Page 52 of Flagrant Foul
“Because, Sev, you just saw the girl you dated for years, a girl who wanted to marry you, and said goodbye to her. You might never see her again, and if you do, it will be different. She won’t be someone you know anymore. She’ll be someone from your past. It’s a big deal.”
He keeps his eyes on the road, but his brows pinch in a way that makes him look bewildered.
“I’m not a complete asshole, okay,” he says. “I know that. At least, it’s not just that I’m an asshole—I have a little shit in my life who’s been hellbent on distracting me, and it’s making it hard for me to think straight.”
Oh my God. I love that for me.
“Am I distracting you?” I ask, running the nail of my pointer finger gently along the outer seam of his jeans.
He forces a puff of air through his nostrils. “You know you are.”
“Do you like it?”
He doesn’t answer, but his jaw tics, which I take to mean yes.
He gestures to the back of the van. “It’ll only be for a few days. I’ll get a storage unit and put my shit in there. I haven’t had time to arrange it yet, but I’ll make sure I get all this out of your hair.”
When he says it, it dawns on me that the reason Nadia’s house didn’t look any different with Sev’s thingsin it than it did without them is that Sev didn’t really live there. At least, he never intended to. Or he never felt comfortable enough to do so. The arrangement felt impermanent to him. A temporary stop until the next thing happened to him.
I’m going to make sure our place is different.
“No. That’s not what I want.”
One side of his mouth pulls up enough to crease his cheek. “Huh?”
“When we get home, I want you to unpack. Properly. I want you to find a place for all your things, collapse your boxes, and put them in the recycling. You’re living with me now. I want you to feel like you’re home.”
His mouth pulls up again. Not as sharply this time, but he still looks mighty confused.
The more I think about it, the more I realize Sev probably hasn’t felt at home anywhere for a really long time. For years, he’s been living out of kitbags in hotels and with women he found himself in serious relationships with when, really, they shouldn’t have made it past the situationship stage. Before that, he was in college, working over the breaks and vacations, and before that, he spent more time at our house than he did at his own.
“The apartment is yours now too, Sev. I meant what I said about not bringing hookups back there, but other than that, you can do whatever you like in our home.”
“Yeah right,” he cackles, keeping his face turned forward but raising his chin slightly.
“I mean it.”
I do. I want our place to feel different from all the other places he’s lived. I want him to feel like he has a place where he belongs. With me.
“Hmm.” A brow arches provocatively. “I bet you’ll freak out in under two minutes when you see my collection of hockey jerseys.”
Nice try, handsome. It’s going to take a lot more than that to get me to freak out.
“Are they framed?”
“Yeah.”
“Great, then we can hang them in the hallway, under my helmets. A little gallery of hockey memorabilia. It’ll look nice. What else do you have? Do your worst, I can handle it.”
“Well,” he says, dragging the word out, “I have a lot more hair products than you might think I need…”
“That’s fine too. I’ll buy another shelf for your shower if you need it. You know I love your hair, Sev, and by theway—can’t remember if I’ve mentioned it before—but I know you grew it out for me, and I appreciate it.”
I pat his thigh lightly. He doesn’t move for two heartbeats, and then his leg falls open to lean into my touch. Not a lot, just a little, but it’s enough.
“I was drunk that night, but not so much that I forgot anything. I remember everything that happened. Everything we spoke about.” I raise my hand and run my fingers through his hair, tucking a lock behind his ear. “I love that you did this for me. Thanks, baby.”
He remembers himself and moves his leg to where it was before I touched him.
