Page 26 of Dump Tackle My Heart
She freezes.
Like I’ve short-circuited her brain.
But I see it—the flicker in her eyes, the way her lips part like she’s about to say something and forgets how.
The air between us crackles.
Her chest rises too fast beneath that barely there pink tank top, nipples pebbling against the thin fabric.
Geezus. She’s not wearing much.
And I’m not made of stone.
My voice drops, low and gritty.
A mix of need and nerve.
Soft where I’ve always been careful.
Firm because I’m fucking done pretending.
“I’m doing what I want,” I tell her, my voice scraping over the hunger in my chest. “Trying for what I want.”
She swallows, the muscles in her throat flexing.
Then, quietly, “W-what do you want, Hudson?”
My name.
Not Tank.
Not what the team calls me.
Not what the world sees when they look at me and assume I’m just the brute who smashes bodies for a living.
But Hudson.
The name only my mother used to say soft when she hugged me.
The name Dani moaned the night I had her underneath me.
And it touches something I thought was long buried.
“You,” I say.
No hesitation.
“It’s always been you.”
I reach out. My fingers hover—just an inch from her waist.
I don’t touch. Not yet. Not unless she lets me.Wants me. Chooses me.
“Now,” I murmur, “for the first time since that night, Dani, why don’t you be honest?—”
Her breath shudders.
I lean closer, my palm still hovering near her skin.
