Page 22 of Fair Catch
Yet.
It takes longer than a minute for the elevator to reach me, and then another two or more minutes for me to get to Kelsey’s floor. In the grand scheme of things, she probably knew it would take me this long.
When I’m within a few feet of her door, it swings open and she’s there, in jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt that says, “Save the whales, trees, and the Oxford comma.” I haven’t a clue what an Oxford comma is, but I’m willing to find out.
Kelsey tilts her head toward the door. “Are you going to come in or—”
Her sweet voice brings me back to the here and now. I step in, cutting her sentence off. Kelsey shuts the door and before she can move past me, I reach for her. I’ve wanted to kiss her again ever since our dinner the other night. Tasting her mouth has been at the top of my to-do list.
My hand circles her waist, and I pull her to me. She emits a small gasp of surprise but her smile beams as our fingers intertwine. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all day,” I tell her as I inch closer to her mouth.
“Me, too.”
Kelsey closes the small gap between us. Her lips whisper against mine, teasing me. Or am I teasing her? My lips part lightly until the feel of her tongue presses against them. I open my mouth and welcome her in, letting go of her hand so I can cup her cheek, while my other hand pulls her closer.
We move together, in sync from the start. There’s nothing awkward or unfamiliar about kissing her. This feels natural and perfect. Kelsey feels like home.
She moans and the semi I’m sporting rises to attention. I step back slightly, putting a little breathing room between us. She notices and pulls away. “I don’t want to stop kissing you.” The words tumble from my lips through jagged breaths.
“But you moved.” The tone in her voice is sad and questioning.
I step back, clear my throat, and then look down at my joggers. I was a fool to wear them, but they’re comfortable and unless it’s important, I’m not dressing up. Not that coming to Kelsey’s isn’t important.
“Oh,” she says quietly and then says the two lettered word a little more profoundly.
“Uh, yeah. Like I said, I really wanted to kiss you.”
“If it helps, I feel the same,” she says confidently. “I thought about you after you left my office. You were the only thing on my mind this afternoon.”
“That’s a relief,” I say with a smile. The temptation to kiss her again is there, but I hold back. Hopping into bed with her seems like both the dumbest and smartest idea, and that confuses me. I don’t want to rush anything, but damn it if I don’t want to bury myself inside of her too. I’m on a teeter totter and I can’t figure out if I want to be suspended up high or sitting on the ground. Something tells me being middle of the ground isn’t going to suffice when it comes to Kelsey.
“Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Kelsey leads me down the hall. The first stop is the bathroom. It’s small and decorated in navy blue, with a tub/shower combo, and I find the space oddly intimate. She shows me her living room again. The couch looks inviting and between it, the books, and her TV, I can see myself sitting there with her in my arms. Easily how I imagined us earlier.
Next is her galley kitchen. It’s perfect for her, crowded for the two of us. She has a small balcony, enough to stand and enjoy a cup of coffee or look out, and a table for two in her dining area.
“This is where I do most of my work when I’m home,” she says. She’s certainly not the only one to eat dinner in front of the TV. “It’s either here or on the couch, although sometimes I get lost in a good story if I’m sitting there and forget to edit.”
“Understandable.”
“Well, that’s it,” she says with a shrug and puts her hands in her pockets.
“Do you sleep on the couch?”
She shakes her head slowly and lets out a long, “No.”
“Then show me your room.”
Kelsey glances at the closed door behind me and then steps by me, but not before I can take her hand in mine. She glances down at our intertwined fingers and then continues. I get it, it’s her bedroom and I just showed her what she does to me. Doesn’t mean we have to do anything in there because the couch would suffice as well.
She opens the door to a bright and airy room. Everything is white, from her comforter to the curtains, to her metal bed frame. The pop of colors come from those decorative pillows people like to add in the morning, take off at night, and then add in the morning again, to the throw blanket folded at the end of her bed, and the three pieces of vibrant art on her wall.
“Who’s the artist?”
“My grandmother,” she says. “She painted these when I was a little girl and I told her I wanted them for when I had my own place. They were a housewarming gift when I moved into my first apartment.”
“I’m not a big art follower so please don’t take offense, but what are they?”