Page 94 of Courtside

Sage’s smile softened. “It’s not on you. I shouldn’t have disappeared without telling you. Now that I know what that was like for you, I’m not going to do it again. We’ve got to figure each other out, right? Sometimes I need a little room to breathe when I’m sad, just like you need to know that the people you care about are safe. It’s just who we are.”

Sage turned back to pull the steaks from the pan. David watched her, considering how to say what he wanted to. Words were such clumsy things when compared to the acute truth of what he felt in his chest. “I just…Sage, I want to do this right. I already know that I like spending time with you, and I know that I’m attracted to you, but now that this isrealI don’t want to mess it up.”

Steaks set out on a plate, Sage turned back to face him. “All we can do is show up and try, right?”

“Right,” David agreed, feeling light and almost giddy, like he could tip over into laughter at the smallest thing.

God.She was his. After months of wanting and imagining, he was here and she was his.

Two minutes later they sat at Sage’s small round table with plates piled high with ribeyes, mashed potatoes, and grilled asparagus. She’d pushed the vase of blue flowers to the side so that they could see all of each other while they ate, and she lit a short, golden-colored candle on the table between them.

They’d shared countless meals together, mostly while sprawled out on the couch watching game tape or hunched over whatever novels they were reading. Sometimes they’d talk, catching up on menial things like the team or Sage’s classes or whether or not Daisy liked the organic treats more than the non-organic ones.

But tonight, as they sat across from each other at the table, their silverware scraping against Sage’s colorful ceramic plates, David was painfully aware of how little he knew about her. He knew her in the way that friends know what it feels like to share a space together, but what abouther?

“What’s your favorite color?”

Oh god, David.

“Green.” Sage paused to chew before pointing her fork at him. “You?”

“Blue.”Like shallow water or pantsuits or the flowers right there on the table between them.

Sage’s smile grew. “Favorite movie?”

“Goodfellas.”

“Seriously?” Sage laughed, her face transforming into surprised delight. “Isodidn’t expect that.”

“What’d you expect?”

She shrugged, her smile turning teasing and playful. “You seem more like aWayne’s Worldkind of guy.”

David laughed, leaning back in his chair and stretching one of his legs out. He glanced down, noticing how close his foot was to hers. Black Costco cotton next to colorful knit wool.

“So what about you,” he asked, right as his foot nudged hers.

For a moment she was still against him. But then, in a move that was more tentative than he would have expected from someone like Sage, she shifted so that her foot rested on top of his.

He watched her lips part, her lower lip so plump and enticing that he wanted to bite it. Lick it. Hold it between his teeth with just enough pressure to make her breath hitch.

Her voice was noticeably breathy when she responded. “Love and Basketball,” she said, her eyes darting down to where her foot rested on top of his.

David felt his smile spread. “Of course it is.”

Sage rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink and she couldn’t contain her smile.

Somehow they got from favorite movies to sports movies which then led to an in depth discussion about the best coaches in professional basketball. The food — which wasdelicious— disappeared from their plates as they talked, and somehow it was the same as it had always been with Sage while also feeling completely different. There was a newness and excitement hovering just under the surface, like his heartbeat couldn’t quite settle into a slow, easy rhythm.

Conversation continued as they carried their dishes to the sink. It continued as David washed and Sage dried, and as Sage tracked down glass tupperware to pack away the leftover potatoes, David washed the pots and pans.

He listened carefully as Sage told himexactlyhow one should and shouldn’t wash a cast iron pan. “No soap.Neversoap,” she’d practically growled, stopping him before he could touch the soapy sponge to the surface of the pan.

She grabbed a beer for David — Corona, he noticed fondly — and a glass of peach wine for herself.

“It’s probably the most embarrassing thing about me,” she said as she folded her legs under herself. “I know it’s disgustingly sweet, but I love it and life is too short to waste time drinking things I don’t like.”

“Fair enough,” David said, lowering himself down to the opposite side of the couch.

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