Page 73 of Overtime Goal
“I can make that happen,” I said. “But you have to get off me first.”
“Impossible. I live here now. On Ade.”
It took some negotiation, but we eventually made it out to the terrace, wearing only our boxers, with a bowl of fruit between us.
“Think we should put on some real shorts?” he asked. “What if Giorgia comes early?”
“She won’t,” I said. “And if she did, she wouldn’t see any more than she does on the beach.” I bit into a nectarine.
Logan drank some coffee and picked up a handful of cherries. “Has she seemed standoffish to you since that first morning?”
“Not really. She’s a nice girl and seems smart, so it wouldn’t have taken her long to realize we share a bed. I bet she’s just giving us privacy.”
“True,” he said. “She’s still cheerful and always speaks politely.”
I picked up my coffee and gave him a snarky look. “Why do you ask? If you’re interested in her, I could put in a good word.”
He almost choked on a cherry. “Fuck off. I’ve got all I need or want right here in you. And you know I’ve never been with a woman, right?”
I nodded. “You told me once. Did you ever consider it?”
“The hockey era I grew up in? Sure, but I just wasn’t interested. I’m all gay.”
“And I’m all yours,” I said. “Still figuring out the rest, but I know what I want and who I love.”
He broke into a grin. “I do too. And I love you.”
“Same. Never been happier.”
I guzzled the rest of my coffee, then stole sips of Logan’s.
“Why don’t you get another cup for yourself?” he asked.
I shrugged and popped a grape into my mouth. “Yours tastes better.”
He laughed. “You could charm the pants off anybody.”
“And yet I only want yours.”
Laughing again, he stood and picked up our cups. “I’ll get refills for both of us since you drank it all.”
I watched him go, hoping it wasn’t all a dream. We needed to talk about things, but we’d get to that. After everything we’d been through, we deserved a morning to chill.
Soon, he returned with the promised coffee as well as a book tucked under his arm.
“Are you bored with me already?” I asked as he set the coffee down. “Want to read instead of flirting like crazy over breakfast?”
He dropped into his seat and held up the book. “These are some of my favorite poems. Can I read something to you?”
I rolled my eyes, for dramatic effect only. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. It’s a love poem, one of my favorites.”
I groaned but couldn’t help smiling. “Oh my God. Are you seriously going to read a love poem to me? Isn’t that a little… cliché?”
“Who else would I read it to? I’ve never had anyone I loved enough to share this with.”
My breath caught, and I felt like a huge jerk. “I was busting your balls. Please read it to me.”
