Chapter 26
The loss of her hand leaves a hollow space when I pull away to park at Tuck’s Taco Truck. However, when we climb back into the truck with the tacos and head for my place, she reaches for it again, and pride shoots through me.
I take the drive home slow, so I can hold her hand in mine a little longer—until my driveway comes into view and I have no excuse left.
Once we stop, I open the door for her, silently praying the night moves just as slowly as the drive as she steps out and walks ahead of me.
She pauses in the doorway, breath catching the second her foot crosses the threshold into my place. There’s a tiny shift in the air. This is the first time she’s here as my date. It creates this whole new vibe that I’m not sure I expected.
She quickly relaxes as we move through the house and settle in the back. Erin sits with her legs crossed on the sofa and eagerly waits as I pull out everything from the bags.
She drenches her bean, cheese, and mushroom taco in dark green salsa. She shimmies after her first bite in her own world, swaying to a song only she can hear.
Captivating.
After we eat, we watch the sun go down. We have the perfect view, but no sunset will ever be prettier than the girl tucked into my side.
I look over at Erin to ask if she wants to head in and notice the way she’s rubbing at her arm, eyes tracking the faint streaks of paint and glitter that didn’t wash away.
Little flecks of color dust the cushion when she leans away from it, and her mouth pulls tight like she’s cataloging every mark she leaves behind.
“Am I going to have to guess what you’re thinking, or are you going to tell me?” I ask.
She glances down again. “I just feel like I’m leaving a mess everywhere.” She gestures at herself. “And I know you said it was fine, but—”
I cover her hand with mine, cutting her off before she can spiral. “Erin.”
She looks up.
“You could cover this place with your mark for all I care.”
A small laugh slips out of her, but it fades almost as quickly as it comes.
“Hey,” I whisper, my voice slipping into a smoother tone. “What do you want to do?”
She hesitates, then sighs. “I just want to freshen up. And maybe get out of these clothes.” Her volume drops. “But I don’t have anything to change into.”
I shrug. “Then borrow something of mine.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not one bit,” I say with a grin. “In fact, if being in my clothes makes you comfortable, you can steal the lot.”
Her skin flushes with that delicious, maddening color I long to see appear with a single touch of my tongue spreading across her collarbone.
“Come on,” I say, offering my hand to pull her up. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
I lead her up the stairs and she follows behind slowly.
“I love this one,” Erin calls out. When I turn around, she’s staring at a picture on the wall of Rudy and me, sitting in shopping carts eating ice cream. We were drunk, but I remember every bit of that night.
“Let me show you my favorite.”
Erin follows me into my bedroom where the en suite is.
“Take a look,” I say, gesturing to my bedside table.
Her breath hitches. “This is me,” she says, her voice laced with surprise.
“That’s exactly why it’s my favorite, sweetheart,” I reply as I stare at the frame in her hands.
She’s in black jeans and a Tornadoes hoodie, that green beanie I adore on her head.
A joyous expression coats her face as she watches the game.
I remember thinking how badly I wanted to make her mine when I first saw the photograph.
“You’ve had this since the start of the season?”
“It was the first game you watched. The photographer always sends us photos he takes. Usually, they’re just players, but sometimes there’s a few of the fans. Valerie found this gem among them when she was looking for shots for a post.”
“You have a picture of me in your room,” she says, like it’s not real even though she’s looking right at it.
I chuckle and kiss the back of her head. “There are fresh towels in the bathroom, and you can take anything you want from the drawers. Take your time and meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”
Twenty minutes go by before she walks into the living room wearing my joggers and a Tornadoes T-shirt.
The image of her in my clothes takes me back to her birthday and what she said about my jersey.
When I got home, I Googled the words she’d mentioned, and I found a quote from a small-town romance book about a cowboy and his agent’s daughter.
You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.
I smirked so hard my cheeks started to hurt. The thought of texting her in that moment crossed my mind.
Wearing my jersey is exactly like the cowboy rule, which means I’m not letting you wear anyone else’s clothes.
But there’s more to it than a great quote. Seeing Erin out there, cheering for me and wearing my name and number…
It means everything.
“You’re staring,” she says.
