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That gets a laugh out of her.

“You’re right, but I chose the class as an elective, and I’m considering adding literature as a minor to my psychology major. I feel like they go well together.”

I nod. “Makes sense. What do you think you want to do with that?” I ask for two reasons.

The most important is because I just want to know everything about her again. She hasn’t talked to me like this in two years. I’m going to get anything I can from her while she’s willing. And the other reason … when I succeed in getting her back—and I will—I want to make sure I do everything I can to allow us both to follow our dreams together.

“I think I want to teach at a college level. I don’t really want to go into practice, and I don’t really want to do research, so I think that’s what will make the most sense for me. What about you? You still like the engineering track you’re on?”

I shift my head back and forth. “Yeah, I do. You know math was never hard for me, so I get bored sometimes, but I like it overall. The NFL is my dream, but once my pro career is over, I want to have my degree in something other than sports management or broadcasting. Just not sure what exactly I’ll do with it. I’m considering taking some architecture classes to see if I might like that too. But I plan to be in the big show for a long time, so I might never even get the chance to use my degree at all.”

When I meet her eyes, she nods and says, “That’s a good dream, Beckham.”

I look away first, mostly to stop myself from getting up and bringing her to my bed. Eventually, we’ll get there, but I know it’s still going to take some time before she’s ready to let me in all the way.

CHAPTERTEN

CHARLIE

After our Targetrun a few weeks ago, Beck created a schedule for the bathroom and private bedroom time for changing and studying. I will mostly go over to the sorority house to work in the study hall room, but on the chance I don’t, I need space to think without thoughts of him distracting me. It’s hard enough, smelling him all around me. And if it’s not him, it’s the peony. He’s left one on my pillow every day. I’ve been placing them in a small vase on the kitchen table. We don’t talk about them or even acknowledge their existence. It’s like our little secret, although there’s no doubt Casey knows where they’re coming from and for whom.

I went back to the store today to grab some more groceries and a whiteboard to create a kitchen schedule for the house. We don’t eat every meal together, but I thought it would be fun to have at least one meal a week as a “family.” And also, I’m not going to get stuck with all the cooking and cleaning duties. Surprisingly, the guys are pretty neat and clean. At least in the main living areas. I’m not sure what their rooms look like.

That said, tonight is my turn to cook. I did get my premade meals ordered, but these guys eat a lot, and despite the cheat food I picked up, they are on a pretty strict diet with the team nutritionist, so I need to accommodate that.

Archie is in the kitchen, looking at the whiteboard I put on the fridge. His hands are in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, and he’s rocking back and forth on his heels. “So, this is going to be like a scheduled thing? We each have days?” he asks while nodding. “I dig it. What are you making us tonight, Chuck?”

“I have chicken marinating in the fridge, and then I was going to roast some veggies and red potatoes. That’s all on the food plan from the team, I think, right?” I guess I should have asked Casey before I made a plan, but I figured I’d model what I saw him eat over the summer.

“Yep, that all sounds great. Did you check to see if we had propane in the grill? I think we do, but I’ll go double-check,” he says, already walking out to the back porch.

“Shit, I didn’t even think about that. Thanks, Arch.”

Walking over to the fridge, I pull it open and bring out the chicken, veggies, and potatoes. I set everything on the counter and open some cabinets in search of the cutting board. I know they have one because Casey took my mom’s old one when they moved in. I can’t find it in the lower cabinets, so I open one of the upper cabinets and see it on the second shelf. Lifting on my toes, I try to grab it, but I’m too short.

I mean, who puts a cutting board on a second row in a top cabinet? Oh, right, boys. Tall boys.

“Need a hand?” I hear a deep, gravelly voice ask behind me.

I turn my head slightly to gaze over my shoulder and see a shirtless Beck standing directly behind me. Close enough that if either of us leaned in just a little, we’d kiss.

“Uh, I think I can get it, but I might have to grab a step stool or something.”

Beck smirks. “We don’t have a stool, Boss. Let me grab it for you.”

I pull my arm down and start to lean to the side to give him room to grab it, but he blocks me in with his body.

His left arm is on the counter, practically touching my hip, and his right arm reaches over me to grab the cutting board. Since I have a crop top on, I can feel the heat from his body radiating against my back, sending shock waves straight down my body and to my toes.

And he called me Boss again. There’s something about that nickname that still makes my stomach flip.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“Anytime. So … what’s cooking?” he asks so close to my ear that I can feel his breath tickle me.

Clearing my throat from being slightly flustered by his closeness, I say, “Grilled chicken and stuff.”

He laughs. “Do you need any help with … stuff?”