Page 105 of Off Camera
“I’ll show you once I get you fed.” He squeezes my thighs. “Food first.”
We work around each other in my kitchen. I point out where I keep the silverware and he fills two glasses with water. We sit on the barstools and dig in, melting into silence while we eat.
“What are you doing for your bye week next week?” he asks, finishing off his first serving of food.
I lick away a drop of hot sauce from the back of my hand. His eyes follow my movements, and he shifts on his stool. “I have some reading I want to catch up on, and Maven mentioned a dinner with her, Emmy, and a few of the girls who work for the Stars.”
“It’s cool you all are friends. From what Maven and Emmy have told me, getting close to women in the sports world can be difficult,” Reid says.
“Very difficult,” I agree. “There are some who are in the industry for the wrong reasons. They want to get close to the players. They want to find a rich husband or boyfriend and thinkthis is the way in. For the most part, though, we all want to seemorewomen in our fields. We want to break down the barriers and stereotypes associated with our careers. We want to be valued like our male counterparts.” I shrug and inhale half my enchilada. “Sorry. I don’t mean to make this a whole feminism thing.”
“You’re not. It’s important to you. And, as someone who’s spent their fair share of time with you and would love to see more women in sports, it’s important to me too.”
“Thanks for being part of the team.” I swipe a forkful of beans off his plate. “Do you want a tour of my place?”
“Of course I do. I need to see where you do all your pathetic trash talking.”
I laugh and jump off the stool, tugging on his sleeve. “Come on, Duncan.”
I lead him to the living room, a smaller space than his and not nearly as nice. I wasn’t looking for anything fancy when I moved up here, just somewhere I could make my own.
I think I’ve done a good job adding personal touches. The shelf shoved against the wall is overflowing with books. The antique lamps and the tables on either side of the couch add a pop of color to the space. The fuzzy blanket draped over the small chair by the window is cozy, and it’s the spot I like to sit in and watch the snow fall in late winter.
I’ve always wanted something to feel likemine, and in the last year, this has become more like a home. Less of a spot where I rest my head for ten hours between being at the stadium, game nights and travel days and more like a safe haven.
Reid examines every nook and cranny, and I wring my hands together. I don’t know why I’ve been hesitant to show him my apartment.
In a way, it feels like the next step someone would take in a relationship. Maybe I’m afraid he’ll find something he doesn’tlike and run away. Maybe I want him to feel like he has a place here, a spot where he belongs too.
“I like it,” he says after a long stretch of silence. He touches the mason jar of sunflowers sitting in the window and smiles. “It’s very you.”
“Is that a good thing?” I ask, watching him pick up a framed photo from back in college. He taps the corners and his smile gets bigger. It reaches the crinkles around his eyes and the scrunch in his nose. “Sounds like it could go either way.”
I’ve always been the popular girl. I was prom queen and cheerleading captain in high school. President of my sorority in college and homecoming queen. The one who had dozens of friends and could always find someone to talk to.
In my twenties, that popularity mixed into my dating life. I could score any guy I wanted, and I wouldn’t think twice about their opinion of me or how I was perceived. If they thought I was silly for wearing dresses to work and six-inch heels because I liked how they made my legs look, I didn’t care.
My confidence with men has wavered in the last few years, though. After my breakup with Peter, I’ve become unsure of myself. Worried that maybe I’m not enough. Scared to share parts of my life I used to give away freely.
I’m reluctant to tear down my walls become someone already tore them down so aggressively in the past.
Reid is the first guy to be in my apartment, and it feels like that’s important.
“It’s a very good thing. I can tell so many things about you just from looking around. You like to read and decorate. You get cold easily, so you always need a blanket nearby.” His fingers wrap around the crochet project my mom gave me for Christmas six years ago. “I’m glad I get to be here and see it.”
“That’s where I message you most of the time.” I point to the couch, the leather a little worn, but very loved. “There, and my bedroom.”
His eyes blaze. “I’ve been dying to see your room since I got here.”
I drag him down the hall, his hand in mine. I like the way his thumb rubs the inside of my wrist. How close he stands to me, as if he doesn’t want to be far away, not even for a second.
When we get to my room, Reid doesn’t bother to look around. He nudges me to the bed and I sit on the edge of the mattress, anticipation building at the base of my spine.
He bends down to kiss me and smiles when I wrap my arms around his neck. I tug him on top of me until we’re a tangle of limbs on the already wrinkled sheets.
Reid holds himself above me on the bed and blows out a breath. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
“You talked to me every day.”
