22. Date With Dragons
Chapter Twenty-Two
Date With Dragons
MILES
I checked my breath for the hundredth time as I waited outside of Dyl’s home. It was minty fresh, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I pulled out a tin of breath mints from the center console of my car and popped one in my mouth.
Dylan was stuck in my head as if he’d spray-painted his name across the inside of my skull.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him. My attraction toward him had started as a very strong simmer that now boiled over and consumed my entire existence.
It was difficult to deny what he said about fate being involved.
I didn’t feel like this with any of the few lovers in the past. I had been in two serious relationships and broke up with both guys after a year together, either not feeling the chemistry or not trusting the person I was with.
None of that happened with Dylan. Yes, we were in early stages compared to those relationships, but even then, I couldn’t deny there was a difference.
With my last boyfriend, I remember missing my alone time about a month in, immediately after he had moved his toothbrush and clothes into my apartment in Philly.
Now, though? Now I wanted to run with Dyl to the closest apartment complex and sign a long-term lease right there and then. Waking up with him in my hotel room had rewired my brain.
The more I thought about him, the less heavy the consequences of telling the coach and GM felt.
Could I really lose my job? And would it be worth it?
Upon first meeting him I may have answered no, but now after getting to know my bumblebee-fearing wolf shifter with his beautiful smile and his perfect dick—my answer heavily leaned toward hell yeah.
I could figure something else out. I’d find work in an adjacent field, hell maybe even go back to school.
I was getting ahead of myself, though. It’d been something I would do even as a kid.
I’d think of the worst-case scenario and worry myself sick over when and how it would happen.
The thing was… most times, it never happened.
That never helped me learn to regulate my negative thoughts.
It was equally as likely, sometimes more so, that the positive outcome would happen before anything negative occurred.
So I had to focus on that, and to manifest the positive even when the world trained us to focus on the negative.
Dylan walked out of his house, showing me just how powerful manifestation really was.
I’d been dreaming of a guy like him. And here he was.
Strolling over wearing the perfect pair of blue jeans and a cute navy blue polo with a white stripe around the collar and sleeves.
It reminded me of the white stripe that crossed over his eyebrow and continued down the side of his buzzed hair.
I was so taken by him that I hadn’t even realized he was holding something in his hands until he got into the car and was handing it over to me.
“This is for you,” he said, smiling wide.
It was a pot of two beautiful deep red snapdragon plants.
Some buds were set to bloom while a couple others toward the top of the stem were already open with their dragon jaws closed tight.
I was equally surprised and speechless. Across the dark blue pot, he had used a brush and some white paint to write a small note.
“You make me believe in dragons.” I read it out loud, shaking my head, my heart full to the brim with an emotion I hardly ever experienced. “Thank you. I love it. Thank you.”
“I was hoping you’d like it. I considered painting a dragon but also didn’t want to test my luck. It was impressive enough I wrote that out without it looking like something from the Zodiac killer.”
That made me give a deep belly laugh. Dyl had that effortless way of saying anything and making it sound like the funniest damn joke you’d ever heard in your life.
“Here, I’ll hold it while you drive.”
I handed the pot back to him before I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. He must not have been content with that because he leaned in for another proper kiss on the lips. I couldn’t resist reaching up and grabbing the back of his neck, the kiss instantly heating up.
“You know that’s my spot,” he said when we finally broke apart.
“I do, I do.” I gave him a wink and reversed out of his driveway.
His neighborhood was quiet. Full of brick-faced townhomes with cute porches and a couple of white picket fences, the streets full of tall oak trees that seemed older than the homes they framed.
We were deep into fall so the leaves were orange and red, covering the floor in a carpet of natural colors.
“So where we going?” Dylan asked.
“It’s a surprise,” I said. It didn’t take long for him to figure it out, as I took the same route he’d likely taken to get to my house. I pulled into my driveway, a hand on his thigh. “With everything going on, I didn’t want to go somewhere too public. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he said. The unspoken words between us were loud.
I was still worried about this stalker and their morbid fixation on Dylan. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep him out of it completely—he was far too entrenched in my life and hard-headed for that—but I wanted to protect him as best I could.
And that meant a private home-cooked meal in the yard that I had decorated and made nice just for the special occasion.
I walked him through the side gate and under a trail of crisscrossing fairy lights, toward a small circular table in the center of the yard that was draped in a classy white tablecloth.
Rose petals were spread at our feet, making a trail to the table, where I had also added a handful of them around the chilled container of champagne.
