Page 38 of Penalty Shot

He’s solemn when he takes Naomi, intent on guiding the baby’s head into the crook of his elbow and protectively wrapping an arm around the bundle. Naomi continues to brush the back of her fist on his chest while kicking and giggling.

When Randall looks up at me, his eyes are crinkled. “She laughed.”

“Yes, she did,” I say, taken by his cute smile and fluttering blond lashes.

When his eyes lower to my chest and darken, it’s impossible to miss. My nipples tighten harshly, pinched by the force of his attention.

I should turn away and hide my body’s reaction to him, but I’m paralyzed. Swallowing takes effort. Does he feel it, too? The fleeting moments of our intimacy invisibly tattooed on my body, achingly etched on my skin when we’re close.

“You’ve got white gunk on your shirt.”

“Huh?”

Did he saygunk? I look down, and there’s chunky baby spit between my tits.

“Oh, shedidburp when I first picked her up.” I’m wearing a black long-sleeved shirt. The spit practically glows.

So much for intimacy and whatnot. He’s probably grossed out.

“I’ll change my shirt. Want to see my room?” I offer, since it’s down the hall.

We enter my space and I see it through his eyes. The bed is framed by two big bookcases filled with paraphernalia, books, binders, and various trinkets from my travels. On the walls are two of my favorite vintage show posters: a 1950Guys and Dollsillustration and a 1957Endgameposter with Bert Lahr as Hamm. Not that most people would recognize one of my favorite actors unless they closely inspected the Cowardly Lion inThe Wizard of Oz.The rest of my poster collection is rolled up and tucked under my desk. On top of that surface, I’ve got a laptop, notebooks, and charging wires.

Hoarder vibe much?

Across from the desk is a comfy chair where I’ve laid my favorite quilt. I’m not surprised when Randall is drawn to the colorful cover. “Are those shirts sewn together?” he asks.

“Yup. It was my parents’ graduation gift after high school. Grade school and high school productions usually make shirts tocommemorate performances. They saved each one and made a quilt.”

“There are dozens!” His finger grazes the quilt’s sashing betweenInto the WoodsandBeauty and the Beast.

“You already knew I was a theater kid.”

I enter my walk-in closet and close the door slightly, though not all the way. He’s no Peeping Tom. There’s nothing he hasn’t already seen. Still, my skin prickles with awareness when I whip off my shirt and dump it in the laundry basket.

Then, I see it. The perfect change of clothes.

“Tada!” I say when I exit the closet wearing his Mavericks jersey.

His back was to me, rocking Naomi and reading a wall board with random notes and old playbooks and group pictures. When he turns to see what I changed into, his jaw slackens. Randall bites his lower lip and looks down at the baby. His chest moves slightly, mid-chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

Did I do something wrong? Is there some kind of hockey rule that you can only wear jerseys in the arenas? That can’t be right.

“I only saw you wear the jersey from afar.”

“Now you get to see it up close.”

Walking toward the door, I don’t see his reaction. But I hear it.

“Damn, Elise.” His voice is ground in glass. I look over my shoulder. Our eyes catch. “Seeing my name on your back is so fucking hot.”

The words grip my chest, and everything tightens. My lungs, my stomach, and lower, where my body seeks to be filled.

“We should go downstairs. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing hard. “Sorry, it just came out. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know we have an agreement.”