Chapter 9 Mine
Mine
Dylan
She said I love you .
Right there in his favorite place in the world. The stadium he loved more than his own home. In front of the crowd. In front of half the damn country.
Alison Presley, the girl he had been low-key in love with since the day he was in 10th grade when she threw her leopard-print backpack in his Jeep, had just told him she loved him.
Then she kissed him again, whispered “I’ll meet you at your dorm,” like it was the most natural thing in the world, and slipped away into the crowd with her hood up and her cheeks flushed.
He was still standing there with his helmet in one hand and a stupid grin on his face when Coach wrapped an arm around his shoulders and dragged him toward the tunnel.
The locker room was chaos.
Teammates yelling, spraying water bottles, slapping shoulder pads.
Cameras from the local news station were everywhere.
Dylan said all the right things— thanked his offensive line, gave credit to the team, said they “trusted the process.” But inside?
He was already gone. Already rewinding that kiss in his mind. Already hearing her voice again.
I love you.
Shower. Change. High-fives and hugs. The kind of post-game euphoria athletes live for.
And yet, as he walked toward the stadium parking lot under the sharp glow of floodlights, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Dylan only had one thing on his mind: get home to her.
Then he saw Daisy.
Leaning against his Wrangler like she’d been waiting for hours. Hair curled. Lashes long. Wearing a slinky maroon dress he knew she picked just to stand out in the post-game crowd. She was scrolling on her phone like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“Don’t even say it,” Dylan muttered as he walked up.
Daisy slipped her phone into her tiny designer bag. “Don’t say what? That you’re about to ruin your night by skipping the best party of the year for a girl who probably left twenty minutes ago?”
He didn’t rise to it. Just yanked open his backdoor and tossed his gear inside.
Daisy crossed her arms. “You know she won’t go. She never goes. She can’t handle it. And I know you’re playing house right now, but you’re going to miss your entire senior year if you keep letting her drag you into her little emotional cave.”
He slammed the door to the backseat shut. “You done?”
“Dylan, come on. Just show up for thirty minutes. Make an appearance. I saved you a drink and everything.” She softened her voice, shifting into that sweet little sister tone she used when she was about to push just a little too far.
“You know people are going to start talking. You’re the captain, the QB—”
“I’m also a grown man,” he said, jaw tight. “And the girl waiting in my dorm loves me. That’s where I’m going.”
Daisy’s face flickered. “God, she’s got you hooked.”
He didn’t reply. Didn’t have to.
Because he was already getting into the driver’s seat.
Already turning the key.
Already done listening.
He parked behind his dorm and took the stairs two at a time. His heart was pounding harder than it had during the final drive of the game. It was stupid. He knew she’d be there— she said she would—but still. The second he unlocked the door to his suite and saw her purse on the hook, he exhaled.
She was here.
And then— there she was.
When Dylan opened the door to his bedroom, he found her sitting on his bed, knees drawn to her chest, his hoodie swallowing her whole.
She looked up at him with wide eyes, her damp hair curling from a shower, her cheeks flushed like she’d been arguing with herself. Or maybe trying not to bolt.
“Hey,” she said, voice too casual to be real. “I figured you’d take forever.”
His heart flipped. “Hey, Ali.”
He dropped his bag and walked toward her, slowly, like if he moved too fast she might vanish. She didn’t. Her gaze tracked him like she couldn’t help it.
When he kissed her, she sighed against his mouth like she’d been holding her breath all week.
They didn’t rush.
They never did.
But this time, the slow burn was too much. He deepened the kiss. Her hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. He helped her pull it off and tossed it to the side.
Ali stared at his chest, cheeks flushing.
“You can touch me,” he said, voice low.
Her fingers brushed over his abs, hesitant at first. He groaned softly, catching her wrists and kissing her knuckles.
When she pulled back and peeled off his hoodie, her body stiffened. She was down to her bralette and comfy shorts— bare skin and soft curves she was clearly trying to hide, arms folding around herself almost instinctively.
“I know I’m not—” she started, but he shook his head.
“Stop.” He stepped in, gently catching her chin so she’d look at him. “You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, Ali Presley. You always have been.”
Her lip trembled.
“I mean it,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “I’ve wanted you since sophomore year in high school. Every curve. Every inch. Every version of you.”
She gave him a small, nervous smile— and then tugged her bralette over her head.
Dylan’s breath caught in his throat.
She stood there— fully exposed, vulnerable and trembling— and it hit him like a tidal wave. Not just how beautiful she was, but what this moment meant.
“I haven’t… um, I mean I’ve never,” she whispered, barely audible, voice trailing off and eyes darting to the side.
He swallowed. “I know.”
Ali’s eyes searched his face. “Is that… okay?”
Dylan leaned forward, kissing the hollow of her throat, down to the swell of her chest. He let his hands trail reverently over her hips, her back, her thighs.
“It’s more than okay,” he said. “You’re trusting me with this. I’m never gonna forget that, Ali. I swear.”
When she nodded, he kissed her again— deep, slow, all tongue and heat and soft sounds.
He guided her to his bed, laying her down gently, making sure her head rested on his pillow.
He took his time—removing the rest of their clothes between kisses, his hands learning every soft dip and curve like he was memorizing a map.
She was shaking beneath him, not in fear— but in anticipation. And when he asked if she was sure, she gave the smallest but most powerful “yes” he’d ever heard.
He moved over her slowly. Worshipfully.
Her fingers clawed at his back when he entered her— carefully, inch by inch. She gasped, and he kissed the corner of her mouth, stilling to let her adjust.
“You okay?” he whispered, forehead against hers.
She nodded, eyes glassy. “You feel… so good.”
Dylan let out a shaky breath and began to move.
They found a rhythm— soft, slow, bodies tangled. He whispered to her the whole time— telling her how good she felt, how perfect she looked like this, how much he loved her.
Ali’s head tipped back. She moaned— quiet, raw, completely lost in the moment.
Her legs wrapped around him. Her hands gripped his shoulders. She moved with him now, less nervous, more sure.
And when she came— trembling, gasping his name— it nearly broke him.
He followed with a groan, his body shuddering against hers, burying his face in her neck as the world went quiet around them.
They didn’t speak right away.
She clung to him like a lifeline, and he wrapped her in his arms, still inside her, breathing her in.
“I love you,” she said again, softer now. “I’ve never loved anyone.”
He kissed her shoulder. Her wrist. Her lips.
“I’m yours,” he said. “All of me.”