“What about the bed?” She lay back on it. Her sunglasses rested on top of her head.
The first few steps inside the store, she’d been hesitant, holding onto me like she was afraid she’d be swept away at any second.
After we’d made it through the living room section, she’d popped her glasses on top of her head after I’d suggested she was drawing more attention to herself by keeping them on.
With them off, no one paid us any attention. They were all focusing on how the hell to pronounce the names of everything from the ottomans to the dishtowels.
I lay beside her, both of us with our feet still on the ground, a reminder of how inappropriate it would be to touch her the way I wanted to. “The bed feels fine, but I think we should do something about the ceiling. This will be a bitch to heat in winter.”
She rolled her head to the side laughing. “That’s what the cardboard from all these boxes is for.”
“A woman with a plan. Where to next?” I’d buy the whole damn store for her, if that was what she wanted.
Sitting up, she rubbed her hands together. “Kitchens. Who doesn’t love a good farmhouse sink?”
She took off in that direction, no longer keeping to my side. The change in her attitude between when we’d left my apartment to now was a complete one-eighty. At first she had been like a frightened puppy, and now she was bounding around like a poodle hopped up on Red Bull.
Walking backward, she beckoned me toward the grey-cabineted kitchen with glass doors with white dishes inside.
“This one looks like yours.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“The cabinets aren’t the same color, but your kitchen is definitely this neat. Perfectly arranged.”
“They’re not perfectly arranged.” Were they?
“I checked them for dust to make sure you’d actually used them before.”
“I keep my kitchen neat. What’s wrong with that?” Using one plate and one cup most days helped with the organization. Plus, I liked to keep the cabinets stocked, so I could see if I was running low on anything.
“It’s just nothing like the messy dumps I remember from college. So many of the apartments were an absolute mess.”
“That’s the thing about getting older. Once it’s your own stuff, you want to take care of it. I’m sure you’re the same…”
And it hit me why we were here. Not only to run around and play for a bit, but she’d never done this before. No apartment. No house. No finding a place to live after college with a slapped-together mishmash of furniture, dishes and everything else from college and the first couple adult paychecks.
Even I’d had a taste of it. The first half of the season, I’d been on the practice team salary. It wasn’t peanuts, but it wasn’t pro football player money. Even rooming with Knox, I hadn’t wanted to freeload, and he’d wanted to save up his money.
After my lucky charm status had been cemented and the bank account commas had multiplied, I’d saved every penny I didn’t have to spend. Banking on money based on my touchdown mojo would’ve been stupid, so Knox and I had stayed roommates until I was traded the following year.
Anyone who’d visited our place was more likely to think we were two guys fresh out of college, not professional athletes. What would Bay have thought if I’d let her up the day she rang the intercom so long it had shorted out the circuits? I’d never know.
But she hadn’t had any of those rites of passage. As proud of her as I was, I hated how her life had made it almost impossible to do the things most people did after college. Not that my journey had been normal, but I’d never been afraid to leave my apartment because of worries about what fans would do to me.
We wandered through the lit-arrow walkways, talking out where items would fit in our imaginary apartment, Bay jotting down even more notes.
She scooted ahead after grabbing a cart and adding more items.
I stopped to check out a shelf, checking the price and memorizing it for her. But it came in three different colors. I hated not knowing her tastes now, not knowing her well enough to pick it out without checking in.
Her hat-covered head was a few too many people away to call out her name. It would definitely be a day-ruiner to call out her name and watch the heads turn.
I wracked my brain before the answer smashed straight into me. “TNG!”
She stopped, jolting so hard her cart slammed into a metal crate filled with stuffed animals, sending a metal-on-metal crash through the space.
A couple people looked at me before moving along. Shit, not as inconspicuous as I’d hoped. I offered an apologetic smile and looked past them.
Bay’s head lifted in slow motion with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Shit. That was probably not the best way to get her attention.
She rushed toward me with the cart and her head down.
“Sorry.” I grimaced. “I was trying to get your attention. Short of calling your name it was all I had.”
Her fingers tapped along the top of the plastic shopping cart handle, but she didn’t look up. “Do you know how long it’s been since someone called me that?”
Shit, definitely the wrong choice. Had I just ruined our day of fun? “I’m going to go with not long enough.”
She peered up at me with an indiscernible look in her eyes. “Not since Greenwood.”
“Sorry, I could’ve run ahead and caught you and brought you back. But there was a shelf here I thought you’d like.” Which sounded completely stupid right now. Why did I have to know her thoughts on a particular piece of furniture for an imaginary apartment?
“I was thinking the navy.” I tried to keep the cringe out of my voice.
She glanced from me to the shelf and her lips twitched with a smile. “Turns out you already know my style.” Her fingers brushed against mine. “And I don’t mind the name when you say it. It’s a nice reminder.”
Who’d want a reminder of that? I’d given her the name in front of the entire school, and it stuck with her for three years. Hell, I didn’t like my name from Greenwood. I still flinched if anyone called me Dare. “Of how much of an asshole I was back in high school.”
She pulled on the front of my shirt, bringing me closer until our lips brushed. “No, of simpler times.” Adding the shelf name and number to her list, we set off again.
Finally hitting the major prize of the whole trip, I took two trays and we lined up for our Swedish meatball jackpot.
“Can one person eat that many meatballs at one time?” She pointed her fork at my plate filled with mashed potatoes, gravy and an ungodly pile of meatballs.
“I’m not sure, but I sure as hell want to try.”
“You’re going to make yourself sick.” She sliced a meatball in half, swirling it in gravy alongside some broccoli. Her small hum of satisfaction with her food tapped into a primal need I’d never felt before.
“Was it everything you hoped it would be and more?”
Her gaze scanned the cafeteria-style restaurant with folded plastic chairs for easy cleaning, tables all a little off balance, rocking whenever you rested your arm on them, and textured plastic cups filled with slightly flat soda. She stared into my eyes, reaching across the table to cover my hand and squeezing it. “It was even better, because I got to come with you.”