Page 22 of Dump Tackle My Heart
“Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout!”
“Was too. I was a Cub Scout once,” I mutter.
She climbs into bed in sweatpants and the most aggressively oversized hoodie I’ve ever seen.
It’s like armor.
Or a chastity spell.
She yanks the covers over herself, back to me, muttering curses under her breath.
And I just lie there, grinning at the ceiling like a man who knows damn well that pillow walls don’t last forever.
CHAPTER 7-DANIELA
The one thingabout this cabin I really like is the floor to ceiling windows along the far end of the cabin.
It gives the perfect view of the forest behind us, and the way the windows curl into the ceiling seamlessly like a skylight without the frame is simply breathtaking.
But even with all that mountain beauty on display, with this prime view of actual Thanksgiving snow—a truly freakish thing this time of year—I’m hardly appreciative.
All I feel ishot.
Like I’m sweating.
Actually sweating.
This stupid fleece hoodie is clinging to me like a desperate ex, and the matching sweatpants?
They're basically a sauna with a drawstring.
I’m marinating in my own panic and pride while he—the literal human furnace next to me—is lying there without a single care in the goddamn world with his mega cock just flapping in the breeze.
Tank Jackson is still as a statue, one arm tucked behind his head, bare chest on full display, and his dick? That gorgeous, nine and half inch, girthy fucker?
It’s justthere.
Like he’s posing for a calendar calledRugby Gods and Their Natural Habitat.
The fireplace isn’t helping either.
Neither is the fact that I’m 96% sure my nipples could cut glass.
And my ovaries? Yeah, they’re doing cartwheels. Cheering. Throwing confetti. Shooting flares into the sky, like they’re hoping to be rescued.
Useless little traitors.
This wholesleeping in the same bed but acting like we’re not two sex-starved people with a past and unresolved tensionsituation is a joke.
The worst kind.
The kind I wrote.
Pillow wall. No touching. Be professional.
Right.
