My eyes drop to her tight ass, framed so nicely in those jeans, and my mouth actually waters. I don't even realize it's dropped open until she turns to look at me over her shoulder and Ireflexively clamp it shut. Jesus, I need to get a grip. I'm here to help a friend and colleague, not stare at her ass.
No matter how nice it is.
We work in comfortable silence for the first hour, making trips up and down the stairs. I'm hyperaware of her presence in the small space. The way her jeans hug her curves when she bends to pick up a box. The glimpse of smooth skin at her lower back when her shirt rides up. The flush in her cheeks from exertion that makes her blue eyes even brighter.
"Last one," I announce, setting a particularly heavy box in the living room.
Mia wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "I owe you big time. Let me at least get you a beer."
"You don't owe me anything, but I'll take that beer."
She disappears into the kitchen and returns with two bottles, condensation already forming on the glass. We sink onto the floor, our backs against the wall, legs stretched out in front of us. The apartment is quiet except for the distant sound of traffic and someone's television through the thin walls.
She hands me a beer and raises her own. I clink mine against hers with a smile, then take a long pull.
"So this is home now," Mia says, looking around the empty space.
"It's got good bones. You'll make it feel like home soon enough."
She takes a long drink, then sets the bottle between her knees. "I'm not sure I know what home feels like anymore. I mean, thiswas my home, where I grew up. But I thought my last place was home too. I feel like I'm just running."
The vulnerability in her voice makes my chest tighten. "Running from what?"
"Everything. Everyone." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Myself, mostly."
I want to ask more, to understand what drove her away from Riverside ten years ago, but I can sense the walls going up. Instead, I shift the conversation. "I get that. The running part, I mean."
Her eyes meet mine. "You do?"
"Yeah. When my knee gave out and ended my football career, I felt like I'd lost everything. Football was supposed to be my future. Professional league, the whole dream." I roll my shoulder, an old habit from those dark days. "When that door slammed shut, I didn't know who I was anymore. Took me a long time to stop running from that loss and figure out coaching was where I belonged."
Mia's expression softens. "I'm sorry. That must have been devastating."
"It was. But it taught me something important." I turn to face her more fully. "Sometimes the thing you're running from is exactly what you need to face to move forward."
She looks away, her fingers tracing patterns on the beer bottle. "What if facing it destroys everything?"
"What if not facing it destroys you?"
The question hangs between us. Mia's throat works as she swallows. When she looks back at me, there's something raw and desperate in her eyes that makes my pulse quicken.
"I had someone once," I continue, needing to fill the charged silence. "A fiancée. We were together for three years. She left six months after my injury."
"Because of the injury?"
"Because I wasn't the man she thought she was marrying. The football star with the bright future." I take a drink, the old bitterness still there but faded. "She wanted the dream, not the reality. When reality showed up with a busted knee and no professional contract, she was gone."
Mia's hand finds mine, her fingers warm and soft. "Her loss."
The touch sends electricity up my arm. I look down at our joined hands, then back up at her face. She's closer now, though I'm not sure which of us moved. I can see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes, the way her lips part slightly as her breathing quickens.
"Mia." Her name comes out rougher than I intended.
"Blake." She says it like a question and an answer at the same time.
I should pull back. Should remember she's my colleague, that she's clearly dealing with complicated things, that I noticed the children's books in her boxes and the two small toothbrushes she quickly hid in the bathroom supplies. She's keeping secrets, big ones, and getting involved with her is asking for complications I don't need.
But when she leans in, closing the distance between us, all those rational thoughts evaporate.