CHAPTER NINETEEN FALLON #2
“I even recruited Sully before he went off to hang out with Tank. I needed him to hold the walls up for me while I nailed them together. He was grouchy about my lack of sanding, but I didn’t have time to make it perfect. I can later.”
“No.” I place my hand on his forearm. “I want you to keep it as is. It’s perfect.”
“Yeah?”
I look up at him. “Yeah. Thank you, Sawyer. This is... this is magical.”
“I’m glad you like it. I’m really hoping we’ll be able to get a good look at the stars when it gets dark. I specifically chose this spot for that reason—it’s private and wooded, but the trees won’t overhang and block the view.”
“You know, I didn’t think you were this romantic,” I say as he guides me to the quaint hut.
“I don’t blame you. Your impression of me on a date is my head buried in my phone.
But you need to remember that I write romantic screenplays for a living, and I believe in them.
I’m not some martyr who doesn’t believe in love, who just writes it to make money.
Every story, every thought, every date idea—I create them all because I believe in them. ”
“Well, seems like I might be in for a whirlwind of a romance.”
He smiles broadly. “This is just the start of it, Fallon. You might need to brace yourself—because it will only get better.”
And I truly believe him.
“I never expected the Pine Pantry to have such nice cheeses,” I say as I lean back against one of the plush pillows in the hut. “But wow, when you pair them with the wine and the grapes—I’m addicted.”
“I was surprised too. I was prepared to ask your dads to grab something good for me as well, but when I found the brie, I thought, why not give it a shot. Glad I did.”
Sawyer pops another grape in his mouth and joins me, leaning against the pillows.
But instead of holding my hand, like he has almost the entire night, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his chest so I’m using him as a cushion now.
His hand draws light strokes along my arm.
It’s a straightforward touch, but it’s lighting me up, putting me further and further in the mood to straddle this man.
I hate to admit it, but thank God Jaz made me change my bra.
The sun is starting to set in front of us as light instrumentals play from a Bluetooth speaker Sawyer hooked up in the hut.
He seriously thought of everything, from the cushions to the lights, to a small solar panel dish that’s providing the electricity.
How he did all of this in one day, I have no idea, but I’m very grateful he did. More than he’ll ever know.
“How did you become so romantic?” I ask. “Did you spend hours upon hours watching romantic comedies until they were ingrained in your head?”
He chuckles. “I mean... my mom had two boys, and romance is her favorite genre. She drilled it into us that space sagas weren’t the only movies available.”
“Space sagas? Is that where the martian love came from?”
“Afraid so. I thought I would be the next George Lucas. When that clearly didn’t happen, I thought I’d stick to what I knew best, and that was romance.
But it wasn’t just from watching movies with my mom—my dad is the biggest romantic you will ever meet.
He set an example, a precedent for how men should treat their partners.
My dad took my mom out on a date every Friday night, even if it was just to a place around the property, and he made an effort every week to remind her how much he loved her.
He would also school me and Roarick on how to be romantic as we got older and started dating, and it just kind of.
.. stuck. To me this isn’t a grand gesture.
” He motions to the hut. “This is what should be expected.”
This should be expected? This production?
I can’t imagine being in a relationship where this is expected. It’s so... swoony.
“Well then, I’m incredibly lucky that you chose to take me out, then.”
“I’m the lucky one,” he whispers as he presses a kiss to my head. “Grateful I get a second chance, and that you don’t hate me for being a jerk on our first date. Hell, if my dad knew about that, he would have me hanging by the balls.”
I laugh. “So, when I meet them, you don’t want me to mention that.”
“Not unless you care about my manhood.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want anything happening to that. Precious equipment should always be guarded.”
“Agreed, which is why you’re no longer allowed to give me massages.”
I snort. “I knew you were turned on last night—I could feel you squirming.”
He pulls away slightly so he can look me in the eyes. “And yet you still kept going with those hands of yours.”
“Because I found it fascinating. Plus, I really wanted to help your back.”
“You found my painful hard-on fascinating?”
I cover my mouth as I chuckle. “I’m sorry, but... yes. It’s hard not to. I mean, just with an amateur massage, I was able to get you up—imagine what would happen if I was naked.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down with a deep swallow.
