Page 64 of Dump Tackle My Heart
“I didn’t think I had to.”
She looks up at me, eyes brimming with questions. With hope. With fear.
And I get it.
But I also don’t care.
I close the distance, take her hand, brush my thumb over her knuckles.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She blinks fast.
“You live in a house with four other rugby players.”
Her voice is small. Testing.
Like she’s bracing herself for the reality of what this is—of what we are.
But I don’t hesitate. Not for a second.
“Correction,” I say, taking a step closer. “Iused tolive in a house with four other rugby players.”
Her brow furrows, lips parting, but I keep going.
“The second you kissed me? I started looking for something else. The second we got snowed-in? I knew it was you. I wasalwayssupposed to be with you.”
That gets her.
Her mouth opens. Closes. She blinks up at me like I just short-circuited her brain, and fuck, it’s adorable.
She’s processing, fighting it, analyzing like she always does when her heart’s ahead of her logic.
But I’m done waiting for her to catch up.
I lean in and drop a kiss on her forehead.
Soft. Steady.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Because it is.
“So,” I murmur, “food? Or should I just keep standing here until you kiss me again?”
Her breath catches—then escapes in a half-laugh, half-sigh.
And it’s the first real sound she’s made since we walked into her house. Her home.
Our homeif I have anything to say about it.
Maybe this will be a slow build.
That’s okay.
I’m not going anywhere.
Because I already know how this ends.
