Page 12 of Cherry Picking
No one hits up any of the usual spots after practice. We’re hockey players who just burned every shred of energy we had, so usually food or alcohol is our go to at the end of a long practice, but not today.
Today, we’re all in silent agreement that we go back to our apartments and feel sorry for ourselves before we have to suck it up and show up again tomorrow.
I still don’t have a car, so I ride back to the apartment with Riley, moaning and groaning the entire drive. Most of it has to do with the sore and aching muscles, but a little might have to do with how he puts a comforting hand on my thigh as he drives down the road.
Adrenaline is high, and I can’t help it if it makes me a little horny, too.
Not that I’m up to doing anything about it, because I am absolutely beat.
I hit the couch as soon as we get the door open, shirt already tossed haphazardly onto the floor and wiggling out of my jeans.
“Think you could let me get out of the room before you get naked?” Riley laughs and swats my ass as he makes his way to the kitchen.
“Not a chance. One of these days I’ll catch you looking.”
The line between my joking and flirting is thin, but he doesn’t freeze up at it anymore. More often than not he laughs, and even occasionally flirts back. All in good fun, of course.
I hear the stove click on and cookware being moved around, and I don’t know how he manages to keep standing let alone meal prep after the day we’ve had. My shoes aren’t off, my jeans are hanging around my ankles, and I’m splayed across the couch like a washed ashore starfish.
Sleep sounds epic. Sleep sounds like a beautiful siren call.
But it’s ripped away by a hand gripping my shoulder and jostling me out of the darkness.
I squint toward the open room—turning away from the arm of the couch my eyes have been pressed into—and find that the lights are dimmed low. Riley smiles at me soft and reverent, dragging his touch from my shoulder to my hair and ruffling the fluffy strands.
“Foods done.”
I rub my eyes and stretch, then frown and look down to see my shoes and jeans lying on the floor at the end of the couch.
“Did you undress me?”
Riley lightly flicks my forehead and steps back. “You were grumbling and kicking in your sleep. Figured you could use some help.”
Normally, I’d come up with some snarky, sexual comeback, but even a little power nap hasn’t renewed any energy.
I push myself into a sitting position but still slouch against the cushions as my muscles protest. It’s like perfect synchrony as I hold my hands out and Riley places the neatest looking bento box in them.
There’s grilled chicken, brown rice, some scrambled eggs, steamed broccoli, and a little container of teriyaki sauce.
“I really wish you were gay,” I say, not even a little apologetic as he chokes on a snort of laughter. “Seriously. I am hungry as shit, but I would blow you right here and now for this food.”
“‘Thank you’ is also an acceptable response.”
He doesn’t rise to my bait, and honestly, it’s for the best. Starving is putting it lightly as I take the fork and devour every shred of carbs in the box before tossing it onto the coffee table with a deeply satisfied burp.
“I love you,” I say with what feels like a dopey, blissed out smile, and Riley simply rolls his eyes and takes the box back to the kitchen. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Already did,” he calls back, appearing again and offering me a hand. “Up and at ‘em.”
I take it but give him a hard frown. When he leads me down the hall, I pull the breaks and dig my heels into the carpet. “Hey, wait. I know I joke a lot about wanting to sleep with you, but that doesn’t mean you have to humor me.”
He gives me a blank look and stops us in front of the bathroom. “If I wanted to humor you,” he says, backing me against the door and throwing an arm against it above my head, “I’d be a little more tactful about it.”
His gray eyes dance with amusement, and my post-nap grogginess is finally wearing off as I become aware of just how close we are. Our chests brush, and he aims a smirk at me.
“Go shower before I dunk you.”
He reaches around to open the door, and I nearly tumble inside as it swings open. There’s a towel sitting on the toilet lid with a pair of pajama pants on the counter, and before I can turn to him to make some kind of domestic joke, he swings the door closed, creating a barrier between us.
