Page 33 of Dash

My lips twitch. She’s rambling again.

“I don’t want it back.”

She turns away, fussing with the hoodie like it’s got all the answers. “Anyway, you probably have things to do. I’m just talking nonsense. Sorry I dragged you over here for no reason.”

She thinks I’m leaving. Cute. She doesn’t expect me to stay.

“I don’t have a single thing to do.”

Her brows come together. “I don’t believe that.”

I reach for the remote on the coffee table and sit on her couch like I’ve done it a hundred times.

“So, don’t, but are we watching an action? Thriller? Don’t tell me you like that cheesy romcom shit.”

She doesn’t move, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far.

“What are you doing?”

“Picking a movie for us to watch.” She’s staring at me like I’ve just sacrificed a dog in her living room. “I’m not into those chick flick things, but I’ll suck it up if that’s what you want to watch.”

“Dash… seriously, what are you doing?”

“We’re watching a movie as soon as you pick one.”

I focus on the screen, giving her a moment to breathe. Quietly, she says, “I like horror.”

That surprises me. “The girl who lives alone with broken locks watches horror?”

Her lips twitch and, fuck, I want her to do that again. “I know, right? Crazy. If you were expecting me to be a hearts and flowers kind of girl, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

I let my gaze roam over her in a lazy sweep. “I’m not disappointed.” That heat rises in her cheeks again and she fiddles with the cuffs of my hoodie. “Sit.”

I expect her to argue, but she doesn’t. She sinks down next to me, careful to keep a little distance. Fuck that. I toe off my boots, as if I belong here, and when I sink back against the cushions, I pull her against me. She resists for a fraction of a second before she lets herself relax into me.

The smell of her soap fills my nose, and she’s soft, warm against my side. I flick through the menu, until I find something, and press play.

“Just so you know,” she says, “I really do like horror, but I’m also going to cling to you like a baby and probably scream like I’m being murdered.” She winces. “Which I know is annoying.”

I pull her closer, pressing a kiss into her hair, as if it’s the most natural fucking thing in the world to do. She melts a little into my touch, and it feels like a victory—a small one.

“You don’t have to worry, Dayna. I’ll protect you.”

And I’m not just talking about the movie. She has been hurt, but shit, under that all I see is a woman fighting not to drown. I want to be that hand into the water. I want to peel back those layers and see the real her.

Her hand rests on my chest, her fingers twisting in my shirt. “You already have.”

And fuck if that doesn’t break me wide open.

We’re two movies deep when her breathing evens out and her fingers loosen in my shirt.

I turn the volume down, careful not to wake her, and just hold her.

She’s safe. She’s warm. And I’m not fucking leaving.

NINE

DAYNA

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