name and number | caitlin clark | 22
synopsis she wears your favorite name and number
warnings cheating on co**er I guess but I think that's it
words 1048
notes part of my '22' shorts-series (aka I love too many women that wear the number 22)
The red jersey was your favorite - the way it contrasted with Caitlin's skin and hair, her name and number in bold white letters on the bright material. But the best part was seeing it on the floor next to your clothes. It was early in the morning; your alarm showed the numbers 5 and 43, and you groaned, annoyed, before you noticed the jersey on the ground. It covered your bra and part of the jeans you had worn yesterday.
She wasn't supposed to take the jersey anywhere, but she had basically dragged you out of the stadium the second the buzzer had gone off, establishing their win. Now her clothes were on your floor, and she was in your bed - not in her boyfriend's, in yours. She shifted behind you, and you could feel her warm, naked body press against yours. One of her big hands made its way over your abdomen, settling on your right ribcage, right beneath your naked chest. Her fingers started caressing the spot you knew was bruised without even looking at it. You pushed your back into her, enjoying the warmth while it lasted.
You must have fallen asleep again because when you woke up for the second time, the warmth had disappeared, and the sun had just made its way over the horizon, coloring the sky and your room in a familiar bright orange. The missing warmth was like a punch in the gut, the sting only lessened by the fact that the red jersey was still on your floor. You could clearly read the name and the number on it. Only then did the sounds coming from your kitchen register in your brain.
You thought about putting on the jersey for a second but changed your mind and put on a shirt and a pair of panties of your own before making your way to the kitchen. Your naked feet slapped against the wooden floor, and Caitlin turned around. The sight made you stop in your tracks. You don't think she had ever been in your kitchen, much less making eggs while also only wearing panties and one of your shirts. It was a little smaller on her than it was on you, but you knew it was one of her favorites. You had bought it at the Eras Tour while she had stood two feet behind you holding your drinks. And now she was wearing it in your kitchen while making eggs with a spatula in her hand.
Her smile turned shy as she took in your figure. You could basically feel her eyes wandering over your body. You don't really know what to do with yourself, so you stay where you are, awkwardly standing in the middle of your kitchen while one of the most successful basketball players in the world eyes you up from the other side of the room. Not weird at all.
Caitlin's smile goes from shy to amused as she puts down the spatula next to the stove. She crosses the room with four long strides and wraps her arm around your waist. "Good morning," she mumbles out quickly before burying her head in the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss onto the sensitive skin there. You're frozen for a few seconds before you slowly reciprocate the gesture, wrapping your arms around her broader shoulders.
"I'm confused," is apparently the first solid sentence your brain can form, making Caitlin chuckle against your skin before lifting her head so she can look at you. Mischief dances in her brown eyes, but there is something else today - something more serious, more solid.
"I didn't mean to confuse you with my pancakes," she answers honestly. "Quite the opposite actually." She takes one of your hands that had dropped down to her collar and pulls you into the kitchen.
"That doesn't make me any less confused, Cait. Quite the opposite actually," you quietly mock her words, half hoping she hears them, half hoping she doesn't. The look she gives you tells you that she did indeed hear your words, and that she's not very impressed by them. Before you can say anything else, Caitlin lifts you up in one fluid motion and sets you down on the kitchen counter, establishing her place between your legs. Her hands land on your thighs while her hips press into you.
"See, I wanted to make this romantic breakfast for you. And I wanted us to have a good time. And then I wanted to get all serious and get out my best apologetic look for being a bitch the past few months. And then I would have told you that I finally broke up with my boyfriend... well, ex-boyfriend, and that I've been waiting to be back in town for weeks. But you just had to ruin it, didn't you?"
Caitlin's smile is crooked, her hands are warm, and her eyes are more serious but at the same time softer than they have ever been. Your heart feels like it's going to jump out of your chest, right into her waiting hands. You slowly raise your hands to her neck, playing with the short pieces of hair that didn't quite make it into her ponytail. Cait's smile deepens as she recognizes one of your nervous habits.
"What does that mean?" You swallow the 'for us' - uncertain, insecure, scared. Before, rejection had been about her boyfriend. It had hurt, but it had been a reason that had nothing to do with you. It wasn't because you weren't enough. But it was like Caitlin could see, like she could see you coming apart at the seams. She wrapped her arm around you, holding you so no more pieces could shift out of place. She looked you in the eyes when she whispered, "It means I want you." Your heart soared. "It means I need you. Here, in my home, at my games, everywhere I go." She pressed a kiss right to the spot where your pulse was pushing too fast against your neck before whispering into the skin, "It means I want you wearing my name and number on your back."
