Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance (Beyond the Play Book 3)

I SETTLE ONTO THE BENCH, heave a deep sigh, and root in my bag for my lunch. After a long morning spent hunched over my computer, the sunlight and fresh air feels good, even if I didn’t manage to snag the nice table by the pond. Before Sebastian, I’d probably have eaten a protein bar at my desk and called it good enough. For the past week and a half, however, he’s pressed a carefully packed lunch into my hands before I can escape in the morning. The first day was a turkey sandwich with crisp lettuce and spicy mayo. The second, cold noodles with chicken and sesame sauce. Today’s is a Greek salad, dressing encased in a little cup to keep the lettuce from getting soggy, plus toasted pita wedges. He even threw in a brownie, which I’m almost completely certain he made from scratch.

I wouldn’t have thought he’d have the time, but he’s awake a lot during the night.

Ever since I broke down that boundary and we went back to the way things were before, I’ve spent the night in his room. I have all the intentions in the world to sleep in Izzy’s room, but then he kisses me, and it’s impossible to resist the rough drag of his fingertips on my waist and his smooth lips against mine. Unlike before, however, we’re living in the same place, so after we finish, there’s nowhere to go. No dorm room, no excuses to run away. I fall asleep in his arms, but more often than not, I wake up a couple hours later, alone except for the cat.

Light usually spills from the kitchen into the darkened living room, but I haven’t worked up the nerve to go and sit with him. It’s one thing to let him back into my life, and another to let myself be intimate with him again. Acknowledging this issue of his would inevitably lead to another level of intimacy, something deeper than physical desire. I failed on the desire front, but I can keep the feelings at bay.

I pour the dressing over the salad and stab at it with my fork.

He might claim that he’s fine with being friends who fuck, but he deserves more than that. A moment of weakness, and it might as well be March again. It’s selfish of me, but it feels so fucking good to have him, I just want to cling tighter. We haven’t had penetrative sex again, but we’ve had plenty of fun with all the other stuff. How am I supposed to stay away when being near him makes my belly feel like it’s full of fireworks?

Maybe by the time Penny gets back from her road trip, I’ll have managed to extricate myself from his orbit. She knows that I’m staying with him, but she doesn’t know about the rest.

I shove a bite of salad into my mouth as I check my phone. A text from Giana about our cousin Raquel’s new boyfriend. I reply to her, then hover my thumb over Sebastian’s contact.

Izzy calls me before I can decide whether to break down and text him.

When I accept the video call, I can’t help the smile that crosses my face at the sight of her. She’s wearing a yellow sundress with bell sleeves, and somehow, the boldness works for her. A matching headband holds her hair back. Her blue eyes sparkle as she gives me a wave. This is the third time she’s called me in as many days. I don’t know how she decided that I’m the person she wants to talk to on her lunch break, but I don’t mind it.

“Hey,” she says. “What are you eating?”

I hold up the salad container. “Courtesy of Sebastian.”

She holds up her own salad. “I don’t even know why I got this. I’m always excited to be healthy, and then I start eating it and it takes so long, you know? I feel like a rabbit.”

I frown down at my salad. “You’re right. I’m going to need to take half of this back to my desk.”

“Your cave, you mean.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure.”

“He’s still making you lunch,” she says. “Interesting.”

“I don’t even know how he has time for it all.” I show her the brownie. “I think he made these from scratch, so your brownie mix is still in the pantry.”

“He only breaks out the baked goods for people he likes.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Speaking of—”

“Nope,” I interject. “We’re friends. That’s it.”

“He sounded suspiciously happy when he called me the other day.”

“Which had nothing to do with me.” I keep my expression neutral, even if my mind is all too happy to supply me with images of the past few nights. We’ve fallen into our old routine so quickly, it’s hard to remember why I called it off in the first place. One way or another, we end up in bed. Last night, we made out in the shower, and afterward, he feasted on me until I nearly cried. I hated and loved it in equal measure, and I know by his teasing that he could tell.

She gives me a look, but doesn’t call me out on my bullshit. “I was thinking of coming to one of the games against Binghamton. Probably the last one, if I can get away. You in?”

“He’s been leaving me tickets to the games,” I admit. I refrain from mentioning he left the last one under the name of my favorite Jodie Foster character. As far as I know, he’s never seen Contact, which means he put research into it. He wants us to watch it together, but if we do, we’d actually need to watch it, not use it as an excuse to make out. Jodie deserves better than that.

“Interesting,” she says again. She tilts her head to the side. “Have you gone?”

“I am trying to get into a highly competitive study abroad program,” I deadpan.

She sighs. “Mia. I admire your focus, but you’re not just a space genius.”

“It’s not like we’re dating,” I say. “I don’t have to go.”

“But you want to.” When I don’t immediately contradict her, she smiles, pleased, as if she just extracted a confession from me. She might be set on a future in event planning, but maybe she should consider law instead. She could be a real-life Elle Woods. “It’s okay to admit you want to.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Love.”

I roll my eyes.

“You can’t work all the time.”

The first time we talked, I figured that this was better than confiding in Penny, but now I’m not sure. Izzy’s tenaciousness knows no bounds. “I can if I’m serious about preparing for this symposium.”

She groans, slumping down in her chair. It looks like she’s in her office; framed covers of bridal magazines line the wall behind her. If I had to help someone plan weddings all day, I would lose my shit.

“You’re no fun,” she says. “No one is going to think you’re irrevocably in love if you go to one baseball game and cheer for him. Just don’t wear his jersey.”

Even if I didn’t wear his jersey, my presence would be just like walking into the kitchen at two in the morning. An invasion of a space that I don’t belong in, even if it hurts to admit. I can’t taunt him—or myself—with things we can’t have.

“Maybe,” I say, mostly because it’s easier to agree with her. I guess I could, technically, pretend that I’m just a fan of McKee’s baseball team. She makes everything sound so easy—and for her, most things are easy. I’m probably being uncharitable, but since when was something difficult for Izzy Callahan?

“No maybes, only firm commitments,” she says with a grin. “I’m going to come to this game with you, Cooper and Penny can come if they’re back from their road trip by then, and we’ll pregame because I like baseball better when I’m toasted. It’s going to be awesome.”