Page 103 of Fumbling for Perfection

With only an hour until Walker will be on his way, I don’t have time to go back to my place and make myself more presentable. I rush to the closest market and purchase ingredients for dinner. Twenty minutes later, I’m using the key he left for me and helping myself into his apartment.

Since I’m not familiar with his kitchen and where everything is, it takes me longer than it should to gather dishes and find a lasagna pan. Once I season the meat and sauce and layer the noodles with my cheese mixture, I cover it with foil and set it in the oven.

Depending on traffic, and there’s always traffic at six o’clock in Boston, I don’t expect him home for another thirty minutes. That gives me enough time to make the salad and garlic bread, then set the dining room table.

The candles in the middle are new and I don’t see any evidence that he’s ever lit a candle in his apartment before, but I find a lighter and two more candles in the nearly empty bookshelves. When I have everything set up, I step back and take in my quick work.

The dim lighting and dancing of the small firelight from the candles adds a romantic ambiance. But what if I’ve overstepped? Hell, the first time I ever stepped foot in Walker’s apartment was this morning, and I’d invited myself. Giving me a key was a nice gesture, but did he mean for me to help myself to his apartment whenever I wanted, or was it more so I wouldn’t have to wait outside when we had a planned date?

It’s too late to turn back now. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out, reading the text.

WALKER: Have you had dinner yet?

ME: Not exactly.

WALKER: Can I take you out?

ME: I already have plans.

I chuckle at my response, then immediately second guess myself. What if he decides to go out with his teammates or picks something up along the way? I check the time again. It’s six forty-five. He should be here any second unless he was on his way to my apartment or to Boston Strong.

The lock on the front door clicks and I hear him before I see him.

“Fuck me. I want to be your plans,” he grumbles as he steps inside.

“You are my plans.” I bite down on the corner of my bottom lip and fold my hands nervously in front of me.

“Riley?” He kicks the door closed behind him and drops his duffle bag, crossing the living room in four long strides. “What are you doing here?”

I lift a shoulder. “The key. Um.” I worry my hands together and glance at our feet. “I’m sorry if I crossed the line. I wanted to surprise you with dinner.”

Walker tips my chin with the back of his fingers. “There are no lines when it comes to you, Riley.”

I blink up at him and give him a shy smile. “I thought you’d be too tired to go out.” I stroke the bandage that’s a little smaller than the one he wore this morning. “And I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“You being here is something nice. You didn’t have to make me dinner, but it smells fucking delicious.”

“It will be ready in about twenty minutes.”

“Perfect.” He moves closer and threads his fingers through mine. “Last night, or hell, I guess it was this morning, you said you wanted to talk about us.”

“I don’t know if now is a good time.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because of your injury. And you didn’t get much sleep. And you have a long day of practice tomorrow.”

“It’s a small cut. I slept like a fucking baby with you in my bed. And I always have a long day of practice. None of those are reasons why we can’t talk.”

I lick my lips and his eyes close into slits as he curses and pulls me into his hard body.

Hard body. Soft heart. I’m a goner.

“I, um. I had a long talk with Kendall the other day and she gave me some advice.”

---