Chapter Thirty-Five

We finally caught up with each other a few hours later. The plan had been for me to head over to his hotel—which the campaign was paying for—but someone had told someone had leaked it to someone, and he'd been mobbed by media people and fans when he'd tried to return there after the game. So instead he'd come back around to the stadium, where at least he knew the side entrances, and holed up in Marlo's office until I was off work.

So instead of a car service and a nice hotel, he rode in my little Toyota with two hundred thousand miles on it back to a very tiny in-law unit where the only place to sit was the bed.

Not that I objected to having him on my bed.

We both took showers (separately, for reasons of efficiency and not breaking the tiny shower enclosure). I lent him a pair of fuzzy pajama pants with soccer balls on them. "Vix sent these when I got the job at the stadium," I explained.

"Very soft," he said with approval.

It felt slightly awkward. As much as we'd talked on the phone nearly every day for two months, and as casual as everything had seemed last night in a deserted hotel dining room with a group of other people, we hadn't spent much time in the same space since the cabin. And we still had extremely limited experience on beds.

"I have a proposal," Orion announced.

I went still, and my eyes must have gone all kid caught skipping school by evil headmaster , because he laughed.

"Not that kind of proposal, Des, calm down."

I pretended to faint, falling onto the bed. "God, I thought you'd lost your mind for a second."

He nudged me over and arranged the pillows more to his liking. "If I was going to propose, it would be an event . I could probably get Vix to plan it for me."

"That's my nightmare."

"You say that like it's an argument against doing it."

"Only if you're, you know, not a monster."

He lay back and grinned at me. "A monster? Moi?"

"You're the worst." I couldn't decide if it'd be weird if I initiated cuddling. Was it too soon for cuddling? That felt like something we had to earn somehow. You could bang on a first date, but cuddling was intermediate-level intimacy. "What's your dumb proposal?"

"I propose ..." He drew it out, just to mess with me. "... that we have sex in the morning. To be clear: I am pro-sex. I don't want to give off any impression that I am not firmly in favor of us having sex again. Soon. In a matter of hours. But right now I would love to literally sleep with you." He faltered slightly, just enough for me to realize he wasn't entirely confident. "If that's okay."

I abandoned all modesty and burrowed in beside him. "Fuck, that's the greatest proposal anyone's ever made. I'm so fucking tired, and drained, and also so happy you're here."

"Me too."

We kissed. Not a lot. But more than once. I turned off the light (by merit of reaching over his head and flicking the switch, because there was basically nowhere in my place from which you couldn't easily reach the light switch), and we got more settled under the duvet.

"I brought you a gift," he said into the darkness.

I had my head on his chest so I could hear his heart beating, a position I hadn't been brave enough to try back at the cabin. "Did you? You should have told me. I didn't know we were doing gifts."

"Not officially. And it's back at the hotel. But I brought you one of my quilts."

I sat up. "You what? But. You. They ..."

His teeth were white in the dark. "Yeah, but I want you to have it. When I'm on the road, I want to know at least one of us is safe and asleep under the quilts. Plus, they'd still be in a plastic bag in the closet if you hadn't forced me to start using them."

A marriage proposal would have been weird. But giving me one of his precious quilts took my breath away.

He pulled me to him and I kissed him, then pressed my cheek against his. "I'm, uhh, touched. That sounds weak. I ... I'm ... What's that v-word that means you don't really have words for the emotion you're feeling?"

"Verklempt?" he hazarded.

I sighed in absolute fulfillment. "Yes. That. That is what I am."

The world became more about kissing than speaking, more about touching than thinking. In this warm, dark world, with Orion beside me, I felt like the man I'd always meant to be. A man who fucked up, sometimes spectacularly, but who also deserved the space to change. The ability to try again.

I leaned up on one arm. "Brace yourself for a significant moment."

"I am totally braced." He sounded amused and sleepy and sincere.

Right. This was the moment. I took a deep breath. I could do this. I'd be fine. All I had to do was open my mouth and say—

"I love you." The words came quick, like he was wedging them into my tiny hesitation.

I shoved his chest. "Hey! I was gonna say that!"

"But I got there first," he said smugly.

"Rude! I was going to say it with, like, meaning and stuff!"

"I said it with meaning!"

"You said it like we were in a contest and you won."

"And how were you gonna say it?"

"Like I care about you and want to be with you and love the way you look at me, like you think I'm amazing even though half the time I'm a mess! Not like I was just trying to win !"

He pushed himself up to kiss me. "I think you're amazing, Des Cleary."

"I think you're—" I faltered on an insult. I genuinely couldn't come up with one. "Shut your stupid perfect teeth." Then I kissed him, pushing him back down so I could resume my position lying against his chest. "I love you too."

His hand traced lines on my shoulder. "We can pretend you said it first."

I couldn't help it. I laughed.