CHAPTER 9 ALEXIS
Eight days.
We have eight more days like this.
After the kind of night that lives purely in fantasies, we wake in each other’s arms in the morning well after ten.
I don’t get very many opportunities to sleep in. Being on tour means late nights and early mornings. It means restless nights in different hotels even though I have a custom tour bus. And filming also means late nights and early mornings.
But sleeping here in Danny’s arms without having anywhere to be in the morning is a new experience, and it’s one I want to relive over and over again.
Forever, if that’s at all possible.
I don’t move even when I wake. The curtains on the windows are closed, and part of me wants to get up and see the view in the morning, but the other part of me wants to spend forever right here.
I hear a soft sigh behind me.
“You’re awake,” he says quietly.
I twist in his arms to face him, and he’s so handsome in the dim light coming in through the sides of the curtains. “I am. And so are you.”
“I am.”
“You been awake long?” I ask.
“A half hour maybe. I didn’t want to wake you. You were so peaceful. Maybe even snoring a little.”
I giggle. “I do not snore.”
“Have you ever heard yourself sleeping?”
“Don’t give me a complex,” I mutter, and he chuckles.
“Fine. You don’t snore.”
“Told you.”
“Bacon?” he asks.
“If we have to get up.”
“We don’t have to, but I’m hungry, and that bacon is calling my name. And the long johns.”
“Bacon, long johns, and coffee on the roof?” I suggest.
He raises his brows. “Coffee?”
“I feel like I need extra fuel after the night we had,” I admit.
“Then coffee, bacon, and donuts coming right up for my lady.”
I just hope I still fit into the Christmas Eve dress that was selected for me months ago when I get back to LA.
We force ourselves to start our day, and twenty short minutes later, we’re sitting on the rooftop deck at a little bistro table with two chairs, enjoying our breakfast. It’s a beautiful, if somewhat chilly, day here in northern California, the high only sixty-seven, but Danny was sweet enough to bring a blanket up for me to wrap around my shoulders.
Meanwhile, he’s in shorts and a t-shirt.
He’s not wrong. Everything about today is pretty damn perfect.
Just as I shove a huge bite of donut into my mouth, he asks, “Should we do something today? Maybe…I don’t know. Take a walk on the beach or something?”
“Sure, I’d love to. I’ve actually always wanted to visit Carmel-by-the-sea Village,” I say. “I’ve heard lovely things about the galleries and shops there, and maybe we can grab lunch.”
He raises his brows. “Look at you getting all adventurous on me.”
I laugh and lift a shoulder. “Last night gave me the confidence that we can do this. Are we risking it? Absolutely. But Maci Dane showed up to divert attention. I’ve heard this is a popular celebrity hangout, so I’m not even sure it would matter if we were recognized. And wasn’t Clint Eastwood the mayor?”
“Where was this can-do attitude last night?”
“I needed you to fuck it out of me, I guess.”
He laughs. “Plenty of more fucking available to help adjust your attitude any time it's needed.”
“Thanks for that,” I say, and I offer him a wink. “Actually, my attitude is starting to go south. Maybe after bacon you can fix that up for me?”
“Happy to oblige, ma’am.” He nods cordially at me, and I sigh with contentment.
Bacon, the beach, and Brewer. Life doesn’t get much better than this.
True to his word, he bends me over the bed and fucks me until I see stars after breakfast, and then we get dressed and put on our disguises.
He still hasn’t shaved, and I’m actually loving the bearded look.
He always sports a bit of a beard, but this is bushier than normal and it was hot as hell between my legs last night.
I think I even got a tiny bit of rugburn—a wound I wear proudly.
We each put on our hats, and I cover up in my baggy Mickey sweatshirt and jeans.
We head out toward the shops, and with sunglasses, hats, and baggy clothes, nobody even gives us a second glance.
In fact, we’re so ignored it’s almost a little insulting—not because I’m so used to the attention, but because I’m still a paying customer, but some of the gallery attendants look at us like we don’t have a dime to spare on their precious artwork.
If they only knew the truth.
I own a private jet.
He’s got one of the largest contracts a first baseman has ever had.
I think we’re doing okay for ourselves.
We wander through art galleries and jewelry shops.
We stop for lunch at a cute little bistro with a view.
We don’t buy anything other than lunch, and there’s nothing big planned for the day.
We’re literally just walking down the street in the sunshine hand-in-hand like every other couple walking down the street here, and it’s so… normal. And it feels so, so right.
We get to just be us, and it makes me realize how much private jets and baseball contracts and money are meaningless. What matters is love. Us. Being together. Falling more and more in love—madly. Deeply.
Finding the one person you can’t see your life without.
And when I look into the future, I see Danny.
I see a baby with his blue eyes and my dark hair…maybe two or three of them.
I see a home that we share.
I see mornings like the one we shared today, and afternoons like this, where we’re clutching hands as we wander down the street.
I just hope I’m actually seeing the future, and it isn’t some faraway dream.
Because right now, it truly does feel like I’m living in a dream, and the way I’m feeling right now, I know we have no choice but to figure out how to make this last forever.