Page 20 of Dump Tackle My Heart
It was the best moment of my life.
And the most painful.
'Cause I couldn’t do jack shit about it.
Not yet.
See, I’ve got a soft spot for Daniela McNally.
A real big one.
And yeah, alright, I’ve got a hard spot for her too—but unlike the emotional mess in my chest, I do know what to do with that.
If she’d let me.
But she won’t. Not yet.
She’s skittish.
Still mad.
Maybe even heartbroken, and I don’t know why.
All I know is something about her draws me in like gravity.
And I don’t wanna escape.
So tonight, I play it cool.
I eat my half of the frozen pizza we’re sharing like a goddamn gentleman.
I let her rattle off her little speech—again—with her lists and her boundaries and her nervous hands flapping around like she’s the goddamn rules committee for cohabitating with large shirtless rugby players.
No flirting.
No touching.
No kissing.
And absolutely no reminiscing about that night.
She even says the words pillow wall.
Pillow. Wall.
Christ on a cracker.
I nod through all of it, chewing my pizza like I’m not picturing her bent over the counter with that little pouty mouth spitting out rules while I fuck her in long, hard, deep strokes.
Focus.
Be the good guy.
Be respectful.
Be strategic.
And then?
