Page 98 of Dash

She laughs. “Fair point. What if it doesn’t work out? What if you hate living with me? I’m really particular about where things go. I have annoying habits, like I never use the last finger of shower gel or shampoo. I really like fairy lights. And I definitely drool in my sleep.”

“You also steal my clothes, the duvet, and your taste in movies is fucking criminal.” I brush my mouth to hers. “But as long as you’re in my bed, in my space, I don’t care.”

“But—”

“Stop arguing with me.”

Her eye roll is weak. “I’m not arguing. I’m just pointing out very valid concerns.”

“I don’t want you to try to be more palatable. I want your shit in my drawers, your smell on my sheets. I want everything you are, Dayna. So, just fucking move in. Quit that second job. Quit both fucking jobs if you want. I don’t care. Just give yourself permission to breathe without drowning.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“You were worried about telling me you’re pregnant because you didn’t think I’d step up. Well, I’m stepping up. I got money, more than enough to look after you and a whole fucking house full of kids if you want them.”

Her lips part as she breathes. “Dash…”

“I mean it.

“I know you do, but let’s get through the first kid before we plan for a football team.”

“So, are you moving in?”

“The thought of not sleeping next to you makes me irrationally angry. Plus, I really like morning sex. It’s easier to do when we’re in the same place. Also, can we cycle back to the fact that you said you love me?”

It’s a typical Dayna deflection, but I’ll let it pass this time.

I kiss her like I’m starved for her. “I do love you.”

She smiles. “That’s good to know because I love you too, and it would have been lame if I’d been the only one out on this limb.”

TWENTY-SIX

DAYNA

I keepa hand on my stomach as Dash shows me around each room in his apartment like a tour guide in denim and leather.

The last room he shows me is the bedroom.Hisbedroom. My gaze lingers on the bed. His covers are pooled on one side. It’s the side he usually sleeps on when he stays with me.

There’re a pair of boots, scuffed and worn, at the side of the door, like he kicked them off in a hurry.

And everything smells like him.

I try not to inhale that scent like a serial killer.

He hovers behind me, his hand rubbing his nape. “We can get your stuff when you’re ready. There’s loads of space in the walk-in closet for whatever you want to bring.”

My heart skips before it flutters wildly against my rib cage.

Clearing my throat, which suddenly feels tight, I step into the closet and a light automatically comes on overhead. His clothes hang on the rails on one side. The other racks and shelves are empty, as if he was just waiting for someone to fill them.

My eyes light up when I see a stack of folded hoodies. “Ohh! You’ve been holding out on me. Look at all these.” I pull the top one off. It’s a forest green colour, and the fabric is so soft.

I lift it to my face, rubbing my cheek over it. “I’m keeping this one.”

I pull it over my head, and when it’s finally settled on my shoulders, I let out a small squeal. It’s huge, billowing out at the front, plenty of room for my belly to grow inside it, but it’s comfortable.

I pull the sleeves down over my hands and snuggle into it.

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