Sweet Satisfaction

“Of course not. We’ll do it another time.” She waved her hand in the air. “It’s fine .”

But there was something gnawing at me that said it wasn’t fine. I didn’t know whether she was upset I blew her off for my imaginary cousin, or if she had a theory my cousin was Sam .

* * *

I turned the lights on in my apartment and looked around. I had been gone a day, but it felt different. I felt different. I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. Sam’s number was at the top. I hit send and waited for him to answer .

“Hey, gorgeous .”

I smiled and felt the giddiness of butterflies in my belly. I missed him already .

“I’m home .”

“That’s too bad. I wish you were still in San Antonio .”

“Me too,” I whispered. I sat on the couch .

“I was thinking I could drive up Friday after practice. We don’t practice on Saturdays and we have a home game Sunday. I can make it back to San Antonio with plenty of time .”

“That could work. But I do have practice Saturday morning .”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep your bed warm for you until you get back .”

I felt the stirring sensation in my core. Holy hell. I hadn’t thought what it would be like to have Sam here in my apartment, or in my bed. Suddenly Friday seemed like an eternity .

“Promise?”

“I do .”

I smiled. I could get used to this. Sexy conversations on the phone. Torrid nights that no one knew about. There was a thrill to the secrecy that I was starting to like .

“What are you going to do for the rest of the night?” I asked. I didn’t know much about Sam’s life other than he played football .

“Probably watch footage for the Sunday game .”

“Oh.” Maybe there wasn’t more to him than football. I felt a slight sinking feeling .

“And probably make some dinner .”

“Do you cook ?”

“Yes, I cook. Do you cook ?”

“No. I’m the worst cook.” I ate cereal and salads. Anything with more directions and I would burn it .

“Then good thing you met me. I’m basically a chef. Should have gone to culinary school .”

“Why didn’t you ?”

He chuckled. “There’s not as much money in whipping up a mean pasta as there is in catching a leather ball .”

“I keep forgetting .”

“I like that you forget. You don’t give a shit I play football, do you ?”

I shook my head. “Not at all .”

“And you know I don’t care you’re on a dance team, right ?”