“This is beautiful,” Dyl said with awe in his tone.
“Even more so, now,” I said as I moved the bucket of champagne over to replace it with the snapdragons that he’d brought me.
I could barely take my eyes off him. He was so handsome in the glow of the fairy lights.
Night had already fallen, and although the moon wasn’t full—that would be happening in just two days—it was bright enough to add a soft and delicate filter to the scene.
I pulled his chair out for him. He moved to sit, a whiff of his oaky cologne filling my lungs. I pushed the chair in and couldn’t resist giving him a shoulder squeeze. He rolled his neck and groaned. “I’m going to need a full massage later.”
“You got it.” I leaned down and kissed his neck. I then went inside and grabbed the first course for tonight’s meal. “But first, you’ve got a fresh cucumber, strawberry, and arugula salad.”
His eyes went wide as I placed his plate down in front of him. “This looks amazing.”
“I hope it tastes amazing, too.”
I sat across from him. He didn’t waste a second, taking a bite of the salad and shaking his head in that universal this shit is good kind of way. “Wow,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on by a salad before.”
I laughed at that and leaned back in my chair. I grabbed the champagne and popped it open. It fizzed over and spilled into the grass. I filled his glass to the top, doing the same with mine. I set the champagne back down and lifted my glass.
“Cheers,” I said. “To many more of these nights.”
His eyes glittered. “Many more.” Our glasses clinked. The champagne tasted crisp and sweet, pairing perfectly with the salad.
“So you’re a gardener, a chef, and an athletic trainer. A triple threat.”
“Wait until you find out that I can sing.”
His jaw dropped. “Show me. Right now.”
I cleared my throat dramatically, tapping a finger against my throat. And then, in my best operatic voice, which sounded more like a yowling cat than a trained singer, I started to belt “Happy Birthday.”
Dyl caught on and quickly cut me off. “Okay, I think we’re keeping it at triple for now.”
More laughter. A sense of ease and comfort enveloped me.
I wasn’t exactly known for my playful demeanor, but Dylan brought that out of me.
The stoic, stern-faced Miles that always had to be taking care of someone else or rising to some invisible standard was able to relax around Dyl and his goofy, light-hearted ways.
He swirled his glass of champagne and said, “So what got you into athletic training in the first place?”
It wasn’t a heavy question or a complicated one to answer, but it was a bit of a story. I took a sip and rested an arm over the back of my chair. “I’ve always been interested in medicine. Helping people. Science. But it wasn’t until I was in a bad car accident with my dad that sealed it for me.”
“Shit, what happened?” Dylan asked, leaning in.
“Everything’s fine now, obviously.” I didn’t want him worrying right off the bat.
The story did have a good ending. “It was senior year and he was driving me to get my cap and gown. Some guy T-boned us. My shifter genes meant that the break in my femur healed by the time the paramedics got to the scene, but my dad is human so he was in way worse condition. Broken ribs, shattered his forearm, had a minor concussion. He was in bad shape, but the doctors and nurses who took care of him were all so incredible—they left a mark on me. That continued when my dad started physical therapy. His therapist was this older lady, big Coke-bottle glasses and always smelled like roses, and she was the key in getting my dad to feel like himself again. She helped him immensely, and I realized that she showed me exactly what I wanted to be.”
“That’s amazing.”
“She was amazing, and my dad thought so too. She was invited to every Christmas party for years after.”
“When did you decide to work with hockey players?”
“In college.” I scratched the back of my neck, suddenly feeling slightly bashful.
“I dated a hockey player. He got me into the game. I loved it, and I loved hanging out with the guys. It felt like—well, it felt like a pack before I ever met any other shifters. We clearly didn’t last, but my love of hockey did. ”
“And cheers to that,” he said with a laugh, raising his glass.
We clicked our glasses together again, drank, then chuckled.
The topic of conversation made me think of something else I’d been wanting to bring up to Dyl.
Something I’d been thinking about a lot since I had initially brought it up.
“Speaking of the team… I’m going to be talking to Coach about us.
I don’t want you to feel like you’re a secret. ”
Dylan’s eyebrows rose and his lip twitched into a smile, but he managed to contain most of his pleasant surprise. “Seriously?”
I knew that answering him made things official. I knew that telling Coach would mean there was no coming back. I knew that things could possibly change for better or for worse.
But, most of all, I knew the answer to Dylan’s question.
“Yes, I’m as serious as a dead hangnail.” I winked at him, using a phrase I’d heard him say before. “Or whatever the saying is.”