Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

LETTIE

J asper insists on a private yoga class at our hotel. I told Dane I would be back, and we could go to dinner at about six, and it's already five. When I get to the room to change into workout clothes, he's not here, so I shoot him a text and head to the yoga spot.

The yoga instructor hands me a mat that I lay on the grassy ground in the atrium. Tomorrow is the biggest equestrian competition of my life until the next one, each building on the other. I feel my nerves getting the best of me, so I draw in a deep inhale and blow it out, slow and controlled.

My performance is important, not only for me but for my horse who has been training tirelessly by my side. That's why I agreed to take a private yoga session this afternoon, to calm my mind and focus on believing in myself and my horse. Dane has always been the calm in my storm, but this feels good too.

As I follow the instructor's soothing voice and flow through each pose, my anxieties slowly fade like the afternoon sun. The gentle stretching and focusing on making my muscles long help me find my balance. Dane has always been my balance, especially when not taking my meds. But I know that tomorrow, as I ride through the course, I'll carry this calmness I've found with me. And I'll transfer my confidence to Diamond Mine. With my horse by my side, I'm ready to face any challenge that comes our way.

When I'm done, I message Jasper.

Thanks, the yoga class was just what I needed.

Jasper: You should listen more often.

I chuckle to myself because how many times have I heard that from teachers, coaches, trainers, friends, and Dane.

Opening the door to my hotel room, I find it transformed. The living room furniture has been rearranged and pushed against the walls, with a large fuzzy blanket spread out in the center. Two wine glasses, throw pillows, and a picnic basket. But it's the soft white lights strung around the room that makes my heart race.

Dane appears in the bedroom door, wearing dress pants and a button-up shirt, tailored perfectly for his chest and arms. He's the most handsome guy on the planet.

"You're late." he says as he stalks toward me, surrounding me with arms. "How was yoga?" he asks as he places a suctioning kiss below my ear.

"I need t o shower."

"We'll shower together after."

The gentle assault continues on my neck. "You're all dressed up. Let me rinse off and put on something easier for you to get into." I wink, teasing him.

He follows me into the bathroom, undressing me, kissing me. "I love the saltiness on your skin. It's a damn aphrodisiac. Hurry, I have plans."

"I see that. I'll only be a minute."

I scrub myself with the lemon-scented soap and wash my hair quickly. After I've towel dried my hair and body, I slip on a short t-shirt dress. When I walk into the living area, he has electric candles surrounding the edges of the blanket.

"You look beautiful."

"My hair will frizz when it dries."

"I know, and I love it." He grabs my hand and pulls me into his chest. "I meant it when I said, you don't need to change for anybody. Not for me. Not for anyone."

I'm positive he would say Jasper, but he stopped. "Thank you. You've always been my rock. I hope I've been yours too."

"Rock isn't the right word. More like you've always been the center of my universe." He gives me a shadow of a kiss and sits on the light-tan fuzzy cover and brings me down in his lap.

"You sure know how to make a girl feel special. Have you done anything romantic for girls before me?" I ask, sounding insecure. I'm not. I just want to know the one part of him he never gave to me. It was our silent code, not talking about specifics with our hookups.

A brief smile rolls up his cheeks. "Not unless you call Wendy's and a movie romantic."

"Have you ever taken a girl on a romantic walk?"

"No. Lettie, the only walks with a girl who has meant anything to me have been with you. When we were seven, looking for frogs. When we were nine, walking to karate practice after school. When we were twelve, trick or treating as Shrek and Fiona. When we were sixteen at the homecoming bonfire, we snuck away and sat on the back of my truck, looking at the stars. When we were twenty, and you met me in the basketball tunnel, after we beat North Carolina. You slung your arms around my waist, and we walked out to the bus together. Most weren't romantic, but some of those times I thought maybe you felt the same way about me that I felt about you."

How did I get so lucky to have this man in my life?

"Or when we hiked up Lookout Mountain after graduation. I thought we may kiss that day. I guess it was the old ‘right guy, wrong time.'"

"Not anymore," he says, pressing his lips against my shoulder.

"Finally, the right guy, at the right time." I reposition myself where I'm facing him.

His hands r oam over my face, and his eyes reflect the lights around us. The energy between us gets heavy, but it doesn't feel sexual. It's more of an excited rumbling in my belly—the anticipation of giving each other the only thing left. It's the right time for me to tell him I love him, really love him.

Breaking the trance, his knuckles tuck under my chin, drawing me closer. With a tender touch, his lips kiss mine several times. His large hands palm my face. "I love you, Lettie. I'm in love with you."

Tears swell behind my lids, and my lip quivers. "You're in love with me? Because I've been in love with you forever. I tried to deny the feeling. Push it down… deep, but I worried about ruining the best relationship I'll ever have. Dane, I cannot lose you. It's not an option."

