Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance (Beyond the Play Book 3)
Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance: Chapter 18

“MIA?”

Mia appears in the doorway, the shoebox tucked underneath her arm, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair is in a bun atop her head, tilting to the side like frosting sliding off a too-warm cake. She has a glower on her face, and the tip of her nose is red.

She takes a deep breath, as if trying to calm herself, and says, “I’ll be upstairs.”

I set down the pair of kitchen tongs I’m holding and take a couple steps in her direction. “You seem upset.”

“Just stressed.”

“Did something happen?”

She unwinds the bun and shakes out her hair. “I lost a bit of code I was working on. I need to try to reconstruct it now before the graduate student I’m working with notices. She’s so… I’m sure I saved it, and the program has auto-backup, so I’m not sure what happened.”

“That sucks.”

She blows out a breath. “Yeah. I’ll be working upstairs.”

I gesture to the kitchen table, cleared off because the whirlwinds in my life named Cooper and Izzy aren’t home. “Stay down here. I can change the music, or turn it off, if it’ll distract you.”

“This is what I’d be listening to anyway,” she admits, setting her bag on a chair and taking out her laptop. There aren’t any stickers on it, in typical Mia fashion. When it comes to work, she’s all business, all the time.

I let myself smile at that. “I know, Mia. I’ve seen you at work before.”

“Then why did you offer to turn it off?”

“To be polite to my new roommate.”

She roots around in her bag, pulling out a notebook, a stub of a pencil, and a glasses case. “Is that what we are?”

“I figured it was a relatively safe option.” I add the peppers to the pan and give it all a shake. “Did they call you?”

“Not today.”

“So, we’re officially roommates.” I turn over the potatoes. “Those glasses are cute on you.”

I wasn’t kidding; I am fond of the glasses—the circular, wire-framed lenses remind me of a stooped old mathematics professor—but for whatever reason, she’s blushing. “They’re just for the blue light from the computer. I don’t need them to see.”

“So, they’re your special coding glasses. Like a superhero mask.”

“That smells amazing,” she says by way of changing the subject, but I catch the hopefully-fond roll of her eyes. “I haven’t had it in years.”

“It’s one of my favorites.”

She looks over, gifting me a rare smile. “Me too.”

She turns to her laptop. Her fingers fly over the keyboard as she types. Her fingernails are black right now, filed down so there’s not much of a tip. She leans closer to the screen, frowning in a way that makes her forehead wrinkle cutely. A part of me that has no business being so loud wants to walk over, shove away the laptop and notebook, and lay her out on the table.

I’ve never been one for dessert before dinner, but now there’s only one thing I’m craving.

What a friendly fucking thought to have. It’s torture, especially with my cock stirring, but I turn back to the stove. I somehow manage to finish cooking the meal without peering over my shoulder constantly. Her typing is a signal that she’s working, and I don’t want to distract her.

College has been a way for me to play baseball and fuck around with the most interesting, out-there courses McKee has on offer, but it’s different for Mia. This is the foundation of her future, the thing that’s going to get her to the top of her field one day. She needs every moment of these four years, meanwhile I’m finished with my history major coursework and have enough credits to graduate after next semester if I wanted.

She’s so into it that she doesn’t notice when I set down a plate and glass of wine for her. I squeeze her shoulder on the way to my own seat.

She startles, blinking as she pushes the glasses up her nose. “Oh. Thanks.”

She shuts her laptop and pushes it to the middle of the table. When she takes a bite, she promptly moans. I hide my grin behind a sip of wine, but her reaction makes butterflies erupt in my stomach. Nothing beats the moment someone tastes my cooking. It’s even better than hitting a home run.

“This is delicious.” She takes off the glasses, settling back in the chair. “Thank you. You’re being… really nice. Which makes me want to stab you with my fork for some reason.”

I nearly snort out my wine. “Just eat, di Angelo. Did you even have lunch?”

“I had a protein bar.”

“Not a meal.”

“It’s something.”

“It’s not real food.”

She takes a small, neat bite. “How did you learn to cook this well?”

“My mother, a bit. And Sandra.”

“If you weren’t a baseball player, you could be a chef.” She takes a careful sip of wine. “I could see it. The white jacket thing would look acceptable on you.”

