CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR DEAN
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
DEAN
For all the talk about Nick signing with Detroit, he’s actually playing in Lansing for their farm team. And as it turns out, halfway between Lansing and my grad school in Chelsea is the middle of fucking nowhere.
“And this,” Nick says, leading me into the basement, “is where I’ll hide your body after I’ve done away with you.”
Rolling my eyes, I flick the light off and dart back up the stairs, holding the door shut behind me before Nick can follow me.
“No!” he whines, scratching at the door like a lost cat. “You weren’t supposed to retaliate!”
Should I be offended? It’s like Nick doesn’t know who I am—of course I’ll take any chance to mess with him.
After a few more seconds of scratching, I yank the door open and catch him as he falls forward, making sure my arms catch on his shirt to lift the fabric over his stomach.
Yup, I’m still making up for the weeks we had to be apart..
“You’re an asshole,” he complains, getting his footing and straightening the brim of his hat.
“You threatened to murder me.” For effect, I give him a gentle shove, which he returns, before we both get a grip and continue the house tour.
The house Nick found for us is almost exactly halfway between his ballpark and my school—rural, sure, but super cheap. It’s a twenty-minute commute for both of us, and a few of Nick’s teammates live down the road.
All in all, it isn’t a bad place. Murder basement aside.
“So, what do you think?” my boyfriend asks me, leaning against the now-closed basement door. He got a little tanner by the end of spring training, which I appreciate like hell—the sun had its chance, and now it’s my turn to kiss his body.
The salty flavor his worked-out skin imparts on my tongue is one I’ll never get tired of. Clean sweat and deodorant floods my senses, and for that moment, nothing else matters. We’re together, on the cusp of living together. All the chaotic buildup was worth it for the certainty we now have.
“Hey,” Nick prompts, and I snap out of admiring him.
“It’s great.” I walk over to him. “I’m excited to live with you.”
He scoffs. “I haven’t even shown you the bedroom yet. Come on.”
“Is that gonna change my opinion?” Maybe it’s fucking tiny, or has floor-to-ceiling windows and no curtain rods.
It’s none of those things. The main bedroom is…normal.
“What’s the catch?” I ask.
“There is none.” Nick teases the front of my basketball shorts. “I just need your blessing before we can christen the place.”
With a loud, exaggerated scoff, I swat his hand away with only a little reluctance. “This isn’t our house yet, you fucker. No christening anything until our names are on the lease.”
Nick Russell is such a little shit, but he’s my little shit, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You still need to approve it, babe.”
Oh my god, he’s impossible.
“Yes! I approve of this unfurnished bedroom! Are you happy?” I shake his shoulders in the hopes it drives the point home, and we both laugh, my humored frustration giving way to affection. “But we need a massive bed. I’m calling that shot.”
“About that…” He trails off, scratching the back of his neck. Predictably, my eyes catch on his flexed bicep, and I force myself back to his sheepish face. “I was thinking we’d do bunk beds.”
“Shut the hell up.” I resist the urge to start wrestling the clownish behavior out of him before I lose my mind.
“I’m serious!” he insists, without a single ounce of sincerity behind his teasing voice. “You sleep like an asshole, and this pro athlete needs his rest!”
“That doesn’t mean we need bunk beds. My god, I’d rather sleep in a straitjacket.”
Nick seems to calm down, wrapping a strong arm around my waist and resting his head on my shoulder. “I’m gonna hold you to that. Or else you’re going straight to the curb.”
Okay, maybe he hasn’t calmed down, and at this point, I doubt he ever will.
And I don’t think I want him to.
“What are we gonna do, find people to replace each other? Fat fucking chance,” I mutter, leaning over and making Nick fumble a few steps to keep his balance.
“Nope.”
The two of us leave our future bedroom, and the house, to go back to Nick’s car.
It’s an obnoxious thing, the black pickup truck he insisted was the cheapest thing on the lot.
I climb into the passenger side of the cab, folding up the armrest so I can have easy access to Nick on the drive back to his temporary apartment, and once he’s finished backing out of the driveway, he flicks the radio on.
And it’s a country music station. All this is enough to make me feel drawn to a country I’m not even from.
But if I’m being honest, Nick’s doing most of the heavy lifting.
“You’re really driving the point home, aren’t you,” I say. “I get it—I’m staying in America for you.”
“Oh yeah. I gotta give you the whole experience,” he replies, turning the volume up. “Admit it—I’m your big, sexy American wet dream.”
I laugh. I’m not gonna deny what’s patently obvious. Tilting my head, I regard my big, sexy American wet dream in tight shorts as he waits at a stoplight, before snatching his baseball hat.
Then I turn it backward, just the way I like.
“There,” I say, all smug as I cross my arms, “now you’re all set to make me cream my pants.”
The groan he lets out gives me confirmation that I’ve won. Satisfied, I rest against the cushioned seat and take in the green trees flying by, my hand on Nick’s leg and Nick’s…everything on my mind.
This time last year, I was regretting my decision to stay at WMU over the summer, homesick as hell and counting down the days until I left the country for good. Now, even though I’ve been in Michigan for all of twelve hours, none of those feelings are there. Not even a little.
I’ve got a smirking, smart-mouthed baseball player by my side, and I’m right at home. There’s nothing that fucker likes to do more than drive me up the wall, and as long as I’m there to give it back ten times worse, this is where the two of us belong.