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"That you love me."

Palming his cheeks, I stare deep into his chocolate-brown eyes. "I love you, Dane Greathouse."

Our mouths dance, creating a symphony of emotions. Relief, excitement, euphoria, and those beautiful butterflies that flutter in my stomach when he's in close proximity. Dane is my ending and has always been my beginning.

"We're on the same page."

"We're on the same fucking sentence. We love each other, and nothing can break a love like ours. We were put in each other's life for a reason. Sixteen years, Lettie. No woman could ever compare to you."

We exchange I love yous three more times and right when I expect to rip his clothes off, he says, "Well, I'm glad that went as planned." He pulls the silver dome from the platter. "If you were any later, it would have melted."

It's two scoops of ice cream, chocolate and vanilla, with caramel sauce and two cherries on top of a chocolate chip cookie and smothered in whipped cream. He picks up a spoon and wiggles it until he scoops a bite of vanilla for me."

The moan that comes from my mouth surprises me. "If it's that good, I'll have some too. I've always told you vanilla is the supreme flavor."

"No way, Greathouse. You have to eat chocolate if I have to eat vanilla."

"You just fucking moaned over vanilla," I protest.

I lift my brows and smirk. "I was faking it."

"I've heard your moans, and that one was as real as when I ate you for an appetizer."

"Stop it. Never thought you would be a dirty talker."

Laughing aloud, he says, "And I never thought you would cry out, ‘Pull my hair, harder.'"

"I can't believe I love you," I say, half-embarrassed. It's one thing in the heat of the moment but saying it after… it's just wrong.

Our laughs come just as easily as they did at the fourth-grade talent show when we sang a song from the movie Grease , "You're the one that I want."

We couldn't get through the lyrics. His hair was gelled, and I had big hair, teased in all directions and did I mention leather? Dane in leather was over the top. It was too much to look at, and all I could do was giggle once the song started.

Mrs. Sparks said we could choose another song that was more appropriate. We pulled up the music to Toby Keith's version of Mockingbird . So, there we were, singing a country song, looking like John Travolta and Olivia Newton John. At the end, we received a standing ovation from the teachers. But only a few students knew of the song, so needless to say, we lost due to the fake applause meter. But in fifth grade, we nailed the talent show with a Luke Bryan song and won it all.

After the ice cream is gone, Dane lifts the other dome. It's filled with roasted veggies, grilled chicken, and tortillas.

"If I eat all of this, there won't be sex later." I quirk an eyebrow.

"No sex tonight. I'm feeding the inside of your body and nurturing your mind tonight. Tomorrow, I'm going to worship every muscle, every small curvature if you'll let me."

I nod, knowing this will take an epic amount of restraint to keep from jumping his bones. "You don't get to make all of the rules, Dane the Great. I'm adjusting the rules to include: we can kiss as much as we want."

"That's not a good idea."

"All of m y ideas are good," I shoot back.

"Yeah, when you decided we should all do a beer bong freshman year, and we both threw up the expensive steak dinner with my parents."

I squirm off his lap. "That was one bad idea."

His laugh is soft, and the way he's looking at me makes me think that he even loves all the bad things I've done. Most of the time, I make him do things he doesn't want. He's a rule follower if he's making the rules. He's a leader. And he's mine. My insides do the happy dance as we make our little street tacos.

"Are we going to watch a movie?"

"No, I thought we would make some mad libs."

I have to do the first night of team game night, so I thought we would make up a mad lib.

"Yeah, that will be fun. Let's make the topic Game Day Superstitions," I suggest.

"Sounds great."

"Let me get my laptop." I run into the bedroom and bring it back into the living room. He pours us both a glass of wine. But before I say that I can't, I realize he has brought sparkling water. He knows I can't drink before a competition. I have to be well hydrated.

"Okay, you ready?"

He grabs the pillows, lies down, and puts his arm on my pillow. I lie back with his arm under my neck and our heads propped up on two pillows. My knees are bent with my l aptop resting on my thighs, and we write the story, "Stallions Game Day Superstitions."

He praises me every time I think I have a good line, when writing is much more in his wheelhouse. When we're almost finished, he blurts out, "We forgot to add in about the jersey."

"What about it?"

"My teammates who have girlfriends always talk about their girl wearing their jersey to the game or and having sex with them while wearing their jersey."

"I guess… I'll need a jersey." I run my hand up his dress pants to half-erect shaft.

He forces a hard swallow. "Fuck, I'll buy out the team store."

"Oh, no, no, no. I will only wear jerseys that have your sweat on them." In my opinion, the only thing better than wearing his jersey filled with the scent of his dedication to basketball is sliding against his sweaty skin.

"You're so bad."

"We'll find out when you fuck me in your jersey." I put the laptop on the floor and climb on top of him. "I can't wait until the season starts."