Who would’ve thought?
Other than me, of course.
“Have you checked the news yet?” I flip all the switches and hit the buttons to make a coffee on Quinton’s spaceship coffee machine.
He slides onto a stool at the counter. “You know I didn’t.”
Whereas the first thing I do when I wake up every morning is check my email and various social media sites, Quinton refuses to look at it before noon. I’m not saying he’s an alien or anything, but he def has a healthier relationship with devices than I do.
“Well . . .” I slide my phone in front of him with my favorite article on the screen, “By Covering Up Their Logos, These Men Uncovered Mistreatment in the League.” I try not to get too salty over the fact that they’re acting like this has been a group effort all along and take the win.
In the article they discuss the mistreatment of the pre-’93 retired players, pointing out the way the League goes out of their way to honor them without putting in the work to actually care for them. They ask whether or not they are doing this on purpose and manipulating the public with halftime honors. But it doesn’t stop there. They also delve into the racial stats of the League, questioning the fairness of the coaching standards by comparing the rate in which Black coaches are fired when white coaches with similar records are given more chances. It’s everything Quinton has been discussing, but what everyone raked him over the coals for talking about.
“Wow.” His eyebrows reach his hairline as he scrolls through the article. “They finally get it.”
“Took them long enough.” I grab the creamer out of the refrigerator so he can’t see the way my eyes roll to the back of my head. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad my idea worked out and people are finally seeing his point, but I’m a bit of a Bitter Betty that it took them so long. And that they are glossing over Quinton starting the movement.
“Just because I can’t see your face doesn’t mean I don’t know the face you’re making right now.” There’s laughter in his voice and I do not appreciate it.
“I don’t know why you’re so amused by this.” Forgetting the creamer, I turn and aim a glare at him with hands planted firmly on my hips. Something I’m sure would be more effective if I wasn’t barefoot in his pajama pants that I rolled up approximately ten times. “It would’ve been so much easier if they just listened to you from the beginning.”
“Maybe.” He stands up and walks around the island. And even though we spent all of last night—and part of this morning—continuing to celebrate our official relationship status, seeing him without his shirt on and his eyes still hooded from sleep makes me want to jump back into bed with him. “But if they listened, I wouldn’t have met you and this wouldn’t feel nearly as sweet.” He lowers his voice just as he drops a gentle kiss on my lips.
And I swear I swoon.
Maybe one day I’ll get used to this, but I really hope not.
—
“YOU BOUGHT RUGS!” I yell as soon as I open Quinton’s front door and cozy goodness is covering his cement floors.
Quinton closes the refrigerator and walks over to me with a Diet Coke in his hand. “You like it?”
“Do I like it?” I take the soda from his hand and roll on to my toes to drop a kiss on his mouth. “I freaking love it! Don’t you?”
“I actually do, and look.” He points to the living room floor that is also covered by a massive rug.
My eyes go wide and I shove my hand into his shoulder. “Is that the one I told you I loved when we were at the mall? You bought it?”
As a Mustangs fan, I was bummed when they got knocked out of the playoffs. As a girlfriend, I was thrilled. Because as much as I loved spending time with Quinton during the football season, having him to myself every day is so much better. If anything, now I’m the busy one.
Working at the Rue with Jen has been amazing. I can’t believe I went so long thinking that hating so many parts of my job was normal. Now I get to go to work and love what I do. Even when we get a difficult client, I still come home with a smile on my face.
“Yeah.” He sits on the couch and almost looks embarrassed. “I snuck back in and ordered it while you were in line for ice cream.”
“Sneaky, but I like it.” I put my soda on a coaster and sit on the couch next to him. “It looks perfect in here.”
He turns to me, his face suddenly serious as different scenarios race through my mind.
“You look perfect in here.” He twists his body so that he’s facing me and pulls me into his arms. “I used to hate coming home to this place. It was so empty, so cold. But the second you stepped through that door, things began to change. I know you’ve said your condo never felt right to you, so what do you say? Do you want to move in with me? We can turn this place into a home together.”
I’m still in therapy. I have a lot of issues I still need to work my way through, but there is one thing that I know for sure—when I’m with Quinton, I feel safe. I fit and I belong. Whether it was the times we’ve spent laughing, crying, or even the time we were apart, he’s always accepted me for me.
“Yes.” I nod my head, watching as his face lights up just before our mouths touch, confirming what I already knew.
There’s no place in the world I would rather be.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Playbook Series
