find other ways to consume it.
We’ve discovered certain things are off-limits: eggs, tomatoes and onions. Everything else is fair game, so I’ve been experimenting even further to make us delicious wholesome meals. She doesn’t care, because as soon as the plate is set in front of her, she inhales it. It’s amusing and weirdly sexy seeing her down all those calories. I realised pretty quickly that I have a kink for feeding her.
“How do we feel about onions today?”
“The same as I feel about you every day,” she retorts and I don’t hold back my laugh.
With my coffee set to the side, I set the oven to preheat and get started on our breakfast. Not using eggs has been limiting my easy access meals, but I’ve been doing lots of research so my girl isn’t gagging every time. Even the sight of eggs makes her dry heave. I hear her mug hit the wooden coffee table before she’s rushing to her bedroom. The soft sounds of her throwing up reach me and I wince on her behalf. The internet says morning sickness should end in her fourteenth week, which is really soon, and I’m really hoping it does.
When she returns, I pretend like I haven’t been waiting for her while I brown the thin strips of potato I’d cut and put in the freezer the night before. I already knew she was going to be a pain in the ass this morning, so I prepped for breakfast ahead of time. I listen as she retrieves her mug and then joins me in the kitchen, her scent floating over as she climbs onto the counter closest to me.
“What are you making?”
“A surprise.”
She groans and slurps her tea again, but I ignore it. Like nails on a chalkboard, it drives me insane and she knows it.
“I bought some more baby books,” I say.
“You have a million already. Why do you need more?”
“To make sure we’re doing all the right things.”
She snorts. “I’m sure those books will talk about giving the mother some space and alone time.”
“You spend the whole day away from me, Lo. I think you can handle a few more minutes of me being a nuisance.”
“Ugh, why are you like this?”
“Because it annoys you.”
“I hate you.”
I laugh. “I know, sweetheart.”
Turning off the stove, I put the potatoes into a greased pan and Tamara steals a few pieces. She slides them into her mouth and her eyes slip shut as she moans. My cock twitches at the sound and the look on her face. Definitely a feeding kink. This is another downside to living with her—when it comes to things she likes, Tamara Chandy is very vocal. I grind my teeth and sprinkle green onion, which is acceptable, cheese and a lot of bacon. Then before she can steal more, I pop the pan into the oven.
“Go brush your teeth, Lo.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter and she guffaws before setting her empty mug in the sink.
My eyes trail her as she walks down the hall to the bedrooms and I release a breath when everything Tamara leaves the kitchen. While I wipe down the counters and load the dishwasher, I run through my plan for the day. I need to check in with my agent and Nihal, a therapy session and figure out what the rest of my week looks like.
The oven pings as Tamara returns. This time her hair is pulled back in a tight bun on top of her head and her eyes are bright. She even smiles when she catches me checking her out, which sends butterflies through my stomach. I pull breakfast out of the oven and serve equal portions onto two plates. Without me asking, Tamara grabs two glasses and a bottle of cold water and heads to the dining table where she’s already laid out mats. I press my lips together to hide my smile, because she’s finally looking forward to these things.
And that’s what it’s about. I don’t want to bulldoze my way into her life, but I want to make it clear I’m here to stay for as long as she’ll have me. She can accept it or fight me every step of the way. At least the bickering and flirting is fun.
“The other day, you mentioned coaching a local team,” she says and I nod, leaning back in my chair as she pushes food around on her plate. “Why aren’t you playing?”
“I really need a break. I’ve been playing and training since last September and I’m exhausted. So when the League of Hockey Tournament organisers asked me to coach, I said why not?”
“League of Hockey what?”
