Page 37 of Dash

And that’s a problem.

But not as big a problem as the fact I’m falling and he’s the only thing I want to land on.

TEN

DASH

When I open my eyes,we’re in her bed. I didn’t plan on staying over, but when she fell asleep, curled into me like she was holding herself together with threadbare stitches, I couldn’t leave.

I meant to sleep on the couch, but she wanted me close, and I didn’t want to leave her spiralling in her room alone.

She’s wearing my tee, the fabric tangled around her thighs, and fuck, I like that more than the hoodie. Seeing her in my clothes itches that primal part of my brain that wants to make her mine.

I peer down at the top of her head before I press a kiss into her hair. She’s lying on top of me, her legs over mine, her arm pinning me to the bed, like she was worried I’d leave while she slept.

I don’t know how to make her believe I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not after she took those steps to show me that she is in this.

Her breath fans my throat, warm and steady, soft. This is so different from the version she lets the world see—the version she tried to give me before I chipped at her walls.

Last night she gave me this. She let her guard down. No sass, no fucking sarcasm, just her. Unfiltered, raw, and real.

Just Dayna.

She stood in front of me like she was daring me to gut her all over again—just like everyone else in her life has. All I did was buy dinner, and she looked at me like I’d fucking taken a bullet for her.

I glance around her bedroom, taking everything in.

Her flat’s fucking tiny and falling apart, but her fingerprints are everywhere. Fairy lights hang around the bed frame, and all her furniture is second-hand but painted to look new.

She’s carved out a space for herself in something ugly and created peace.

I trace my fingers down her back, the softness of her skin like silk under my pads. I could lie here forever, but my touch wakes her.

She stirs, just a flutter of lashes, and I wait with my breath trapped in my lungs, desperate to see her eyes.

When they open, she’s foggy and confused until she finds me.

There’s a beat of silence, a moment of disbelief and I know it’s because I’m still here and she didn’t expect it. Then she lifts her head and smiles that fake flick of her lips that I hate.

“If I drooled on you this time, you’ve only got yourself to blame,” she says, quiet and low. “You should have learned from the couch incident.”

It’s a deflection, but I’ll play her game.

For now.

“You’re worse than a Great Dane,” I tease.

This gets a response. Her lips twitch into a real smile as she pats my chest. “I’m revoking your Casanova moniker, Dash. Romance is fucking dead.”

I brush her hair off her face. I don’t care about the bullshit banter. I just want to see her. She’s messy and holding on by a knife’s edge, but she’s fucking beautiful, inside and out.

“I’ll give you hearts and flowers if you want them, babe.”

“I don’t need all that shit. I just need this.” She traces her fingers over my chest and I keep my arm around her back. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Staying. You didn’t have to.”

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