Page 67 of Goalie Secrets
Jeremy:Sit on my lap and let me feed you. That’s Santa’s only wish.
Gah, he is infuriatingly adorable with his mischievous eyes and sculpted chest and playful expression. I can’t wipe the smile from my face or settle the fluttering in my stomach.
How do these texts make me so inexplicably happy?
Why does Jeremy thinking about me and caring about my day feel so incredible?
How can something so new and unexpected feel this right?
What is a warm-blooded woman supposed to do with that thirst trap of a picture?
I’m still upset about how dismissive he was this morning, but something else expands in my chest. A reassuring warmth that he’s at home, waiting for me. A reminder that he’s stronger—mentally and physically—than anyone I know. The test results didn’t change who Jeremy Lopez is, here and now.
There is also the inconvenient fact that I miss him so much. It’s only been three days since we made love, but it feels like a year.
The thought of skipping the opportunity be with him tonight makes me sick. It doesn’t matter that our meeting today was a disaster, I still can’t stay away. My body tingles with anticipation of an amazing man waiting for me. Just like that, thoughts of a failed medical intervention are pushed away by anticipation for Guatemalan tamales and excitement at seeing my lover.
You mean your patient, Vanya.
Yes, but… he’s both. When we’re together, things aren’t black and white. My world transforms into a vibrant kaleidoscope of color. Being with Jeremy is the red of passion and the yellow of happiness and the aqua of a calm ocean that is as vast as it is deep.
Excuse me, but when did I turn into a cheesy Hallmark card?
Maybe I’m not thinking straight, but for once in my life I want to lose myself in the now. I text him back:See you at seven.
With uncharacteristic enthusiasm, I rush to leave work. If I hurry, I can get changed and maybe put on something nicer than scrubs. Entering my house like a whirlwind, I shower and shave and primp like I’m in a nineties movie as the nerdy girl asked to the dance by the prom king.
I see the bit of red tucked at the back of my underwear drawer. The lingerie hasn’t been used since the boudoirphotoshoot. Is it too overdone for dinner at home? Perhaps. But this is no prom date in a PG-13 movie.
The lacy, low plunge bra flatters my breasts. The matching thong is inlaid with silk, making me feel pampered and sexy. Slipping into my favorite sweater dress—forest green and with pockets, of course—I’m overtaken with giddiness. I don’t remember ever being this excited for dinner. Quelling my thumping heart and grabbing a bottle of red wine so I don’t show up empty-handed, I make my way across the street.
The door is opened before I even get to his porch. The sheen of amusement in Jeremy’s brown eyes and the width of his smile stun me speechless.
“Hi, beautiful,” he says in greeting.
The scent of freshly steamed tamales surrounds me the second I step inside, a rich blend of corn, herbs, and something faintly spicy. Jeremy closes the door and gives me a thorough once-over from head to toe. The fireplace crackles nearby, sending a gentle glow through the room. Instead of a Christmas tree, he has a decorated pine garland over the mantle.
“You look incredible. If I knew you’d show up like that, I would’ve worn the good sweatpants.” I glance at the pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips.
“It’s just a sweater dress.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling to hide the fact that I’m checking out his dick print.
“Come in.” Jeremy takes my hand and walks deeper into his home. I allow myself to be tugged behind him, enjoying the very flattering sweatpants that mold to his bubble butt.
Jeremy gestures to the table where two white plates are set, edged by garlands of holly. Candles flicker next to wine glasses. He takes the wine bottle to place on the table. His eyes dart between my lips and the stretch of fabric over my chest.
“Thank you for cooking,” I say appreciatively. “You didn’t have to get this fancy just to feed me.”
He steps closer and wraps an arm around my waist before kissing me on each cheek, which is inexplicably chaste and sexy at the same time. “You didn’t have to look this fancy just to come over, but here you are, looking like a dream.”
“Thank you, I think. Although maybe I should ask what kind of dream,” I joke.
“If you’re in it, Vanya? It’s the best kind.”
We stare at each other for a beat. It’s impossible to miss the longing in his eyes. Jeremy looks away and clears his throat. “We should eat, before it gets cold.”
“It smells amazing.”
“Paches tamales.” He lifts the cover off a plate. “Sit down. I bet you were too busy to eat today, so you’re probably starving.”