Baden looks around, considers my proposal, and nods. “That makes sense. I had boxes and packing tape delivered. Should all be in the garage.”
I give Baden a playful punch on the arm and throw my head toward the door. “Then I think you better get going. You have a goalie to psych up before the game.”
He smiles, those warm, amber eyes lingering long enough to make me feel a little flustered. But then he nods and starts to brush past.
I follow Baden, intent on seeing him to the door and then finding the packing boxes, but he stops and I run smack into him.
Shuffling back, I tip my head to find him staring down at me thoughtfully. “How are you doing?”
God, why does he have to be so considerate and caring? I’ve had a relatively stress-free day, as traveling with Baden has been a comfort. I was even excited about this trip, and I’m honest-to-goodness glad to be able to help him with the packing.
And yet… he’s still checking in because he wants to stay in tune.
Because he’s just one of those people who truly has a kind, genuine soul. Warmth rushes through me, and I wonder if this is the beginning of me truly falling for this man. The exquisite care he has taken to make this a good experience for me…
“I’m good,” I assure him.
“You’d tell me if you weren’t?” he presses.
“I would.”
I really would. I feel like I could tell him anything and not be at all ashamed.
“How are you doing?” I counter. It has to be sad returning to a life he left in such a hurry.
“I’m good,” he replies. He reaches out and tucks a curly lock behind my ear. His eyes focus there a moment, as if he’s considering saying something else. The gesture is so intimate, my belly flutters—reminiscent of that old high school crush feeling when a guy you like first notices you.
I hold my breath, but the moment passes, and Baden steps back. “Okay… I’m going to head out. Emory and Jenna will be here around six.”
Baden planned everything.
He didn’t want me to feel stressed about getting to the arena, so he arranged for his friends to pick me up. Emory is dating his former line mate, Jett, and Jenna is Emory’s sister who is moving to Pittsburgh soon. He thought this would be a great way for us to meet since he and I are going to work together to help Jenna feel welcome and comfortable in her soon-to-be new city.
Jenna has been through a lot. Baden told me the basic story of Jenna’s brush with death in an apartment fire, the scarring that has shattered much of her confidence, and how important this move is to help her rebuild her independence. I was so moved by her struggles, I asked Baden if she should move in with us. It was a legitimate offer, and Baden passed it on to Jenna.
I admire the hell out of her because while she’s appreciative of the gesture, she wants to be independent right off the bat. I know she will be a woman I’ll learn from, and I intend to figure out the source of her strength.
“I’ll be ready to go. I’ll probably be the lone Titan there cheering you on.”
“You mean cheering the team on,” he teases.
“No, I mean you,” I reply with an impish grin. “But I guess I’ll cheer the team too.”
Whatever my words mean to Baden, he makes a move that shocks me to my core. Leaning forward, he presses a fast kiss to my cheek. “You’re the best,” he murmurs.
While there’s been some spontaneous friend-based hugging, the kiss is different. Still in the friend zone, I have to wonder why the feel of his lips on my skin seems to burn and my knees feel a little weak.
I can’t ponder it long, because Baden is handing me last-minute instructions as he walks to the door.
Call me if you need anything.
Call Emory or Jenna if plans change, meaning if I get too nervous to go out, he’ll understand, although I have no intention of not going.
Lastly, profuse gratitude for my assistance in getting him packed up.
And then Baden is gone, and I’m left alone in his house. I head to the garage, and sure enough, I find boxes, packing tape, and Sharpies.
For the next three hours, I diligently work through not only Baden’s extremely large closet filled with expensive clothes and shoes, but all of his dresser drawers as well. It is with no embarrassment I fold up his underwear—boxer briefs, which in my opinion are the only type of underwear a man should wear—along with T-shirts, shorts, workout clothing, and socks. I label the boxes so that the contents are easily identifiable and move them all to the garage. I’m a sweaty, sore mess by the time I finish, but I still have just under two hours until Emory and Jenna pick me up.