My eyes flick up from her attire to find a gorgeous shade of red breaking out across her skin, lighting up the hollow of her throat in the same way a tide creeps up a shoreline.
“Just grateful to be here with you,” I say without hesitation. “After today, I won’t get to see you again for three whole days. I’m taking my fill, and you look stunning in my clothes.”
“So,” she says, fighting a smile, “what are we doing?”
I gesture for her to follow me into the kitchen and let her take in what I set up while she was in the shower.
Paint pallets, brushes, easels, and canvases wait for us.
“And what are we painting?” she asks, taking her seat at the table.
“Whatever we want. The rules are as follows: we have an hour, and we have to switch canvases every five minutes,” I tell her as I set my phone in the middle of the table.
“I hope you’re prepared to be dazzled, Bookworm.
I’m quite the Picasso,” I say, picking up my brush.
“But nowhere near as great as Oliver. He paints Roman’s room every year. ”
Erin lifts her brush and taps it against mine. I hit the countdown on my phone, and we both go for our first colors.
“So, you know what my first date looks like. Do you remember your first date?”
“I didn’t do a lot of dating,” I say sheepishly.
No one wants to have the ‘so, what’s your number?’ talk with someone you’re really serious about, especially when that girl is Erin. Thankfully, the subtle smile tugging at the corner of her lips lets me know she gets it, and there’s no judgment.
“But there was one date I went on during my second season. It was actually a double date with Jack. They were twins.”
“Damn,” she says.
“That date I remember.”
“Because you got lucky and hit the jackpot.” She wags her brows, and it makes me chuckle.
She’s adorable.
“No, but Jack did. They both went home with him.”
Her jaw drops, and I laugh again at her reaction.
The hour goes by quickly, and it’s the best date I’ve ever been on. When the timer goes off, letting us know our hour is up, I get up from my side of the table and move to sit next to my date.
“You weren’t kidding about the Picasso part. This is really good,” she says as she stares at the drawing of a girl sitting on a stool alone.
I wonder if she knows the girl on the canvas is her from the night we met at Hendrick’s Bar but if she does, she doesn’t say anything.
“Yours isn’t so bad yourself,” I say, staring at the starry night sky with a birthday cake on the jetty.
“Now, when I think back to one of the most horrific nights of my life, this is what I picture instead of him,” she murmurs, referring to the memory on the canvas in front of her. She turns to me. “Because of you. Because of everything you did for me that day.”
I lean forward to kiss her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut. Tucking her hair behind her ear, I lean into the shell of it. “I’ll help you rewrite any bad memory you have, sweetheart, for as long as you’ll let me,” I whisper.
“Making memories with you sounds really good, Eighty-Seven.”
“Let’s add Ho Ho Hockeymas to the list,” I say.
“Ho Ho Hockeymas?” She giggles. “Who came up with that one?”
“Oliver.”
“He really likes naming things,” she says.
“My Christmas wish is to have you in my arms, with your head in a book, while wearing a ridiculous oversized sweater that Rudy picked out,” I say as she waits for me to continue.
“Austin’s complaining about losing Monopoly because Brax is sliding a hundred dollars to Roman every fifteen minutes when he thinks no one’s looking. ”
She laughs at that, and I carry on.
“Oliver is sulking in the corner, stuffing his face with tiramisu, refusing to play anymore games since he’s already lost three rounds of rummy to Hayes, as if he has some sort of secret strategy.”
She snorts because everyone knows there’s no such thing, except Oliver.
“In the background, Elf is playing. It’s Rudy’s favorite holiday movie. He turns into a little kid when it gets picked out of the hat year after year. What he doesn’t know is that we all write Elf so he wins.”
Her eyes turn glassy at that, and I love just how much she appreciates our love for her brother.
“And for the first time ever, the votes crowning Hayes the champion of gift giving will be wrong because I’ll have you, and there’s nothing that will ever top that.”
She threads her fingers with mine.
“You with me—that’s what I want. I know there’s a chance that Bella and Brodie might be in California for the holidays but don’t go there. Spend the holidays with me, sweetheart. Be a part of my family.”
“You sure make it hard for a girl to say no. I’d love to spend Ho Ho Hockeymas with you Chase. There’s no place I’d rather be.”
