Page 134 of Dream Chaser
A lot to metabolize, a lot to admit to him, let alone myself, that yes, maybe I already started imagining our names on a mailbox, credit card bills stacked on the table, him making pancakes, shirtless of course, while I halfheartedly threaten to murder him for leaving his shoes everywhere.
His laugh is one of relief. “We need to soundproof wherever?—”
I tackle him with a kiss, shutting up the sentence before he can say something more.
“Griffon!” I say against his lips, my head spinning—not the bad way, but like a carousel you never want to end. “How about no plans? We just go with what feels right.”
He pulls back and looks at me hard, searching for the joke, but when he sees I mean it, he relaxes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper.
He presses his lips to mine, and I push up on tiptoes to meet him. He scoops me by the ass, lifting me off the ground. A groan, deep and relaxed, vibrates through his chest.
He sets me down, face flushed, and pulls back just enough to make me wish he hadn’t.
“Tour?” he asks, meaning the house.
“Sure?” I barely get the word out before he sets me down, spins me around, arms circling my waist, and leads me into the kitchen.
I’ve seen the townhouses—hell, I helped Dad work on them, brought food, delivered supplies. But I didn’t imagine they wouldn’t feel homier.
I picture him here, alone, after games or practice, and I don’t want this for him.
He watches me take it in, looking for something in my reaction, and I realize it matters to him that I like it.
“Your TV is huge.”
He chuckles. “You get one yet?”
“Working on it,” I lie.
He guides me from room to room: the laundry closet with a pair of headphones hanging from the shelf, a living room with barely any furniture in it, just an older couch and coffee table with an old pair of cleats on it, and of course a gaming system.
Upstairs, the guest rooms are all empty, the whole place barely lived in. Then we end up in the master bedroom, which is shockingly tidy.
The massive bed looks incredibly inviting, but the rest of the room is bare, with nothing on the walls, nothing saying Griffon Skinner lives here.
I move us to the dresser where there are a few pictures of a young Griffon and who I know immediately is his baby sister.
“She looks just like you.”
He stands behind me, one arm around my shoulders, the other around my waist, chin resting on my head. “Mags reminds me of what I imagine she’d be like. Same energy. Angela was so happy and full of energy.”
“You’ve always loved Mags.” I smile.
He turns me to face him. “Like a little sister.”
I nod, because I’m feeling way too emotional right now to speak, and … I don’t like it.
He closes his eyes and inhales, slow and deliberate. “Will you do something for me?” His voice is tender and maybe a little scared.
“Yeah. Anything.”
He brushes the tip of his nose up mine. “Be the first girl I have and will ever make love to?”
For a second, my whole body goes light, like the air in my lungs is replaced by helium and fireworks. Then I pull him close and allow myself to feel all that is right and real between us.
“Yes,” I whisper, as my lips brush his.
