Page 63 of Sure Shot
“We have to get up,”I tell Tank as the clock ticks past eight a.m.
It’s not that I’m eager to break the spell. We’ve just made sleepy love in my bed, and, given the choice, I’d never get up. But now the sun is shining down on us, and I need to shower and head into my office. This working girl has to review several contracts and return about a hundred phone calls.
Prince Charming is a busy man, too. “You have to go to practice, and then get on the jet,” I remind him.
“So you say,” he mumbles. His hand is a steady weight on my hip, and his solid back is pressed against my chest. “Your bed is my favorite place in the world, though. I really don’t want to leave.”
My heart doubles in size, of course. “But we can’t always have what we want.”
Tank runs a hand down my thigh, and it feels dreamy. “Should I order some breakfast from the deli? I brought my gym clothes with me so that I could go straight to practice.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Of course.” I’d have breakfast with Tank every day, given the choice.
“There’s no chance you have eggs and bacon in that little refrigerator of yours, right?”
“Nope,” I say cheerfully. “When I told you I don’t cook, I wasn’t kidding.”
“But that means different things to different people,” he points out. “I can’t manage a crown roast, but I cook eggs all the time.”
And now I feel incompetent, and I hate feeling incompetent. “I’ve never been much of a breakfast person.”
“What’s not to like about breakfast?”
“It’s too early in the day,” I say, even though meal timing isn’t really my issue.
My lack of skill in the kitchen is directly related to my shitty childhood. I’d gone hungry in the mornings because I’d been too afraid of my father to ask for things like cereal and milk when we ran out. Dave and I hadneverwoken him up. We knew better. I remember tiptoeing around the house before school, my brother trying to tame the knots in my hair with an old brush of my mother’s. He’d done his best. But we’d been little kids when my mother died of a drug overdose, and my dad hadn’t cared enough to step up and run a household.
Those memories are grim, and I keep them to myself. Tank knows that Dave is my only family, but I’ve never discussed why. Tank likes spending time with me because we have fun. My past isn’t fun, though. He doesn’t want to hear about my harrowing childhood.
“What do you want from the deli?” Tank asks, finally sitting up.
“Scrambled egg, bacon, and cheese on a roll. Large coffee.”
He snorts. “That sounds like a girl who enjoys breakfast.”
“Once in a while, I guess.”
He slaps me playfully on the butt as I head into the shower. When I’m just about finished under the life-giving spray of hot water, the bathroom door opens. “Can I hop in after you?”
“Of course.” I step out, and he hands me my towel.
Our hips brush as we trade places in my tiny bathroom, and Tank takes the opportunity to press a kiss to my neck. “Open the door if the deli guys buzz, okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling suddenly shy. I like the closeness a little too much, and I don’t want him to read it on my face.
After getting dressed, and texting Eric that I’m running late, I go into my miniature kitchen to pour two glasses of orange juice. Breakfasting with Tank feels so domestic. Hell, I’ll sign up for a class on cooking eggs if it meant spending more time with him.
I wonder if that’s a thing?Cooking for domestic dummies. Maybe he’d enroll with me.
Although it sounds a little pushy. Like I’m planning a life with him. But you can’t rush a man who’s just getting out of a terrible relationship.Hey, now that your divorce is final, let’s talk about the future. On the other hand, I can’t avoid wishing for things. And that feels a little dishonest, too.
So I really can’t win.
Tank is singing in the shower. I recognize the song as “Aint No Man” by the Avett Brothers. He doesn’t know all the words, so he has to improvise with some “bop bop” here and there.
I can’t help but smile as Tank hits the high notes. And my hungry heart wants to know—if he’s comfortable enough with me to sing in my shower, does that mean we’re on the road to a long-term relationship?
I don’t know how to turn off that part of me that’s always looking for a sign.
