Page 44 of Damsel in Defense
Week after week, he’s shown me through actions and his promise that he would be there for me—whether it’s to sit quietly by my side as I figure shit out or spring into action to defend me.
I love him, and it’s time to woman up and tell him.
***
I don’t even hear the elevator ding.I’m pacing his apartment, full of nervous energy.I’m still in Mason’s Nighthawks hoodie, needing the comfort of the soft material, and I have my phone clutched in my hand.
I’m not sure what time Mason will be home.I’m not sure what his after-game celebration ritual is.The only thing we talked about was the fact that his roommates weren’t coming back to the condo for another month.
Max and Sabrina practically lived together at her place, Mason had commented with a sly grin, and apparently, Sidney had bought a house somewhere in the city but was keeping it hush-hush.So I don’t have to worry about any of his friends walking in when I make my big confession.
That only provides me minimal relief.I’m a mess of nerves and jumping at every sound I hear.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, going through variation after variation of what I want to say to Mason, that I miss the ding of the elevator.
The front door opens behind me.
And then he’s there.
The huge duffle bag he’s holding falls to the ground, just inside the door.His cheeks are flushed from the game, and he’s back in comfortable clothes that cling to his muscular body.
It’s his eyes, though, that once I catch, I can’t look away.They draw me in, blazing with heat and hunger like I’ve never seen before.
I don’t speak.
Neither does he.
He closes the door with a soft click, drops the rest of his things in the entryway, then crosses the room like he’s on a mission.
By the time he reaches me, I can barely keep my balance.
His hand lifts to my jaw, and I lean into it like Ineedhim to hold me together.Because I do.
“Hi,” he says, voice hoarse.
“Hi.”I smile, though it wobbles a little.“Congrats on the win.”
“Thanks.”He pauses.“But that’s not why I came straight home.”
My pulse skitters.
He brushes a strand of hair off my face, his touch impossibly gentle for someone who I saw slam a guy into the boards like he was nothing less than an hour ago.
“I need to tell you something,” he says, stepping closer, so close I can feel the heat rolling off him.“And you’re not allowed to interrupt, okay?”
I nod, my voice suddenly gone.
He exhales, like he’s been holding this in for too long.
“I don’t want this to be fake anymore.”
I blink.
“I don’t want us to be temporary or under some agreement.I don’t want out, and I couldn’t care less about getting my image back on track.”He cups my face in both hands now.“Because somewhere along the way, pretending stopped being enough.And now, when I’m not with you, I feel like I can’t fuckingbreathe.”
My lips part, but he shakes his head.“Nope.Still not your turn.”
I huff a little laugh that dies as quickly as it came, because his eyes—they’re so damn serious.So full of something that terrifies me and makes mehopeall at once.
