Page 43 of Blindside Love

Harris

Lube?

Miles

Handcuffs? Blindfolds?

Harris

Whips and chains?

I chuckle to myself as I type out a response. I love them for this because they’re smart enough to realize that I might just actually like this girl, so I’m nervous as fuck for tonight. They may be annoying as fuck for giving me a hard time, but it’s nice to laugh at their ridiculousness.

Calm down, Rhianna.

Rex

Yeah, guys. Chill out. Our guy is good at making do with his surroundings. He doesn’t need to bring things over and look like a serial killer.

Harris

You say serial killer, I say prepared.

Miles

Po-ta-to, po-tah-to.

Cade

Go get em’ tiger.

Putting my phone back in my pocket, I say fuck it, five minutes early is fine by me. Before letting the nerves take over, I grab the flowers and wine and head next door.

When I get to her door, I smile when I hear her typical Taylor Swift playlist playing in the background. Knocking loudly to make sure she can hear, I wait for her to come to the door.

When the door opens, I feel like all the air has left my lungs. She’s dressed differently than her usual overalls, but she still seems casual and comfortable, like I know she loves to be. She’s got on an old, distressed band tee that I can tell is actually aged, not just one of the new ones they made and tried to pass off as ‘vintage.’ It’s torn up, showcasing her toned stomach. Beneath that, she has a pair of faded, torn-up jeans with no shoes on, her toes painted a surprising shade of black that I can imagine seeing with her ankles at my ears.

“Hey, Trevor,” she says with a smile, opening the door far enough to let me in. When I pass her the bouquet, I see pure joy mixed with surprise in her eyes as she closes the door. The moment stops as she leans down, smelling the flowers, her eyes closing as she smiles even wider.

I love that I’m the one putting that smile on her face.

“Hey,” I say, breaking the moment.

“Thank you for these. They’re beautiful,” she says, leading the way into the kitchen, where she already has a bunch of ingredients out on the counter. If I were to guess, I’d say we’re having Italian, so hopefully, the wine I bought is perfect.

“You’re welcome, kitten. I was out running errands this afternoon and saw them. They immediately made me think of you—specifically your hair. I couldn’t help but smile and had to buy them.”

Her hand instinctively reaches up, grabbing a piece of her hair and twirling it around her finger. When she looks up at me, I can already tell she’s overthinking something.

“You like my hair?” she asks, confusing the fuck out of me.

That wasn’t what I was expecting at all.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

“I mean, you don’t think it’s, I don’t know… odd? Unprofessional?” she asks.

I don’t think I ever pegged her as being insecure until this moment, and I hate it. The uncertainty deep in her eyes, the way she’s trying to distract herself by playing with her hair, refusing to make eye contact with me.

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