Page 161 of Off Camera
My phone rings, and I smile at the image of Reid that pops up on my screen. It’s a photo I snapped of him two months ago during our trip to London. His eyes are half closed. His glasses are crooked on his face, but his grin is bright enough to light up an entire room.
“Hi,” I answer.
“Hey.” I hear the jangle of his keys as he enters his office. “Are you up?”
“Yeah.” I yawn and pour myself a cup of coffee. “When did you leave?”
“An hour ago. I needed Dallas to help me with something, so I got to the field early. These one p.m. start times are fucking brutal,” he says. “There’s too much to do before kickoff.”
“What are you filming? And can I steal the idea?”
“No, you cannot. I know you have something original up your sleeve, Sinclair. You’re not the back-to-back Social Media Account of the Year because of my ideas.”
“True. Man, I forgot how good it feels to win against you,” I say.
Reid laughs, and I hear the roll of his chair. His computer powering on and the eyeglasses he’s setting down on his desk, right next to the framed photo of us.
I know all of his idiosyncrasies by heart. The routines he likes and the order he has to do things in. Our lives have blended together so seamlessly, it feels like I’m right next to him, watching him run a hand through his hair and toss a Rubik’s cube in the air.
A wave of love hits me.
It’s there during all the big moments, a large swell that rises when he kisses me. When he fucks me nice and slow under the stars, a hand on my heart and the other in my hair. When we’re with our friends and our eyes meet, a smile pulling at his lips the second he sees me.
It’s more powerful in the mundane moments, though. That swell turns into a tsunami. A tidal wave of affection and adoration for the man who loves me wholly. Completely. With flaws and faults and beyond.
I feel it when he makes me coffee in the morning and sets out a fresh mug. When he does the crossword puzzle in bed, the capof his pen in his mouth and his eyebrows wrinkled. Right now, as I listen to him mumble about algorithms and SEOs and a folder he can’t find.
My chest is tight.
My feet are off the ground.
I never think it’s possible to have any space left to love him more, but then another day happens, and I do.
“Enough with the showboating, sweetheart. Boasting doesn’t look good on you.”
“What’s with the rubber duck?” I ask, leaning against the counter and sipping my drink. “I thought we left all the pranks in our past.”
He laughs again, a deep rumble I feel behind my ribs. It expands and fills all the crevices I’ve long thought empty until I’m laughing too and missing the hell out of him. “It’s a scavenger hunt.”
“A scavenger hunt? For what?”
“I figured we needed a new tradition. Every time our teams play each other, there’s going to be a scavenger hunt involved.”
“This is my last season with the Thunderhawks,” I say. “Next season I’ll be an NBA girl with the reigning champions and the biggest market in the league. What are we going to do then?”
“We’ll figure something out. We always do. When are you getting to the stadium?” he asks.
“I’ll be there in an hour or so. I want to get some footage of the guys warming up and post it right before kickoff. You know fans love to see them having a good time before they need to get serious.”
“Call me when you get here. I want to see you before I head to the locker room.”
“Kind of sounds like you’re obsessed with me, Duncan.”
“Have been for a while now, Sinclair. Keep up.” He pauses and clears his throat. “I love you, Ave.”
My mouth splits into a wide grin. “I love you, too.”
“Drive safe. I’ll see you soon, pretty girl.”
