Page 79 of After the Snap

I change direction, knowing I have enough time before treatment to sit with her for a few minutes, even if that isn’t why I’m walking across the building. When I reach the cafeteria, Calliope is sitting at one of the smaller tables, glasses on and laptop open, beside a half-finished lunch. Her attention lifts from the screen as I approach, and her smile comes before she says anything. I’ve spent most of my life walking into rooms where people are happy to see the quarterback. I know what that looks like, but this isn’t that.

“You know you could’ve just texted me instead of walking across the building.” Her eyes narrow with amusement before they drop to the way I lower myself carefully into the chair across from her. “How bad are your ribs feeling?”

“Not bad enough to discuss it with someone who’s going to tell your father.”

She studies me, checking whether I’m telling the truth, and I let her. There’s no urge to straighten in the chair or convince her the hit didn’t matter. She noticed I’m hurting, and ‌being cared about by her has become dangerously easy to accept.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Studying.”

“What time will you be done?”

“Six.” Her attention sharpens. “Why?”

For the last week, we’ve taken whatever time this place gives us and filled the spaces between with texts and calls. I’ve started expecting her name on my phone, but sitting across from her now, I don’t want to wait for another hallway or lunch break to decide when I get to see her.

“Go on a date with me.”

Her lips part, and I watch surprise move across her face before a smile slowly takes its place. She doesn’t look away or reach for a joke to make the moment smaller, which makes it impossible to pretend I don’t care how badly I want her to say yes.

“I want to cook for you.”

“You cook?”

“Careful, Pea.”

“I’m asking a legitimate question. Most of the food you’ve given me has come out of someone else’s kitchen.”

“Which is why you’re coming to my place so I can use my own.”

The teasing in her expression eases as she realizes what I’m offering. Everything between us in Charlotte has happened somewhere football put us together, but tonight won’t. I’m asking her into my home because I want her there.

“Okay,” she says, holding my gaze. “I’d like that.”

Six hours suddenly feels like a long fucking time, but I settle for giving her the details. “Come over at six-thirty. I’ll text you my address.”

I want to stay right where I am, but treatment is getting closer, and I’ve already taken up too much of her planned study time. “I’ll see you tonight, Pea.”

By six-twenty, I’ve checked the chicken twice, even though I know exactly how long it needs, moved the bottle of wine from the counter to the table and back again, and caught myself listening for the doorbell every time someone walks down the hall outside my condo. Apparently, getting exactly what I wanted means I have no fucking idea what to do with the ten minutes before she arrives.

I’m smiling by the time the doorbell rings, but when I open it, whatever I expected to say disappears. Her braids are pulled up off her shoulders, leaving a few loose around her face, and her glasses sit over eyes that survey me with the same slow attention I’m giving her. Bangles crowd one wrist beside the strap of her bag, and the small hoop in her nose catches the light when her mouth curves.

“Hi, Pea.”

She keeps looking at me, and I let myself enjoy it until her smile widens. “Are you going to invite me in, or is the date happening in the hallway?”

I step aside, laughing as she passes me, and close the door behind her. Calliope turns toward me, and for the first time since she walked in, I see my condo through the fact that she’s standing in it. Our time here doesn’t already have an ending built into it. I don’t have to wonder when Coach is coming down the hall or pretend I was going wherever she is. I’m allowed to just want her here.

“Okay, something actually smells good.” Her gaze moves toward the kitchen before coming back to me. “Although I’ve barely had time to process that you can cook.”

The laugh comes easily as I reach for her bag instead, sliding the strap from her shoulder and letting the backs of my fingers brush her arm on the way down. Her attention drops to the contact before lifting to my face again, and the awareness that passes between us stays there after I set her bag aside.

I step back into her space and put my hand on her waist. She comes to me without hesitation, settling both hands against my chest as I draw her closer and press my mouth to her forehead. Her fingers curl into my shirt, and when I lift my head, her mouth is close enough that I have to remind myself we're supposed to be taking this slow.

Her eyes drop to my mouth before she eases back, and this time I let her go. She catches my hand as she turns toward the kitchen, threading her fingers through mine. “Come on. I want to see if you can cook.”

I let her pull me after her, watching her walk into the part of the evening I had planned for her. Calliope releases my hand when we reach the island, but instead of taking a seat on one of the stools, she comes around the other side with me and looks over what I have going on.