Page 32 of Fall to Me
I busy myself with laundry, then we spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking her boxes. After an exhausting day, I’m ready to kick back, order in dinner, and maybe watch some TV. River’s on the couch with her legs crossed underneath her. She scrolls through her iPad, stops to make a note in her notebook, then begins scrolling again. I hear her stomach growl from across the room.
Bringing up the app on my phone, I order us dinner from River’s favorite Italian restaurant. Manicotti for her. Grilled chicken, quinoa, and steamed broccoli for me. Then I settle in on the other end of the sofa.
“I ordered you dinner; hope that’s okay.” I grab the remote off the end table. She stops what she’s doing and looks up, giving me her full attention.
“That was so sweet. I could’ve made a sandwich.”
I wave her off. A sandwich. Yeah, no. That won't work.
“Well, thank you.”
“What are you doing there?” I ask.
“I’m making a marketing plan. Well, an out of the box marketing plan, anyway, but I don’t know if Aspen will go for it.”
“Wanna bounce it off me?”
She stretches her legs out, and her foot grazes my leg.
“Sorry,” she apologizes, and begins to bring her knees up, but I gently grab her feet and bring them back down.
“It’s fine. Get comfortable.”
She shimmies down a little and rests her head against the arm of the couch, pen to her mouth. Her foot brushes against my leg again, and goosebumps pebble my skin. I want to run my hand along her legs, massage her feet after she’s been on them all day, but I keep my hands to myself. Seeing her like this . . . resting back on my couch, in a ragged out Mötley Crüe t-shirt with her hair in a messy bun and not a stitch of makeup on, makes my chest tighten. I don’t know if she’s ever looked so beautiful. This feels right.
“Okay,” she says. “You know Jerry Buss, right?”
The fact that she knows who Jerry Buss is, kinda makes my dick hard. Of course, I know who he is, but I don’t say anything because I’m pretty sure it was a rhetorical question, and I want to see her in her element. I love seeing her this excited.
“Well, my marketing strategy kind of aligns with what he did back in 1979, when he created the Laker Girls. Hockey teams all over the world have cheerleaders, but we don’t. The thing is, I don’t want to have just cheerleaders; I want to have performers. I want more fan engagement. Yes, people come to see you guys play, but I think we should add to the experience like Jerry Buss did. The problem is that hockey doesn’t have halftime like football and basketball, and the ice has to be resurfaced during the two fifteen-minute intermissions. Sooo, what I’m doing now is trying to work out the logistics.”
I take in this woman. I mean, I really take her in as I stare at her in complete awe.
“What?” she asks, twirling her hair and nervously chewing on her bottom lip. “Is it stupid? If it’s stupid, tell me, and I’ll think of something else.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s fucking brilliant. I’m just wondering how you’re gonna pull it off this season.”
“I’m not. I have other things in the works for this season. This is for next season.”
And that’s why she was promoted to marketing director within a year. Not because of who her sister is, but because she’s a fucking badass. This season hasn’t even started, and she’s already thinking ahead for next season.
River stretches her arms above her head, then picks up her iPad and notebook from her lap and sets them on the coffee table.
“I’m gonna make some sweet tea. Want anything?”
I do a double take. “Sweet tea? Who the hell drinks sweet tea?”
She stands, moving toward the kitchen. “Me. That’s who.” She giggles. “I grew up in the south . . . or Midwest . . . hell, I think it depends on who you ask. I’m good with marketing, not geography. Anyway, in Oklahoma, everybody drinks sweet tea.”
I chuckle at her rambling and flip through channels, trying to find something to watch. If I pick a scary movie, she might cuddle up with me, but then again if I pick something romantic—My train of thought is interrupted by a loud crash and the sound of glass shattering.
I jump up and rush into the kitchen. River stands barefoot and wide-eyed, surrounded by broken glass.
I start toward her.
“W-what are you doing?” she asks.
I need to get to her.
