She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses me. Just like that. Easy as rolling off a log.
I catch her and pull her in slowly. I don’t want to advertise how badly I need her in my arms. How desperate I am to feel her heartbeat close to mine.
But Charli melts against me anyway. I catch her lip between my teeth and give her a nip that was supposed to seem playful. But I shoot past that, because there’s no way to disguise how needy I am for this. I catch her face in my hands, tilting my head to kiss her again.
And again. And a hundred more times until we’re hardcore making out against the fridge and her hands are unbuttoning my shirt and my thigh is wedged between hers.
The buzzer rings, of course. My groceries are here.
Charli pushes me away with a laugh. “You want me to get it?”
I look down at the tent in my trousers and my rumpled shirt, half unbuttoned. “That would be great, kitten. I need to change before I cook for you.” I pull open my menu drawer and hand her a ten for the tip. “Be right back.”
She gives me a saucy grin, and I finally feel like we’re going to be okay.
The dinner I throw together is simpler than the first one I ever cooked for her. I’m too impatient to make the cauliflower gratin. I use the microwave to jump start a couple of cheesy baked potatoes, which I finish under the broiler. I grill the steaks on my gas Weber and make coleslaw from a bag. The whole thing takes twenty minutes, tops.
Skipping the dining table, I set two places side by side at the kitchen counter. I put on some music by Justin B. which is, let’s face it, a chick pleaser. I’m not above using a few cheap tricks to put Charli in a mellow mood.
It works, too. She sits on a stool, sipping her wine, the color slowly returning to her cheeks. When I set down a plate of steak, potatoes, and coleslaw in front of her, she makes a happy sigh. Then she moans on the first bite of her filet.
I feel—no exaggeration—as victorious as the night my team won the Cup. Having her here in my kitchen, feeding her some excellent food… I’ve missed this.
“Even that horror show of a meeting is worth it if I get to eat this afterwards,” she says after a few bites.
“The end sure was ugly, but earlier on, it was the best meeting ever. When you told my cousin where to find Yemen…” I have to set down my wine glass and laugh.
She gives me a big, catty smile. “Fine. That part was fun. But Neil, your family is not my favorite group of people.”
“Not mine either,” I agree. My mother and I are going to have a very uncomfortable discussion. That’s for damn sure.
There’s a loud knock on the front door.
“Who’s that?” Charli asks, a furrow reappearing between her eyes.
Uh-oh. Until right this minute, I’d totally forgotten that I’d agreed to watch—
“Drake! Puck drops in three minutes. Come open this door!” Trevi yells through the door.
“Shit. Sorry,” I say, sliding off my stool to head for the foyer. “I’ll get rid of him.”
But when I open the door a moment later, Leo Trevi shoves a pizza box against my chest. “Do you have beer? My sister and her friend are drinking all of mine.”
“Actually, it turns out that tonight is not the best time...”
“Dude, no. I need to get out of there. And you owe me for trying to cheer up your grumpy ass all month after you got dumped by… Hey Charli!”
I look over my shoulder and see Charli standing there, her wine glass in her hand. “Hi, Leo.”
He pushes past me and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you. You’re gonna watch the game with us?”
“Sure,” she says, flashing me a quick smile. “Jersey versus Philly, right?”
I’m quickly losing control of the situation. That much is obvious. “Just don’t take our seat in the corner of the sofa.”
Trevi just chuckles and heads for the living room.
At least I have a kick-ass couch. Charli and I have claimed our rightful seat, our feet extended on the comfortable chaise. I have a glass of wine in my hand. Most importantly my girl is happy. She’s tucked against me, unabashedly rooting for Philly.
“That’s it, boys!” she says as they rough up a New Jersey player. “That’s how we do it in Philly.”
“Cut it out,” Trevi whines. “We need New Jersey to clinch because they’ll stink it up in the first round of the playoffs.”
“That’s your problem,” Charli says gleefully. “You can take the girl out of Philly, but you can’t take the team out of the girl.”
I honestly don’t care who wins this game so long as it doesn’t go to overtime. I want my apartment and my date all to myself.
Someone knocks on the door. “Now who could that be?” I ask on a grumble.
“Oh, I told the other guys we were watching the game.” Trevi shrugs.
“What? Doesn’t anyone have their own TV?”
“I’ll get it,” Charli says as she tries to hand me her glass of wine.
“Oh no you won’t. Trevi, answer the damn door yourself.”
“Some host you are.” He gets off the couch.
“You’re drinking my beer!” I point out. “Make yourself useful.”
Charli just shakes her head and watches the next play.
A moment later four more people enter the living room.
First up are Castro and Heidi Jo. Then Sylvie and Anton bring up the rear. “Hey guys! Charli—so good to have you back.”
“Funny, I didn’t know I was missing?”
“Babe,” Anton says. “I don’t think you understand how blue our man Drake has been. This is a guy who always used to beg me to go out dancing. He never even went out for a beer with us on the last road trip. None of my efforts to cheer him up worked. I took my life in my hands drawing a Sharpie moustache on O’Doul just to get a rise out of Drake. But nope. Just a sad panda face.”
Charli turns to give me a sideways glance. “Wow. Not even a smile for shenanigans on the team jet?”
“No, baby.” Sometimes you just have to lean into your own embarrassment. “The only shenanigans I’m interested in are with you. Unfortunately, my apartment is full of hockey players.”
She laughs, and Castro asks where he should put the sixpack he brought.
“How about in your own apartment?” I try.
No such luck. My new sofa accommodates everyone, with Anton on the rug. But it’s a tight fit. It’s not exactly the romantic evening I’d been planning.
Philly takes the lead in the game, and I have to laugh as my boys get upset. “I’m not superstitious, but I won’t be offended if you decide I’m bad luck,” Charli says with a laugh after they score a third goal.
“No way, girly.” Anton reaches up to give her ankle a squeeze. “We need our man Drake energized. And I guess we can handle New Jersey missing the playoffs. For you.”
“That’s so generous of you,” Charli says while sharing an eyeroll with me. “I’m honored.”
I just shake my head. And then the damn doorbell rings again.
Sylvie gets up to admit Fiona, who says she was feeling left out across the street. “There isn’t any of that cauliflower dish, is there?” she asks hopefully.