My eyes flick to the clock above the sink. “It’s almost your curfew.” My hand stretches out to push some of her damp hair behind her ear. “I should get you home before your brother starts blowing up my phone, asking for evidence that you’re home safe and sound.”
She stands from her seat and moves for the door, leaving her painting to dry on the easel on my dining room table.
We head outside, and I fire Byrdie up. When Erin climbs inside, I take the drive slowly again, wanting to spend as much time as I can with the girl I’ve fallen madly in love with.
“11:26 p.m.,” she states when we get to her front door. “The Silvers would have really liked you. Punctuality was their thing.” She laughs, turning to face me, that cheerful sound dying down as she says, “I, um… Will you come with me sometime to say hi to them? Only if you want to.”
“I’d love to meet your parents, baby.”
Her lips lift just a fraction, but her gaze drops. I know that look. She’s holding back a thought. Her posture is hunched slightly, and she blinks fast, as if trying to reset herself.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“What do you mean?” she asks, her brows pinching.
“I see you, Bookworm. I’ve memorized every one of your smiles and that’s not a real one.”
I intertwine my fingers with hers. Erin stares down at our hands, and I brush my thumb over her pulse point, making her shiver.
“Talk to me.”
“I just… I had the best day,” she explains, but her words tremble, the quiet shakiness in her voice betraying how hard she’s trying to hold it together as she gives her words to me.
“I did too, baby.”
“I really don’t want you to go but you need to. I didn’t want to tell you that because I don’t want you to think I’m teasing you. But I just really want you to know that I don’t want you to go.”
Her confessions are sweet melodies to my ears, and her words of affection and affirmation are sounds I never want to stop hearing.
I lift her hand to my lips and press a kiss to her knuckles. Her eyes fall to my lips, and then she gives me that look she gave me when she confessed she’d never been kissed.
Needy desire and desperation light her eyes.
It’s a look I’ve been dying to see again.
I disconnect our hands and circle my arm around her waist, tugging her into me. She clings to me with ease
“I told you what would happen the next time you looked at me like that.”
She doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t even breathe.
Just gives me a single nod letting me know she remembers.
With my free hand, I slide my fingers under her chin and grip it gently.
“Baby, if you don’t tell me to stop, I’m gonna kiss you.”
She says nothing.
“Fuck it.”
I close the distance between us and kiss her, brushing my mouth over hers.
She tastes of honey.
So fucking sweet.
Her lips tremble under the pressure. I realize she might be scared. It’s her first kiss, and she doesn’t know what to do, but my brave girl keeps her beautiful, sweet lips pressed to mine. After a few beats, they begin to move perfectly in time with mine.
She melts into every pull and twist, as if she’s been starving for this moment just as long as I have. I don’t want to stop, but my dick is painfully hard and that tells me I need to.
Reluctantly, I pull back.
Her eyes flutter open, and her whiskey eyes stare into mine as two teardrops roll down her cheek.
I should step back. Let her go. Give her space to process.
But I don’t. I can’t. I keep her close to me, unable to read her expression. I can’t tell what’s going on in her head, but there’s a storm brewing behind those beautiful eyes of hers. I sense it. They’re distant, her breath shallow.
And when she blinks, the chaos is clear as day.
She’s spiraling.
I cup her cheeks in my hands.
“Erin,” I whisper.
Her breath hitches as if I’ve broken the spell she’s been under.
“Listen to me, baby. I get it. You’re freaking out.
Your thoughts are probably going a hundred miles an hour.
So I’m gonna give you some space, okay? Go inside.
Get into bed. Whatever you’re feeling, let it in.
This next part is yours to figure out. And when you’re ready to come to me, I’ll be here.
” I brush my thumbs over her skin just beneath her eyes.
I tilt her head toward me and kiss her forehead.
“Goodnight, Erin. Thank you for being my date today.”
I pull away, my fists clenching. I want to wrap her up in my arms and hold her until morning. But this next phase isn’t about me. It’s about her. She needs space. Time to breathe and understand whatever’s going on in her head. And I’ll always give her what she needs.
“I’ll see you soon, baby.”