Me: What kind of snacks do you like?
Hannah: Why?
Me: Because I’m asking that’s why.
Hannah: Do cinnamon Pop-Tarts count as a snack?
Me: Define cinnamon—brown sugar or cinnamon roll?
Hannah: Brown sugar.
Me: Okay. Anything else?
Hannah: I like popcorn and Whatchamacallit’s and white wine—any kind of wine really.
Me: Gotcha. I’m picking you up in two hours. Be ready.
Hannah: What?
Me: You heard me. The team will be at the Wilson’s for the annual spaghetti dinner. I have to make a quick appearance then I’m coming to get you.
Hannah: Fine. I’ll be ready.
This was a bold move on my part. Why did Hannah have to feel so good against me? Six days had passed since I’d had my hands on her in the equipment room. I was starved for her. So many times I wanted to march over to Mel’s just to see if she was working, but I refrained. I also stopped myself from driving by her house during my free periods. And I definitely didn’t look for her in the parking lot after practice hoping to catch a glimpse of those long legs and wavy sun-kissed strands.
It took everything in me not to scoop Hannah up caveman style after Tuesday’s practice when she showed up wearing a slinky black tank top with frayed denim shorts.
Moments, there were a few moments where emotion washed over me and I felt something indescribable. It wasn’t guilt, or maybe it was, but there was also calm. A feeling of peace, like Kate was telling me it was okay to move on. For so long, I was afraid of losing her voice, now she was speaking to me again.
Another thought was that Kate was mad at me for not moving on sooner, but in my defense, Jennifer Aniston was unavailable until recently.
I climbed into my car and exited the school parking lot. The latest Rebel Desire song pumped through the speakers. My thumbs tapped along the steering wheel as I drove down Main Street to the grocery store. For the first time in a long time, things felt normal, like somehow, I was coming back to life from an extended hibernation.
After I stopped by the Wilson’s to give the guys a pep talk and thank all the parents who put on the dinner, I drove over to Hannah’s place.
Hannah had ignited something inside me. The way her blue eyes had gone hazy when she looked at me in the hallway before I kissed her stirred my soul to life. I’d spent a considerable amount of time thinking about her naked. Case in point, the massive erection I had after leaving the equipment room. It was no wonder when I got home I ended up jerking off in the shower.
Conjuring the dirtiest fantasies, I’d pictured Hannah on her knees taking me deep. My mind went into overdrive as I imagined her sweet mouth wrapped around my cock.
Staying away had been difficult. I knew that I needed to focus on my lesson plans for the week and the game, so it was an absolute miracle that I had been able to stay away from her for this long. I wanted to touch her.
And kiss her.
And hold her.
And breathe in her scent.
As I turned into her driveway, Hannah stood on her deck wearing a black denim skirt that showed off her legs and a white blouse. The buttons were undone showing off the rise of her breasts. The wind tousled her air across her face. As she pushed it away, a smile crossed her pink lips. Lips that I desperately wanted to kiss.
Hannah slid her body into the passenger seat and I glanced at the expanse of bare skin from her chest to her neck.
“You’re lucky I agreed to this,” she said.
My eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“You never called or texted after what happened the night of the carnival.”
“You didn’t either,” I challenged.
“I wanted to,” she admitted. “So many times, but I was afraid someone else might see the messages pop up on your screen.” Her teeth grazed over her bottom lip.
“That’s a valid point.” I lifted my hands to her face and kissed her. “So what do you suggest? Burner phones? Secret one eight hundred numbers?”
She laughed against my lips. “No, something simpler like code names.”
“Okay.” My hand moved up her thigh. “I’ll change your name to ‘Legs’ on my contact list.”
She cocked her head and dug her phone out of her purse. “What was the name of your first pet?”
“Miles.”
“And the street you grew up on?”
“Bell.”
“Miles Bell, nice to meet you,” she said, tucking her phone away.
“First pet and street you grew up on—isn’t that the combination for your porn name?”
She nodded, amusement flashing across her entire face.
“What’s your porn name?” I asked, bringing up my contacts list.
“Sara Cedarwood.”
I changed her name and then slipped it back into the console. “All right, Sara Cedarwood, are you ready for our date?”
“Let’s go. I need to be home before eleven.”
“You got it.”