“You know what?” I asked, feeling a head of steam building up. For as much as I’d never thought of myself as the jealous type, my gut was churning with green rage. “No. No you can’t have his number. Not only that, but if someone else gives you his number, lose it. Got me?”
He studied me for a second before the edge of his lip curled up. “That how it is?”
I glared at him. “That’s how it is.”
“I see. What you’re saying is to give it a little time. Alright. Can do, man. Can do.” He laughed and turned away, shaking his head and moving on to talking smack about something else. I let out a breath and closed my eyes. Asshole.
I spent the rest of the day doing my job. Meeting with the PTs and trainers, practicing lightly, studying game film, and meeting with the assistant coaches. When the time came to drive home, I finally allowed myself to think about Mikey and how upset he’d been earlier. Part of me was disappointed he hadn’t wanted me to comfort him, so I looked forward to spending the evening being there for him however he wanted.
Walking in to discover him singing to himself as he pruned his windowsill herb garden wasn’t exactly what I’d expected. I’d thought he might be curled up under a blanket watching his favorite baking show or burning through old episodes of Project Runway. Instead, he seemed much calmer than he’d been before, although he looked worn-out.
When I set my keys down on the counter, he looked up and noticed me. “Oh, I didn’t hear the garage,” he said absently before turning back to his plants. “Let me just finish trimming these really quickly and I’ll get the chicken started.”
I kicked off my shoes and laid my messenger bag on the counter next to my keys. Suddenly, I was hungry for something other than apricot chicken. “Is Sam here?”
“Hm? Oh. No. He had family stuff and said he might need to head out of town. But if he gets back before Sunday, he’ll come to the game.”
I stepped up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek. He always smelled a little like coffee at the end of the day, but today he also smelled like peppermint for some reason.
I couldn’t wait to tell him the good news. “Tell him not to get too excited since I’ll be riding the bench.”
Mikey’s body stiffened for a beat before relaxing back into me. He let out a deep exhale. “Thank fuck.”
“Yeah, see? Your dad’s a good guy. Said he’d rather give me the extra days than risk permanent damage.” I licked and sucked a favorite spot on the side of his neck. “I appreciate him looking out for my career. Can you imagine if something happened and I had to retire at twenty-seven? I can’t even think about it. Markus called to tell me rumor has it the recruitment team sent someone to check out that wide receiver at Oregon. I hope they’re not considering trying to get him in case I can’t come back at full power.”
Markus had assured me the scouts were much more interested in filling in the holes in our secondary. In particular, there was a safety at the University of Wisconsin who was drawing everyone’s eye this season. I hadn’t even brought up the subject because I was all that worried. It was more nervous babbling because I was getting a weird feeling from Mikey.
Suddenly, Mikey turned in my arms and slammed himself into me in a tight hug, holding on as tightly as he would if we were falling into a sinkhole and had nothing but each other to grab onto.
“Baby?” I murmured into his hair. “Is this about the Niberts? Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m just really glad you’re not playing on Sunday,” he croaked. “I was worried.”
“Shh, it’s okay. Now you don’t have to run away to Aster Valley to avoid watching the game,” I teased.
He still didn’t look up at me. “I’m going to Aster Valley anyway. I have a meeting. I have a plane ticket.”
I pulled back and reached for his chin, tipping it up until I could look into his brown eyes. “I know,” I said gently. “I was teasing.” I searched his face for information, but he mostly just looked tired. “Why don’t you let me cook tonight? I’ll turn on a show and wrap you up in your favorite blanket on your chair. Or you can go get in my bed and catch up on all the Words with Friends games you owe me.”
He stood on his toes and kissed me softly. My dick perked back up as I roamed my hands all over his back and butt. When things started getting more heated, he pulled back with a laugh that made my heart feel lighter than it had all day. “Dinner first. Hands on butt after. And, no, you’re not cooking. You’re not the only one who likes apricot chicken.”
I leaned down to kiss him again before letting him go. “How can I help?”
After he handed me some preapproved menial tasks—in this case getting out the silverware and pouring ice water—I decided to ask him one last time about whatever the bad news had been earlier. “So… the Niberts?”
He flapped his hand. “No. It didn’t turn out to be a thing. I misunderstood and overreacted. I don’t want to talk about it.”
I changed the subject by asking him about the meeting he’d arranged with the Civettis.
“I don’t want to talk about that either,” he said with a nervous laugh.
“Why not?”
Mikey shrugged. “It’s my dream come true, you know? But I don’t know what their vision is, and I don’t know if I want to work for someone else. I have a dream of how I’d do it if I was in charge. But what if their vision is different? What if they want to micromanage me? I wish I could afford to do it myself.”
“Then do it yourself.”
He looked at me like I had three heads. “I don’t have that much money.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say I did, but I knew he wouldn’t agree to letting me help him. If I gave him a choice.
I froze as an idea started to form in my mind. A way Mikey wouldn’t have to give up his dream and I wouldn’t have to give up mine. But there were too many unknowns—his family, my health, the situation with the Civettis—for me to talk to him about it. Yet.
“Then start small. Start with a small cabin and your catering business. Once people in Aster Valley discover your talent, you can grow until you open your own place.”
“Can we talk about something else?” he asked.
I asked him about the call he’d had scheduled with his editor. Mikey’s face lit up with excitement as he told me about his plans to meet some food stylists and photographers online the following week.
“The stylist can’t Zoom until next Friday, but he’s the one who did the styling for the Giles Gatterman cookbook.”
“I don’t know who that is,” I admitted. “But from your smile, I can tell we’re excited about it.”
Mikey pointed to the kitchen shelf where his favorite cookbooks were stashed. “The orange one? The one that has your favorite beef-and-corn taco cups recipe in it?”
I walked over and wrapped my arms around him again. If he was here in the same room with me, I wanted to have my hands on him.
“Baby, I don’t know where you get the recipes you make,” I admitted. “Honestly, I assume most of them come from a combination of your imagination and sadistic experimentation, but the result is delish.”