Yes, again. Until we couldn’t move any more.


In the early morning hours, I slept with her warm weight against my side, her hand upon my chest as if keeping my heart guarded and safe. The simple act of sleeping has never been so good. I woke her by sinking inside her wet warmth. Anna rewarded me with a wide smile and wrapped her legs around my waist to hold me there as we shared lazy kisses.

Now, after leaving her sleeping under my covers and taking a long, hot shower, I’m in the kitchen, knees weak and c**k sore, my hands mildly shaking as I attempt to make scrambled eggs. I am failing miserably. When they turn brown and clump together in hard balls, I curse and shove the pan off the burner.

“Toast,” I mumble to myself. “I can do toast.”

“What’s that awful smell?” Anna walks out of my room, wearing one of my t-shirts, which engulfs her to mid-thigh, and a pair of black yoga pants. My heart flips over in my chest.

“Hey.” I shift over to block the evidence of my egg debacle. But she isn’t looking my way. She wanders over to the mantle where my Heisman trophy sits. The swell of pride I feel over the fact that she notices it is probably ridiculous, but it’s there all the same. Her slim finger runs along the base where my name is etched.

“Got that my sophomore year,” I say. “When we won our first Championship.”

She glances at me, her eyes bright. “This is kind of a big deal, isn’t it?”

“Ah, yeah.” The biggest in my career so far.

She isn’t fooled by my humble act. “You’re amazing, Drew.”

So are you. I don’t voice that, however. I’m in danger of dropping to my knees and confessing all at this point. Instead, I keep a casual slouch and eye her as she walks towards me.

“Where’d you get the pants?” I ask her, pleased that my voice doesn’t crack.

She glances around the kitchen, her nose wrinkling as if she’s scenting out the crime. But then she stops, runs a hand through her tangled curls, and smiles. “Stuffed in my bag in case of emergencies.”

“Emergencies?” Like unplanned overnights with guys? I’m not going to be jealous.

“After Dave crashed into me with three gallons worth of fruit punch during an alumni picnic, I’ve never gone into work without backup clothing.”

But she’s wearing my shirt.

Anna’s curls tumble about as she shakes her head. “Unfortunately, no hair products, so I couldn’t wash my damn hair.”

It’s then I notice her skin is pink and flushed from a shower. “In case you failed to notice, I do have shampoo.”

She gives me a look as if I’ve just said a dirty word. “I’ll wear secondhand clothes, buy cheap t-shirts from Target, but I am not using drugstore shampoo on this hair. Not if I want to walk among the living.”

I can’t hide my grin. “Oh, well, don’t sugarcoat your distaste.”

“It’s fine for you. You’re a guy. You could probably use soap on your hair and it’d look good. Annoying, tend-to-fuzz-out-of-control curls are a whole other story.” She walks further into the kitchen and sees the eggs. I cross my hands over my chest, feeling distinctly flushed.

“I tried to cook.”

Her lips twitch. “I can see that.”

I shift my weight onto my other foot. “Not sure what happened.”

A small laugh escapes her. Instead of feeling stupid, I find myself laughing too.

“Too high heat would be my guess,” she says, then comes up to me. Her hand lands on my chest, right over my heart, as she goes up on her toes and gives me a kiss that makes my breath hitch. Instantly, my arms wrap around her. She feels warmer in the morning, softer. I kiss her back, exploring deep, and taste my toothpaste on her tongue.

Anna’s voice drifts up between kisses. “You got practice today?”

I hold her just a bit tighter. “Yes. Damn it.”

And she laughs, a slow, contented sound.

For the first time in my life, I want to skip practice. I don’t want to do anything other than spend the day with Anna and convince her to stay another night. I’m seriously considering letting her talk me back into the bedroom right now, but she pulls back and gives my chest a friendly pat.

“Then let’s get some food in you. Eggs, I can make us,” she says. “I just need some coffee first.” She glances around my countertops.

“Uh…” I scratch the back of my head. “I don’t have any.”

It’s like I’ve slapped her. She gasps, her face going pale. “What?”

“I don’t have coffee, or a coffeemaker, for that matter.”

I give her what I hope is an apologetic, peacemaking smile, because Anna starts to bristle. Like a fricking hedgehog getting ready to attack.

“How on earth do you not have a coffeemaker in your house?” Pacing the length of my kitchen, she lifts her hands up in appalled outrage. “In this gorgeous kitchen?”

“I suck at making it and get my coffee at a shop?” I offer helpfully.

Her nostrils flare in a huff. “You can’t make coffee? Oh, come on, Drew. It’s just grinds and water! Gah!”

“Believe me,” I say as I pour her a glass of orange juice, “coffee can be royally f**ked up.”

Her lips quirk as she glances at the mess that used to be eggs. “Oh, I believe you.”

It takes me two strides to reach her. She squeals when I clasp her waist and lift her onto the counter. But her thighs instantly part to make room for me, and I step in closer, setting my hands on the full curve of her hips, as she clutches my shoulders.

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