Don't Tell (Don't 1)

“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?”

“I do know that.”

“Good, because it doesn’t matter to me. But I was thinking about something today after you left.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I want to see you dance.”

“You’ve seen me.”

“No, not like that. The way you love dance. I want to see the ballerina Natalia.”