If I announced that I wanted to work in a restaurant instead of play baseball, I might give Richard a heart attack. My father would certainly roll over in his grave. Yet part of me, a tiny secret part of me, wishes that I could graduate early and use my inheritance—the money my parents left me, which I’ll have access to when I finish college—to travel. Maybe work my way through kitchens, learning different cuisines and deciding whether it could become a career. One conversation with Zoe Anders and I already feel drained. The thought of playing televised games nearly every day of the week for most of the year has started to sound like torture, no matter how much I love the game itself. In a kitchen, I’d be a member of a different kind of team, and no one would compare me to my father every time I seared a steak.

It’s easier not to think about it. I can’t blow up my life; it’s not a real option. It’s not something people like me actually do. Once the draft happens and I have a sense of where I’ll be going after next year, I’ll settle down.

I just need to get through the end of the season first.

Mia is still checking me out, so I smirk. “Did you just call me hot?”

“Since when does acceptable equate to hot?”

“You totally just called me hot.”

She primly spears a potato and pops it in her mouth. “I did no such thing.”

I lean back, glass in hand. I know I need to eat too, but it’s more fun to watch her enjoy the meal. I wish it wasn’t the first real food she’s had since the morning, but I can work on that. “I was hoping you’d come home wearing the boots.”

She arches an eyebrow. “How did you replace the exact same ones? I got those a few years ago.”

“You think I don’t pay attention?”

“Not to that.”

“Izzy might’ve helped a little.”

“Ah, there we go.”

“But for the record, I remembered. I just needed her to source them.” I knock my foot into hers underneath the table.

She kicks me in the shin.

I hold back my smile with a sip of wine. “I distinctly remember, for example, you telling me that if I broke the zipper while undressing you, you wouldn’t let me eat you out. I took them off like they were made of glass.”

She just cuts through a piece of chicken, seemingly unaffected by my words. “You did say that you have a long memory.”

“I remember this morning, too.”

“Which part? The one where you forgot how knocking works, or the one where you nearly killed me?”

“I am sorry for both.”

“So, the boots were an apology.”

“No. The boots were a gift.”

She shakes her head. “You’re so weird.”

“So are you.” Not my best comeback, but I’m distracted by her pouty lips. Jesus, her mouth is sinful. I take another gulp of wine. Work is always a safe topic, right? “Tell me about what you’re working on.”

She raises a single eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. You’re working with your advisor, right? Professor Santoro?”

She nods. “I’m her undergraduate lab assistant. She doesn’t normally take on anyone who isn’t heading into senior year, but she let me in a year early, to help boost my chances of getting into a study abroad program next spring at the University of Geneva.”

“That would be sick.”

She smiles into her wine. “Yeah. It’s an intense program, but it would allow me to work at the observatory at the university, which gets data from this amazing telescope that operates in La Silla all the way in Chile. And I’d be able to see so many other research observatories too—they do trips to Sphinx Observatory, which is the tallest observatory in Europe, for example, and the Haute-Provence Observatory in France. It’d help me think about whether I want to get my PhD here or in Europe and build up more connections in the field at the same time. And I’d just be able to see some of the world, period. I’ve never traveled anywhere before. The sky is beautiful here, but I want to see it from all over the world, you know?”

By the end of her speech, she sounds so excited, her voice is a little high. I don’t bother holding back my smile. Her enthusiasm is infectious. If there’s anyone who deserves a spot in the program, it’s her.

“It would be next spring?”

“Yeah. Spring and summer.”

“Cool. And you’re studying… what are they called?”

I remember. I remember because I asked her this question while my mouth was on her tits, and she gasped out the word. Exoplanets. But I pretend I don’t, because I know it will lead to more conversation, and if there’s anything I want from this meal, it’s to spend time with her. To hear her talk excitedly as she gestures with her hands, and to see passion in her eyes, if not for me, then for something. She’s someone who has her future figured out. She has the mind and the passion for what she loves to do.

I have the skills for my sport, and the work ethic, but I don’t know where the fire went.

She shakes her head slightly, but doesn’t call me out. “Exoplanets. Planets that orbit a star other than ours. One of the most exciting things about the program is that the telescope in La Silla works with something called the CORALIE spectrograph, and together they work at uncovering large exoplanets. So, I’d be continuing to learn about and do work in my area of interest even before I commit to a graduate program.”

“That sounds fantastic. Even though I have no idea what a spectrograph is.”

She laughs. “It’s—are you sure you want to hear about this? I’m not boring you?”

“Nope.” I grin at her when her eyes narrow. I know better than to call her adorable right now, but she looks so cute, practically buzzing with nerdy excitement. “I like seeing you get so excited. Tell me everything.”

Her face tells me she doesn’t quite believe me, but still, she indulges me, and I hang on every word.