Page 26 of Unconventionally, Elle

Now

I sent over my final draft about Cirque to Olivia this morning.

I'd been going back and forth with the editors for more than a week, and we'd all come to the agreement that we had the article ready to go to print.

I was thrilled it was turned in, because Margaret, the art director, was starting to make me nervous.

She needed to have the final layout in today, and she was adamant about my article fitting on a certain page. Crisis averted.

I was sitting on the couch with some leftover Mexican food when I heard a knock. I did a double take and looked at the TV, thinking it was from Schitt's Creek , but then I heard it again.

It was definitely my door.

"Hello?" A man's voice carried through my wooden door. I knew that voice, even if I'd only heard it say three sentences during the whole Patriots game.

I'd rolled out of bed that morning in a pair of Jude's old boxers I'd stolen and an oversized Duke T-shirt--no bra. I didn't have plans today, so I never changed clothes.

"Shit," I muttered to myself as I ran to my bedroom to throw on a sports bra under my tee. I heard his voice again and another knock.

"Elle? Elle, are you home? Emma said you were home." His voice was sheepish.

I could pretend I was dead, or I could be bold and answer the damn door. Spoiler, I answered the damn door.

"Hey!" I opened the door slightly and leaned into the frame with my hand on my hip. "What's up, Barrett?" Yeah. Super smooth.

Barrett's blue eyes sparkled. "Hey yourself.

" He had a shy grin on his face, and I noticed his ears were red.

"So, I'm sorry about randomly coming over, but Emma said she'd talked to you and you'd be home today.

I was gonna catch you at the magazine office first, I swear.

" His words were rushed, and I noticed he was embarrassed.

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Your sister, huh? I'll have to remind her not to give my address to random men."

He relaxed at my playful tone. "Yeah, they could be really weird and come over unannounced."

"Heaven forbid, they're the worst." A sly grin spread across my face.

He shivered, and I noticed that we were still standing in the hallway. Shit, I forgot to invite him in!

"Oh God, you're not even wearing a jacket. You know it's cold out, right? Come on in." I motioned him inside and shut the door. The smell of his cologne made something stir in my belly.

"Go ahead and make yourself at home. Do you want coffee? Water? That's about all I have right now."

"Coffee sounds great, actually. I'll have it how you do," he said casually while his eyes lowered down my body, then quickly back up.

"You sure? I add in almond milk." I shifted my weight, fully aware that I was standing in front of Barrett Henry in Jude's boxers and a T-shirt.

"Yeah, that's fine. Emma's lactose intolerant, so we never had real milk at home anyways. We either did almond or soy."

"No sugar? I don't do sugar," I said.

"Just like you do it, promise," he repeated.

"Okay, you asked for it. Coming right up.

" I smiled to myself and turned to go into the kitchen.

Schitt's Creek was still playing in the living room, and I watched him take a seat on the couch and pull out his phone.

Before he could turn around, I quickly ran my fingers through my wavy, unruly hair to make it look somewhat more presentable. I hadn't been expecting guests today.

"You know, I'm sorry if I was a little standoffish at the game the other night." His remark startled me while I was pouring some almond milk into his mug. He was facing the kitchen now, his phone gone and his left leg pulled up onto the couch as he leaned into the sturdy back.

Still staring at the mugs, I raised my voice over the Nespresso machine. "Oh, it's no big deal. I could tell you were really into the game." And not into me , I thought.

I brought him his coffee and sat down on the other side of the couch with my coffee in my favorite Disney mug.

I wasn't sure what to make of this. Why did he ask Emma if I was home?

What was his angle? I smiled at him. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Barrett?

" I kept my voice casual and curled up on the couch, like nothing out of the ordinary was happening right now.

He shifted in his seat, then placed his mug on the coffee table. When he lifted his gaze to mine--well, those goddamn eyes.

"Well, Elle"--he smiled--"after the Pats game the other night, I realized I was a total ass."

I chuckled into my mug.

He continued. "But I also realized..." He paused, and I looked up at him with narrowed, playful eyes. "I realized I couldn't stop thinking about you." He shrugged as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb in my living room.

"What?" The words flew out of my mouth. No thought, no filter. "You hardly said two words to me. Did you even notice I was sitting next to you?"

"Oh, I definitely noticed you were sitting next to me." He held my stare with a mischievous smile. "Truth is I couldn't talk to you. I had no idea what to say or even ask."

"Stop fucking around. You're lying." I rolled my eyes and lightly slapped the foot closest to me. Was I flirting with Barrett Henry?

"I'm not. I swear. You're enchanting, Elle Watson." He continued to stare at me as if he was studying me. His gaze made my breath hitch, and I could feel the sweat slowly rolling down my chest. "So, after the game, I asked Emma if she could help me talk to you. Lucky me, she said yes."

He scooted closer to me. "Is this, okay?" he asked cautiously when he noticed me watching him intently.

"Yeah, yeah, you're fine." Note to self, do not--I repeat--do not lift your arms! This was a bad day to forget deodorant.

"Okay." He smiled reassuringly. "Please let me make up for my rude behavior. How about a date?" he asked with a glint in his eyes. I could feel his foot touching mine.

I gave him a sideways grin. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." He waited patiently for my reply.

"All right, but no more football, okay? As much as I love the cold, that was a little brutal."

"Deal." His smile reached both of his eyes. "Are you free next Friday? Say around sixish?"

I pretended to think about it and shifted my gaze skyward. "Hmm," I mumbled. After a few seconds, I looked back into his hypnotic stare. "Yeah, that should be good. I'm about to start writing a novel, so that will be a much-needed break."

"You're writing a book? That's pretty cool. What's it about?" He leaned sideways onto the back of the couch, comfortable and relaxed. Foot still touching mine.

"It's a romance novel inspired by my grandparents.

My grandmother was born in NYC, and my grandpa was an immigrant from Palermo, Italy.

They both happened to be at the Belmont Stakes at the same time, and my grandfather noticed her sitting next to his assigned seat when he walked up. The rest is history."

"Sounds like quite the story." He smiled.

I took a small, satisfying sip and then held my mug in my lap. "I hope so." My voice was soft and wishful.

"Oh, by the way"--he brushed his free hand through his styled espresso-brown hair--"remember how I asked you if we'd ever met before, at the game?"

"Yeah, I remember." I tilted my head to the side, wondering where this was going.

"Well, I want you to know I remember." His voice went soft and velvety.

"You were in a band T-shirt and wearing leggings.

Tight leggings." He winked, and I felt a blush bloom along my cheeks.

"You were standing next to me at the grocery store, and I remember thinking, Oh my God, who is this beautiful woman? "

I tapped my mug nervously with my nails and tried to breathe like normal.

"I remember like it was yesterday." He paused. "And you know what?" His voice was low, intimate.

"What?" I whispered.

"You're even more beautiful today, especially in an old pair of blue-striped boxers."