Page 21 of Scoring Position

Well, don’t fill up. As long as you like rosemary lemon chicken and asparagus, that’s what we’re having. And if you don’t like it, I have a menu for Chinese delivery. I want to do this for you tonight.

LARK:

That sounds nice. I’ll be there around 5 if that’s still good.

ACE:

Can’t wait.

THIRTEEN

ACE

“Fuck!”I whisper-yell, trying my best not to burn my fingertips on the tinfoil as I check the chicken in the oven. It still needs a little longer to bake, so I wrap it back up and close the door before reaching into the refrigerator for a beer. I don’t normally drink at home, and if I do, it’s during the offseason. But Lark is going to be here any minute, and I’m nervous as hell. I’m not really sure why. It’s not like I don’t know how to talk to women. Just because I choose not to close the deal doesn’t mean I’m an idiot when it comes to the opposite sex. I kind of feel like it with her, though.

I want to impress her. I acted like I knew what I was doing when I told her I was making dinner tonight, but the truth is—this might be the second time I’ve used an appliance in this kitchen that isn’t the microwave.

I don’t even get the cap off my beer before the sound of the doorbell fills the apartment. Taking a deep breath, I place it back in the refrigerator and shake out my jittery hands before heading to the entryway. I gave the front desk attendant Lark’s name, and I’m not expecting anyone else, so I have no idea what possesses me to look through the peephole…but I immediatelyregret it. She looks hot as fuck in a cropped gray t-shirt and black cotton shorts, with so much delicious skin on display that my dick immediately begins to harden.

“Nooooo,” I groan quietly, looking down at it. “Don’t fucking do this to me. We’re not fourteen anymore. You can’t just pop up whenever you see this particular pretty girl, dude!” The doorbell rings again, and I think quickly, tucking my erection under the waistband of my boxer briefs and shorts. The entire head peeks out from the top, so I cover it with my shirt, hoping it’s hidden enough that she won’t notice when she walks in. I try to think of every disgusting thing that comes to mind to make it go away, from rancid, moldy food to that one time Jackson told me he was drunk while eating a girl out and puked all over her pussy. But nothing works. I’m hard as stone from just a single look at Lark.

“Fuck it,” I mumble, reaching out and pulling the door open. She looks even sexier in person as I take her in, from her long, wavy hair to the pink polish on her toes.

“Sorry about my clothes,” she says, noticing the once-over I’m giving her. “Everything else was in the washer, and I didn’t want to be late. Is this okay?”

I try my best to clear the lump from my throat before speaking, but it still comes out as a quiet rasp. “You look perfect.”

I step aside, gesturing for her to come in as she smiles shyly. She walks past, setting her backpack down on the floor before kicking off her sandals and pushing them aside with her foot. Everything she does is so goddamn adorable. I could watch her do the most mundane shit every day and be completely captivated.

“I just have to pull dinner out of the oven,” I tell her. “Want to come in and keep me company?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Anything I can do to help?”

I shake my head, taking her hand in mine and leading her to the kitchen. The same sparks that I’ve gotten every other time we’ve touched zap up my arm, going straight to my heart like I’m being electrocuted in the best way. I wonder if it’ll always be like this. Will my body get warm, and my dick get hard every time I see her from now on?

My guess is yes.

I usher her to a bar stool, placing a hand on her lower back as she climbs up, even though she’s fully capable of doing it on her own. I don’t know if I’ll be able to touch her much tonight, so I’m taking what I can get. Thankfully, the thought of finishing dinner has made my dick stand down a little bit, but I’m going to need to find a way to stop this shit from happening in the future. I can’t keep hiding the way my body reacts to her.

“Can I get you a drink?” I ask, walking over and putting on an oven mitt before pulling the chicken out and setting it on top of the stove to cool. I unwrap the foil, praying for the best, and I’m pleasantly surprised with how perfect everything looks. It was my grandmother’s recipe, but I’ve never tried it without her. I’m glad I didn’t fuck it up for Lark.

“Water would be good,” she replies. I take off the oven mitt and walk over to the fridge, grabbing a couple of bottles and twisting the top off one before setting it in front of her. “Thank you,” she says quietly, taking her long hair and gathering it in one hand before pulling it over her shoulder. The movement exposes her neck, and all I can think about is how I want to get my lips on it tonight. I hope she lets me.

“So,” I begin, taking two plates from the cupboard and preparing them, adding the chicken and asparagus, along with some Italian bread that I picked up from the bakery earlier today. “What are we working on tonight?”

“The first part of the new module focuses on the positive and negative effects of sexual fantasy. There’s a quiz in the textbookthat the professor wants you to take. Like last time, you can keep the answers private, then just go into the class portal and mark that you’ve completed it. It’s meant to get you thinking about your own sexual fantasies and how they vary from reality.”

Well, that’s fucking easy. My fantasies are wild. But my reality?

Self-induced blue balls. All the time.

Bringing the plates over to the bar, I slide one in front of her, keeping mine on the opposite side. The polite thing to do would be to sit next to her and eat, but to be honest, I want to look at her. This woman is an absolute knockout, and when I’m away from her, I miss her face so much. I need to get my fill every chance I can.

“This looks amazing,” she says, cutting into the chicken before taking a bite. The moan that escapes her plump lips has my dick threatening to embarrass me by making a reappearance, so I focus on my own plate, stabbing a piece of asparagus before biting into it. “I can’t believe you made this,” she says, covering her mouth with her hand as she continues chewing. “It’s so good.”

I swallow, taking a sip of my water before I speak. “Thanks. My grandma used to cook dinner every single night, without fail. Even when I had a game that kept us out until after dark, she’d come home, tell me to wash my hands, and get to work making a meal from scratch. I loved helping, even though I probably made it worse most of the time, but she never told me to go away. She just went about her business, always making sure I got what I needed to grow big and strong. I didn’t really learn much as far as cooking, but I have a million memories from being in the kitchen with her. This was in the recipe box I brought here after she passed away.”

She stands, rounding the bar and wrapping her arms around my waist in a tight hug. I sink into it, soaking in all the comfortit gives as I open up to her once again about a part of my life that I don’t share with many people. It wasn’t easy growing up without my real parents. My mom was gone before I could even remember, and we have no idea who my dad even is. All I know is that he was over eighteen and my mom was a minor, but she refused to give my grandma his name, fearing she’d get the guy arrested. Which, he should’ve been.

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