Chapter 11 #2
Shifting my arm to get in a better position, I combed my fingers through his light brown strands, enjoying the softness and how they slipped easily through my digits.
His hair was so different to mine. Where mine was thick and had tight, coarse curls—a real balance between my pop’s thick, tightly cropped waves and my mom’s softer coils—his was a little longer on top, a style he wore messy when not in uniform and slicked neatly when on the job.
“Not yet. The sun’s not long been up.” I didn’t want to move to check the actual time. “Mom and Pop won’t be bringing Mikey home till after lunch. They want to take him to the park first.”
“And that’s why my in-laws are the best ever.”
I snorted out a laugh, a little surprised at how casually he’d said “in-laws.” And hella relieved too. This relationship status was on paper only—apart from a few teasing word changes. Neither of us wanted it to change things between us.
With the exception of…
“You’ve got three more days before your next shift, right?” Dylan worked a four-day-shift roster usually, but he’d managed to swing a couple of extra days from accrued overtime.
“Yeah. Cap said I could have more for a honeymoon period, but I’d prefer to leave it for another time.”
“Makes sense,” I agreed. In fact, perhaps the three of us could head to the coast for a beach break or something soon. I wanted to make the most of the offseason. “I thought tomorrow we could go to my place, and we could pack some shit up to move here.”
When Dylan stopped breathing, I frowned, trying to angle so I could see his face. His breathing restarted when I moved, and by the time his head was on the pillow rather than on my arm, whatever I’d expected to see on his face wasn’t there.
With a quirked brow, this was very much my amused best friend peering back at me. “There something you need to tell me?”
“Thought it made sense for me to spend the offseason here, which means I’m going to need my stuff.”
His brow furrowed. “Well, you usually spend two or three weeks….” He trailed off, and while there was no question in his words, it was evident on his face.
“But we’re married now, yeah, so it makes sense I move here for now, and maybe we look at buying a new place somewhere between the arena and here. That way we can both do a bit of a commute to work.”
It made sense. On a good run, the trip between the city and town took an hour. If we bought a place in Cannon Falls, or somewhere similar, it would mean just twenty minutes for Dylan. I could handle a longer commute. Plus, on late game nights, I could always stay at my condo near the arena.
Though, an hour’s drive was not a hardship.
I rambled on, sharing my thoughts, only to stop short at Dylan’s expression.
Huffing out a breath, I shook my head. “This isn’t me railroading you.”
It was a phrase I found myself saying a lot. In my defense, I had the best ideas.
“It isn’t, huh?” Amused disbelief stared back at me.
Dipping my voice low and into a question, I scrunched my nose, saying, “No…?”
That quirked brow of his, which was pretty spectacular since half his face was pressed to his pillow, called bullshit.
Thinking over my words, I settled on “Me saying it makes sense means ‘what do you think?’” I tagged on a shit-eating grin.
“I think this is too much talk when I haven’t had coffee.”
“True. I knew we should have stayed in a hotel. Room service would be fucking awesome right about now.”
“Hey, I’m still down for breakfast in bed if you want to go put the coffee on and make one of your kick-ass breakfast omelets.”
“Fuck. I walked into that.”
“You know you make the best omelets.”
The asshole knew how to push my ego buttons. “Fine. But if I’m cooking breakfast, you make coffee,” I challenged.
“Deal.” Dylan lifted up on his elbows. The sheet pooled around his waist, revealing his broad chest. There was no stopping my gaze from dipping down as I took in the scattering of light brown hair covering his pecs, leading all the way down to his happy trail.
It was everything I’d seen a million times. And even once up close and super personal. The twitch of my softening morning wood, though, was awkward as hell.
“Right, uhm, yeah.” My gaze snapped to his. Seeing his bemused expression had me relaxing. “Omelet it is.” I reached out, pinched his nipple—as hello, it was just there, practically winking at me.
“Ouch, fucker.”
I jumped out of bed, the pillow missing me as Dylan swung it at my head. I barked out a laugh, happy for the break in my weirdness. “Ass up, husband.”
I grinned all the way to the bathroom, ignoring the double entendre and the visuals, and instead delighted in Dylan’s grumble and his “The fuck have we gone and done?” The smirk on his lips and the shake of his head as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants made it clear—he wasn’t that cut up about saying “I do.”
Neither was I.
My only concern was getting out of my head and the strange compulsion I had to see Dylan as something different than my best friend. Something more. That road would only lead to frustration and upset.
His and Mikey’s happiness meant everything to me. Not a chance I’d mess with the dynamics of that.