Home is Where the Heart is - Pablo Gavi

Chapter 12: Family Dinner

I notice Gavi is once again wearing his classic jeans and a plain t-shirt as we get into his car. He slams his door and turns on the car. He waits for it to start up, rubbing his palms against his pants.

"Are you nervous?" I ask while buckling my seatbelt.

His hands freeze in place and he looks over to me quickly. "No." He pauses. "Why would you say that?"

I chuckle. "You're wiping your sweaty palms all over your pants." I gesture to his palms resting on his thighs.

He removes them, replacing them on the steering wheel. "I am not," he mutters. Satisfied with the start up of the car, he puts his right hand on the back of my seat as he watches out the rearview window while backing out of the driveway. Up this close his biceps look really good. "Are you nervous?" he asks.

I pull my attention away from his arms and swallow hard. "Should I be? Technically I've already met your parents." Still, I am extremely anxious. Sitting with his parents at a game is significantly different than going over to their house for dinner.

Finished backing up, he pulls his arm from the back of my seat and rests it on the consol. "You shouldn't be," he agrees.

"Good, than we're in agreement that neither of us are nervous nor should we be nervous," I announce.

"Exactly."

We drive the rest of the way in silence. I pretend not to notice him wiping his hands on his pants every once and a while and he pretends not to notice me picking my fingers until they bleed.

"Do you want a band-aid?" he asks as he pulls to a stop in his driveway. Here, I've been before and I recognize the flowers on his porch, as lively as the last time I had been here.

I sit on my hands to hid them. "I'm fine."

Gavi unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches over to me, gently guiding my hands back into my lap with his. I let him. I watch his soft, warm hands brush against mine over and over again. I try not to feel the sensation, afraid I'll get lost in it. He glances up at me after inspecting my hands. "There really is no reason to be nervous." He continues to hold my hands, gently cupped in his.

"You're nervous," I accuse, knowing it's the only way to get the attention off of me.

He opens his mouth to argue but then closes it. He sighs, defeated. "Please let me get you a band-aid."

I tilt my head to the side trying to get him to let it go. When his expression remains---stern but caring---I sigh, giving in. "Fine."

He sets my hands down in my lap and leans over me to open the glove box. As he searches its contents he's carefully to keep his body hovered over mine, not letting his body make contact with mine. After a little ruffling he pulls out a band-aid. To my surprise, it's the Barca colors. He starts to open the packaging.

"Really?" I ask, amused he has yet another thing in his team colors.

"What?" he asks as he discards the garbage in the cup holder. He indicates for me to lift up my bleeding finger. I had pulled at a hangnail and more blood escaped it than I would expect.

"Barca colored band-aids?" I elaborate. 

He finishes up wrapping the band-aid around my finger. "They sell them at the Barca store," he states matter of factly. He presses down on the band-aid to make sure it's secure on my finger and I flinch, he pressed on the spot of my hang nail. "Sorry," he responds immediately, peering up at my face.

"It's fine," I say, "I'm fine. Can we go inside now?" I reach for my door.

He captures my hands in his again and starts inspecting them again. "Wait. Are there anymore that need a bandage?"