His jaw grows tight as he clenches his teeth together.
And his grip around me tightens even more.
I know that look.
I know that feel of him needing to be closer.
Totally unmistakable.
He’s turned on again.
I shouldn’t feel this kind of pride for being able to do that to him, but I do.
“If you were naked... yeah, that would end this date immediately.”
I drag my finger up his chest. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
“Yes,” he answers. “And before you get any ideas, that won’t be happening tonight.”
“What?” I ask, pulling away from him.
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Were you looking forward to getting naked?”
“Well, sort of,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I mean, Jaz made me change my bra and everything, so it was sexier.”
He straightens up from his relaxed position and faces me before reaching out to my shoulder and threading my tank top strap to the side.
He runs his fingers under the strap of my bra, and my breath catches in my throat from the brush of the back of his fingers over my skin.
My mind dances with fantasies of him pushing the strap down my arm, exposing my bra, and flipping the cup over before bringing my breast to his mouth.
He’d suck desperately on my nipple, and I’d thread my fingers through his soft hair.
“I never would have thought of you as a black bra kind of girl,” he says before adjusting the strap of my tank top.
“What, uh, what did you expect?” My voice comes out breathless as I snap out of my fantasy. It’s slightly embarrassing. He touched the strap of your bra, Fallon. It’s not like he stuck his hand down your pants. Get it together.
“A one-piece suit of armor.”
My eyes widen as he chuckles. I push at his chest, which only makes him laugh more. “Wow, good job killing the mood.”
“I had to. You had lustful eyes. Nothing is happening tonight, so get that out of your head.”
“Pfft, as if I wanted anything to happen tonight.” I fold my arms across my chest, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment. “I don’t even want you being near me. Yuck. Gross. Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Was that supposed to be convincing?”
“I’m not here to convince anyone of anything. I’m just living my life.”
“Is that so?”
“Yup,” I answer, popping the p with a sharp snap of my lips.
“Okay.” He scoots away and lounges back against the pillows, placing his hands behind his head so his shirt rises just enough so I catch a peek at his skin. Tan, taught skin.
My mouth waters.
My eyes travel up his torso, to his arms. His biceps are flexed, pulling against the sleeve of his shirt, showing off his strength.
Strength that I’m all too familiar with.
And then there’s his face, his square jaw with just the lightest dusting of five-o’clock shadow caressing his skin.
The adorable crook in his nose, and his devastating blue eyes that almost seem violet beneath the golden lights.
“Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to come lie here with me?” he asks.
A disgruntled sound falls out of me as I realize there is no way I’m going to be able to stay away from this man. Reluctantly—but also because I really want to—I curl into his side and rest my head against his chest. His arm falls to my waist, and he pulls me even closer.
“You’re annoying me,” I declare, though I can’t fight the smile tugging at my lips.
“Already? Man, this relationship is moving along a lot faster than I expected. I feel scandalized.” I poke him in the side, and he laughs as he turns toward me and places a kiss on my forehead.
“When you were ten, what did you want to be when you grew up?” Sawyer asks as he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger, an act of affection I’m becoming quite addicted to.
We each ate two cookies from the basket my dads gave Sawyer. They were brownie marshmallow with chocolate chips, and they were too good to only eat one. We both agreed—one is too little, three is too much, but two... two is just perfect.
We turned the twinkle lights off so we could stare up at the stars, the moon being the only bright orb in the vicinity.
And of course, because I can’t seem to keep my distance, I’m curled into the comfort of his arms.
“When I was ten? Hmm, I think I was still stuck in my rock phase, which means I still wanted to own my own rock store.”
“A rock store?” he asks, surprise lacing his words.
“Oh yeah. I’d come up here to visit Sully and Grandma Joan, and I’d go on hikes and find these amazing rocks—well, I thought they were amazing. When I got home, I’d pull out my rock tumbler that Sully got me and tumble my rocks until they were polished, smooth, and beautiful. My dads hated it.”
“Why?”
“Well, they didn’t hate that I liked rocks. They thought it was kind of funny, actually, that the daughter they assumed would be their very own Elizabeth Taylor—I dressed up as her, by their choice, three Halloweens in a row—loved playing in the dirt and treating her rocks as her friends.”