She’s wobbly on her feet, and half her clothes are missing, by the time we’re finished, so I offer my assistance in getting inside. “Want me to piggyback you?”
“Please.” I give her my back and she climbs on, clasping her arms around my neck.
Her lips part against my neck. “You’re salty.”
“Not as salty as you were when you got in the car.”
“These eight-day away-game stretches suck,” she mumbles.
“There aren’t a lot of them.” I grab her messenger bag and close the passenger-side door, then carry her through the garage.
“Oh crap. I didn’t even think to pack an overnight bag.”
“I stopped at your place before I picked you up today and grabbed all your toiletries.”
“You’re so thoughtful.” She kisses up the side of my neck.
“I try.” I carry her through the mudroom and down the hall, past the staircase leading to the bedroom.
“Where are we going? Aren’t you taking me to bed?”
“In a minute. I have something to show you first.”
She perks up when she notices a new painting hanging on the wall. “Whoa, wait a second; let me down.” I let go of her thighs, and she slides down my back. I feel her face mash into my back for a second, and she wobbles a bit as she steadies herself, still gripping my arm as she glances down the hallway, the walls no longer bare. “Are these all mine?”
I can’t read her expression. “They were all just sitting in a corner in your place. I thought they should be where someone could appreciate them.” Queenie’s chaos is reflected subtly in all her art. She creates these amazing watercolors, half in pastels and the other half in dark, contrasting colors, the calm and the storm in everything. They’re stunning, and the last place they should be is covered by a drop cloth.
“How many of them did you put up?” Her fingertips follow the edge of one raw canvas.
“Whatever was hanging around your place.” She’s been sleeping here more and more over the past few months, leaving things behind every time she stays over, which is every night when I’m not off on an away series.
She turns to me, her expression soft and warm. “When did you have time to do this?”
“This afternoon.” I link my pinkie with hers. “There’s more; come on.”
“More?”
My palms start to sweat as I lead her farther down the hall. While I was away, I hired a decorator to come in and renovate one of the main-floor rooms, hoping it would act as an enticement.
I kiss her temple. “Close your eyes.”
“What’re you up to?”
“You’ll see. Just keep them closed until I tell you to open them.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll ruin my surprise.” I open the door and guide her to the center of the room. I stand directly in front of her, taking in her stunning face, bottom lip caught between her teeth. I skim her cheek with a fingertip. “Okay. You can look now.”
Her lids flutter and I step to the side. “What do you think?”
Her mouth drops open, and her hands come up to cover it. “Oh my God, King, this is incredible.” She turns a slow circle, taking in what was once an oversize workout room. It has amazing natural light, with huge windows that face the garden in the backyard.
One wall has been painted black with chalkboard paint. Another boasts giant blank Post-its that can be changed out regularly. A few of Queenie’s gentler watercolor paintings that remind me of childhood fairy tales line the far wall. A desk and a drafting table have been set up, as well as adult- and child-size easels. There’s even a pair of lounge chairs.
“It’s pretty multifunctional. I thought it would be a good place for you to study, and I figured it might be good for you to have a space to work in case you wanted to bring Lavender here some days.”
She smooths her hands over my chest. “This is amazing. I don’t even know what to say.”
I run my palms nervously up and down her arms. “I know we talked about you moving in with me at the end of the semester, but my place is closer to the university, and you always stay here when I have home games, and I’d really like it if you were here all the time.”
“Are you asking me to move in now?”
“You’re already halfway there, and now you have your own art studio. It makes sense, don’t you think?” God, I’m so nervous.
“I’m kind of messy.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I’ll deal with it. I don’t mind coming home to your bras hanging off the back of the couch, as long as it means you’re wandering around with perky nipples. I want to know you’re sleeping in my bed, our bed, even when I’m not there.”
“Sleeping naked in our bed. Don’t forget that important detail.”