Hail Mary: An Enemies-to-Lovers Roommate Sports Romance(30)

I flicked on the television as I passed through the living room, turning on ESPN before I swung into the kitchen and pulled out all the ingredients I needed: plantains, garlic, vegetable oil, olive oil, salt, tomato, parsley, and freshly cracked pepper.

Baseball highlights played loud enough for me to hear as I peeled and sliced the plantains, but once I did, my mind floated away from the present and into the memory of making tostones with my mom. She had me standing on a stool next to her in the kitchen and learning her recipe before I even played football — which was saying something, since Dad had me in pads at the age of six.

The sound of the oil popping when I dropped the first plantains in made me smile, my stomach growling as I got out a bowl to mix the dipping sauce. I was so focused on the recipe that I didn’t hear Mary walk down the stairs, didn’t notice her at all until she was leaning through the window that separated the kitchen from the living room, her eyes closing on an inhale.

“Holy fuck, it smells good in here.”

“Careful — don’t get popped by the oil,” I warned.

“Yes, Daddy,” she teased, sliding onto the barstool on the other side of the window and resting her arms on the ledge. I had to contain my smirk and the way I fucking loved when she called me daddy — even if it was a joke.

I wondered what it would be like if it wasn’t, if I had her pinned beneath me and obeying my every command to get the relief she so desperately wanted.

My cock twitched at the thought, and I pressed my waist against the kitchen counter to hide it as I focused on the sauce.

“What are you making?” she asked.

“Tostones.”

She sighed reverently, her chin balanced on the palm of her hand as she looked longingly at the saucepan. “Really makes the bologna sandwich I was about to make seem like dog food in comparison.”

I chuckled. “You can have some, I’m making enough to feed a football team.”

I peeked up at her just in time to see her face fall, and she plopped a notebook down on the counter in front of her, opening it to a blank page and popping the lid off the graphite pencil in her hand. “No, it’s okay. I don’t want to eat your food.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Because I didn’t pay for it.”

“So?” I shook my head on a smile. “Stop being weird and just say thank you.”

I thought I saw her smile, but her eyes were so laced with concern when she looked at me again that it was hard to say. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Besides, tostones are meant to be shared. My mom would smack me upside the head if I kept them all to myself.”

I finished stirring up the garlic dip and set it aside, still watching Mary curiously. I could only see the oversized t-shirt she wore, and her hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head as her hand started moving over the page, a charcoal gray filling in the white.

I wondered if she was wearing those tiny fucking boy shorts again, if I was going to have to sit on my hands to keep from tracing the dark ink that lined her thighs.

It had been enough to make me want to burn my eyes out, seeing her walk around without a bra and barely anything covering her ass over the last week. Not because the sight was one I didn’t want to see, but because it was driving me absolutely insane to see her like that and not be able to touch her.

She was our fucking roommate.

She trusted us to make her feel safe and comfortable, not to ogle her when she was in her own home. I’d smacked Kyle more than a few times this week and reminded him just the same, but he pinned me with a glare that told me I didn’t have room to talk with how my eyes followed Mary every time she passed by us with her nipple piercings pressing against the fabric of her thin tops.

The fact that she seemed slightly less annoyed by me now only made me want to press my luck, to sling one of my cheesy lines at her but with a little more intent. I wanted to make her laugh without rolling her eyes.

Almost as much as I wanted to see what she looked like when she came.

I scrubbed my jaw with an angry hand before pressing my hips even more into the counter before an erection could spring. “Can I ask you something?”

Mary didn’t bother looking up from her sketch. “Hmm?”

“What’s the story with your family?”

She blinked at that, the pencil falling limp in her fingers as she looked up at me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when all this happened with the house,” I said, gesturing vaguely toward the direction her house was. “You didn’t have anyone to call. Or if you did, you didn’t want to.”

“That’s kind of a rude question,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I’m an asshole, remember?”

“Or so you want the world to think.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but they hit me like a dart all the same. I didn’t want to analyze how it felt that Mary possibly saw past the cocksure attitude to the real me.

She sighed. “I could have called my parents, but to do so would mean submitting myself to long, tear-filled lectures from my mom about how I’m wasting my life and good fortune.”

I was still a bit shaken by her previous comment, but I blinked it away. “Why would she say that?”

“Because I’m pursuing a career as a tattoo artist instead of an acquisitions manager like my dad and older brother.”