Page 71 of Houston, We Have a Problem
Who would have thought a line like that would be so dizzyingly perfect? “Yeah,” I breathe, which doesn’t exactly sound confident.
He crosses the space between us, and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me right now, in Jordan’s truck. But he presses his lips to my forehead—good thing I took the hat off soon after the food fight—taking his time with the moment. “Meet you out back in half an hour?” he whispers.
The only thing I can get out is another airy, “Yeah.”
It only takes me twenty minutes to get myself pumpkin-free and my hair secured in a braid so it doesn’t frizz out of control. I don’t bother reapplying makeup when I’m only going to wash it off again before I go to bed, and I’m slightly curious to see how Houston reacts to the base version of me with nothing but sweats and a t-shirt to recommend myself.
I can’t wait another ten minutes stuck in the house, so I head out to the back patio to wait under the stars. Only, Houston beat me out there, and he somehow had time to set up candles along the side of the pool and a cozy little blanket pile on the tinystretch of lawn off to the side. He’s currently making sure the blankets and pillows are just right—wearing his awful slippers beneath a pair of sweats that hug his thighs and a t-shirt that looks a size too small—and I’ve never seen a more romantic sight. It’s such a sweet gesture that it almost hurts.
When he notices me standing on the patio, he snaps to attention and speaks an octave too high. “Hey! Hi. You look…” He clears his throat. “Beautiful, as always. I hope this isn’t too much. The neighbors left these candles when they moved out of your place, and since you like the stars I thought—”
I bound toward him and throw my arms around his neck, pulling myself in tight. I don’t know why this is hitting so hard, but it is. I’m nearly in tears. “No one has ever done something like this for me.”
He tightens the embrace. “Never?”
“I was one of the guys,” I whisper, choking on the words. “I guess they assumed I wouldn’t like the romantic stuff.”
“You seem to like it,” Houston says into my neck.
“I really do. Thank you.”
Without letting go, he lifts me off my feet and crosses the last few feet to the blankets. “Wouldn’t want you to step on a scorpion,” he says, though he seems reluctant to put me down. “And don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe tonight.”
To prove it, he stretches himself out on the side of the blanket pile that is closest to the edge of the yard and the desert beyond, leaving me the side with nothing but cement and the pool.
I’m not actually all that worried about getting stung tonight, but it sounds like a great excuse to get close to him. Not that I need one. As he gets himself comfortable and puts one arm behind his head, he puts his whole body on display, all of his lean lines and curved muscles pulling me in. He’s got an easy smile onhis face, no ounce of pressure in his expression. I could probably stand here all night and he wouldn’t question it.
Well, he would probably question it, but he would find a way to make sure I’m comfortable on my feet. I can’t imagine Houston ever making me feel dumb or prudish because I’m good at choosing my boundaries.
Tonight, my boundaries are right beside him.
After taking in the delicious sight of him for three more seconds, I settle down next to him, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. He grins when I take his hand, like that’s all he’s ever wanted, and then he shifts so our heads are touching because apparently everything else isn’t close enough for him.
“I used to do this all the time as a kid,” he says and then takes a deep breath of the cool night air. “Usually in the middle of the night, when I couldn’t sleep. I would sneak out into my dad’s backyard and lie there for hours, imagining what it would be like to be up in the stars.”
I love that he’s telling me this. “Did you want to be an astronaut as a kid?”
“Who didn’t?”
“I didn’t. I wanted to be a veterinarian.”
“Really? Even when you didn’t have any pets?”
I laugh, amazed that he remembered that detail from last week at Big Henry’s. “My stuffed animals got a lot of doctoring back in the day.”
“What changed your mind?”
I’ve never really thought about it, and I take a second to examine my life and the path it has taken. “I guess it was a gradual thing,” I say. A breeze blows over us, and I shiver.
Houston immediately grabs another blanket and throws it over me, taking the time to make sure it covers all of me. For half a second, he’s up on one elbow with his face only an inch or twoaway from mine. He pauses, eyes locked on my lips, before he slides his arm behind my head and settles back down beside me.
“What’s your dream now?” he asks.
I can’t tell him that I’m living it, traveling the country as a sports journalist. So I smile and roll closer, resting my head more on his shoulder than his arm. “My dream is to stay up all night and learn everything there is to know about Houston Briggs.”
He laughs and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I don’t think it will take that long. I’m a pitcher who can’t cook and drives a crappy truck.”
I snicker. “I already know those things.”
