Page 61 of Dream Chaser
But I’m not most guys.
“I’m not looking to turn you into anyone’s housewife, Iz. Least of all mine,” I add lightly.
That gets her to glance back, just enough for me to see the curve of her mouth, the guarded look in her eyes.
“Then what are you looking for?” she asks quietly. Curious.
I scratch the back of my neck. “Something that doesn’t get in the way of who you are … or who I am. I’ve seen what happenswhen one person gives up their life for someone else’s. It’s not the way I’ll ever live.”
The way her face softens, just for a second, makes me want to tell her all the things I’ve spent a year shoving into my back pocket, so I keep going.
“We have a free minute, a need. We have aplay date.”
A laugh escapes her, low and reluctant, and way too sexy.
Izzy’s head tilts, wary but interested. I can practically see the gears grinding behind her eyes, recalculating her escape route, revising the equations. “A play date, huh?” she repeats, but the edge of her mouth twitches.
“Play date,” I agree, “occasionally crash, sometimes pass out on your couch. Maybe paint our nails?” I shrug, letting myself smirk at her. “I’d steal your snacks. Maybe make a snack out of you.”
She laughs then—a low, cautious sound, like she expects it to scald her. “Arrogant.”
“Guilty,” I admit, “but also honest. I want to keep doing this, Izzy. Last night? It wasn’t …” I trail off, because when I remember last night, it was like I left my body and never really came back. “It wasn’t just scratching an itch. It was the kind of sex that rewires your brain.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I’m hoping you do.”
Izzy’s gaze sharpens, then softens, then settles somewhere in-between. “You were a lot,” she said. “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
I grin, emboldened by her not-bad. “Physically? Yeah. Mentally? Even more. Emotionally? I’m a full-time job with no HR department, but I like to think the benefits are decent.”
She tries to glare, but the corners of her mouth betray her. “Don’t get all sentimental. This is, or could be, just so you know, passing time. I don’t have the bandwidth for a project like you.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, because flirting with this girl is a sport, and I fucking love sports. I take a tiny step closer. She doesn’t move back.
“I’m not a project,” she clarifies, something that doesn’t need to be—I know that. But it’s definitely something to pack away and possibly revisit one day. “And even if I was, you’re not the one who gets to fix me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I lift my hands, palms up in surrender, but my voice is anything but apologetic. “I just want to see how many times we can short-circuit each other.”
Izzy’s smile breaks through then, brief and bright, and so real it makes my damn chest hurt. “You’re going home, remember? For a few weeks. You said so.”
“I am,” I admit. “Family. Decompressing from that disaster on the field. But I meant it. I want to keep seeing you. On your terms, my terms, maybe no terms. Just … more.”
She leans against the counter, arms looped around her ribs, hugging herself. “It will not be a relationship?”
I ignore the way my pulse jumps. “That’s the best part.”
Izzy gives me a long, dubious look, like she’s trying to spot the con in a poker hand. “You talk a lot.”
“I have a lot to say to you.”
She rolls her pretty blue eyes. “You’re impossible.”
I brace my hands on the kitchen island, crowding her space just enough to make a point. “You like impossible.”
“Not as much as you think,” she shoots back, but her body language says otherwise. She’s trying really damn hard not to arch into me.
There’s a long, sparking beat where neither of us speak. Her eyes flick from my mouth to my chest then back up. “This is insane.”
