Then her laugh is gone, replaced by a sharp hiss, and when I look up and see her thick thighs staring back at me, I realize what she’s wearing…
Nothing but my t-shirt and fuck, nothing has ever looked so good. The dark shirt hits her mid-thigh, covering all of the good stuff, still leaving enough covered for my imagination to do the rest.
I clear my throat and stand abruptly, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, and she steps back.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Holland, I didn’t realize.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry.”
We both speak at the same time.
“Uh, sometimes when I can’t sleep… I eat a bowl of-”
Before I can finish, she says, “Cereal?”
I grin. “You remember?”
She nods then smiles slightly. “You would wake up all the time just to eat Captain Crunch. At some point, Em started to call you ‘Captain’ behind your back.”
“She would. I guess the tradition kind of carried over to adulthood. Not nearly as fun, though, as when I was sneaking around to eat it in the middle of the night.”
My hopes of cereal are gone since the only milk I had is in a puddle on the floor, but suddenly, I’m not sorry that it happened.
“So, looks like no Captain Crunch tonight, but I’ve got… Pop-Tarts,” I offer. For a professional athlete, I probably shouldn’t have this much sugar in my kitchen, but I keep my body in the best condition I can, so it generally doesn’t become an issue.
I get us both a Pop-Tart from the pantry then put the box back inside. She’s sitting at the bar now with her chin in her hand. Not a lick of makeup on, and damn, she’s beautiful. And for the second time tonight, even though I know I shouldn’t, I realize just how much of a woman she’s become.
Somehow, I never noticed it. I never let myself notice it. I probably shouldn't now, but I do.
And that’s how the rest of the night is spent, talking about nothing with Holland, eating a Pop-Tart, and for the very first time, I realize that I might be in some seriously deep shit.
* * *