Second Chance: A Military Football Romance

We had never lived together, but something about coming home and finding a home cooked meal just for me was suddenly making me think we had to try it out.

"Starving," I said, checking out the spread.

"Great. I'll be right back. Sit," she said, turning and disappearing into the bedroom.

One of the dishes was full of bacon-wrapped chicken breasts. Other had mashed potatoes in it. One was full of salad, and the last was cauliflower, broccoli, and carrots in a creamy sauce. She had asked me to wait, but would she be upset if I started without her?

She popped back out of her bedroom, in a t-shirt and shorts and her hair down.

"Ready?" I asked.

"One more thing?" I sat as she disa

ppeared into the kitchen then came back out with a bottle of wine.

"This all looks amazing, babe," I told her.

"Good," she said smugly, smiling at me. She handed me the dish full of salad. "If you taste it and it isn't great, don't tell me." I took the wine and opened it, pouring us both glasses. She loaded my plate with food as I did that, obviously confident that I'd love her cooking. I was excited to try it, especially if this spread was going to be half as good as the breakfast we’d had before I left.

"So?" she asked, watching me taste a piece of the chicken. She knew it was delicious; she just wanted me to say it.

"It's amazing. When did you start cooking like this?"

"I invested in a few cookbooks. I eat in all the time already. I wanted to try to have some fun with it."

"You cook like this every night?"

"I wish," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "It's just me usually, so nothing this grand."

"Tell me when you're feeling domestic. I'll eat anything you put in front of me," I said. "I was getting sick of the hotel food."

"Hotel food's great."

"Not for five days straight. I ended up at this barbecue spot three nights in a row."

"What else did you do? Besides play football and eat barbecue?" she asked.

Talking to her now, I wished that I had done more. I hadn’t really been thinking about seeing the city or exploring, anything like that, while I was gone. Besides showing out at the combine, I was focused on getting back home, mostly.

I thought about telling her what happened at the airport back in Houston. I mean, getting notice by a team was what I had gone there to do in the first place. She wouldn’t have been surprised by it. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t feel another way, though. If I got into it I’d have to tell her that the team that hinted at wanting me was in Miami. Why would I ruin the night bringing up that shit? All I had gotten from that Richardson guy was a hard maybe, not a yes.

I helped her clear the table off when we were done. She emptied the leftovers into Tupperware containers and put them in the fridge while I started on the dishes.

"You don't have to do that, Rome," she said, putting a hand on my back.

"You cooked, I can clean up. Have some wine, this won't take long."

"Leave them there, I never even remember to wash them at night anyway," she said. Her hand crept up to my shoulder. "Come to the living room with me."

"Ten minutes," I told her. "Have some wine. I'll be right out." Her arms wrapped around me from behind.

“You think this is what I want you to do the first time I’ve seen you in a week?” she asked. She came around from behind me and hopped up onto the counter on my right. Then, casual as hell lifted her shirt up over her head.

“Ron,” I said, trailing off.

“I don’t know why a dirty pile of dishes is more interesting to you than I am. I know what I’d rather be doing right now.” She hopped off the counter and started on her shorts. She pulled the zipper down, and they fell to the ground. Her underwear was white. I turned the faucet off and grabbed her, pulling her into me.

“You’ve got my attention, happy now?” I asked. She trailed her hands under my shirt, up my abs.