I know I sure do.
“I want you to stay because I’d feel better knowing you’re here. Safe with me.”
It’s sweet that Dean wants to protect me, but it’s not necessary. Or maybe it is, and I’m in denial. “You really think that Tony guy is going to come after me?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore. I just need to sleep, and I’ll do it much better if I’m not worrying about you.”
But he knows how hard it is for me to be here with him and Fia. It feels like…like…I press my hand over my heart. “I can’t believe it.”
“What?”
“I didn’t think of her. Not once.”
“Who?” Dean stares for a long moment. “Oh. Your daughter.”
“Does that make me a bad person?” I wonder out loud. I must be because I should be thinking about that poor dead woman back at the motel. Instead, I’m thinking about my own problems.
Dean slides his big rough hand over mine. “No, it doesn’t. And it’s time you stop punishing yourself.”
The tears start to well in my eyes, but I push them back. He’s right. I know he is. “I’m tired of feeling like this all the time.”
“Then don’t. Forgive yourself.”
“I just feel like…” I shake my head. I don’t want to say how I feel because I’m sick of that old broken record playing in my head.
“Like you are the smartest, sexiest, most amazing person I’ve ever met?” Dean stares down at me, his eyes filled with adoration.
My stomach churns, and my heart starts going crazy. Not because of his words but because of the way he’s looking at me. “You really mean it, don’t you?”
“Just like I meant it earlier when I said I wanted you.”
“I want you, too,” I admit. It feels good and weird and uncomfortable to say it, but when I look at this guy, he drives me crazy. I love how he stays strong even when he has doubts. I love how he fights for what’s right, even when he stands to lose everything. I love how hot he looks in those tight white pants on the field. Yes, I’ve seen videos of him playing. Hot.
“But you do understand, Lara, that I can’t offer you perfect. It kills me to say it, because out of everything and everyone in my life, you’re the one who probably deserves it. You and Fia. And knowing I’m going to struggle just to give you a fraction of what you deserve gets under my skin. I want to give you perfect because you’re perfect. To me, anyway.”
I blink up at him and slide my hand on his rough cheek. He’s let his stubble grow out into a short beard. I’m guessing because he’s had other things to worry about. What he doesn’t know is that it only makes him look more rugged and sexy. Yes, it’s official; everything about this guy makes me swoon, even his lazy grooming. “Your saying that only makes me want to be with you more.”
Our eyes lock for a long moment, and I’m praying he’s going to kiss me. I need it. I want it.
My prayers are answered, and he leans in. I lean in, too, but go slow, wanting to soak in the moment and remember every second.
Dean wants me, and I want him, and there’s nothing casual about the way we feel.
His lips press to mine, gentle at first. I savor the soft texture of his mouth, surrounded by rough whiskers tickling the edges of my lips. I inhale deeply, wanting to immerse myself in his scent, which is oddly sweet.
I suddenly realize he smells like Fia. Sweet baby smell. It’s like cotton candy infused with love. It instantly takes me back to memories of holding my daughter. The smell of her hair, the soft little hands, the gentle breaths.
I abruptly pull away from Dean.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
I bite my lower lip. “I’m, uh—it’s going to take some time is all.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Not at all. You just smell like…baby shampoo and…” My voice fades off.
“Ah. I see.” Dean exhales softly, offering a comforting smile. “Take all the time you need. Just don’t leave. Don’t give up on us.”
It means a lot that he’s willing to let me set the pace. It means he’s telling the truth: he does want me. The way he handled that makes him all the more sexy.
“Why don’t we get some rest.” He holds up his hands. “I can take the couch.”
“No. No. You need your bed and a good night’s sleep. I’ll stay out here.”
He nods solemnly and leaves, returning with linens and a pillow. “If you change your mind, come to my room. To sleep. Nothing more.” He sets the pile on the edge of the couch.
“Thank you.”
He kisses my lips, and I’m back to wanting him again. How long will this yo-yoing last? Forgiving myself won’t be easy, but Dean’s right. I have to. I have to stop beating myself up for something I can’t change.