Getting Played (Getting Some, #2)(53)

And there’s this punch of emotion that hits me right in the gut as I watch her. Because her smile, her long-lashed, innocent eyes, her laugh, her mind, her heart—they’re all so beautiful—precious, to me. And it’s not until this moment that I realize I can’t remember what my life looked like before her. And now, I can’t imagine my life without her in it. I don’t even want to try.

I walk out onto the balcony and take her in my arms and spin and sway and dance with my girl, because that’s what she loves to do.

I’ve suspected for a while that Lainey owned me, but now I’m sure of it.

I’m done. This is it for me—she’s it for me.



~



The next morning, my balls ache from all the action the night before, but my dick is wide-awake with morning wood—which is kind of a miracle when you think about it.

I spoon up against Lainey, and she wriggles her ass, reaching back, cupping the back of my head—letting me know she’s up for it. I kiss her shoulder, her neck, scraping my words against her ear.

“I can’t decide what I want to do first. I didn’t get to come in your mouth last night—that would be fun. But you look so hot riding me . . . and so pretty on your knees with your ass in air.”

I cup her breast and feel her heart pounding against my hand.

“Decisions, decisions . . .”

I end up taking her sweet and easy from behind, clasped together on our sides. After, when we’re both a little sticky and sweaty, that same bone-deep sureness wracks through me. It says that what Lainey and I have, who we are together, is a good thing—the best kind of thing—something that should be held on to and protected and cherished. And once again I’m steady, solid—I know exactly what I want.

“I want to be with you,” I whisper against her neck.

“You are with me.”

“I want a relationship with you, Lainey.”

These words have been said to me a hundred—maybe a thousand times. But I never wanted it, needed it, like I do now.

“We’re already there. I don’t want anyone else, you don’t want anyone else. We’re having a baby . . . why are we overthinking it?”

She’s quiet for a minute, then she rolls onto her back and looks up at me, morning-mussed and beautiful.

“You said you’re not good with relationships.”

“I can be good at it with you,” I swear.

She runs her hand tenderly through my hair.

“I want that. It’s a little scary how much I want that with you, Dean.”

A jolt of happiness surges through me—the same feeling as scoring a touchdown—but so much better.

I lean down over her, my lips hovering.

“Okay, then.”

“Okay,” she smiles back.

Then I’m kissing her long and languid—losing myself in all that she is, all that she means to me, all over again. And I swear to God and to myself that I’ll never, ever do anything to screw this up.

But there’s a reason some last words are famous.

Because . . . P.S. . . . I screw it up.





Chapter Thirteen


Lainey





Since we decided to give a real relationship a shot, things between Dean and me are amazing. Better than amazing—more than I’d ever let myself dream. After having Jason, being with Dean is the second best decision I’ve ever made. My body certainly thinks so, since he’s kept her thoroughly, exhaustedly satisfied. And as corny as it sounds—my heart thinks so too.

Dean and Grams come with me and Jason to my parents on Christmas Day. I look at it like the final boss battle in a video game, or the last obstacle on American Gladiators. If my whole family in one small house doesn’t send Dean running for the hills, I can start getting used to the idea that maybe nothing will.

They converge on us in the foyer—taking our coats, enveloping us in hugs and kissing our cheeks. Jason gets swallowed up in a sea of my nieces and nephew.

“Lainey!” My sister Linda squawks, looking at Dean. “You didn’t tell me he was hot! He’s like a life-size Ken doll!” Her gaze drops appraisingly to his crotch. “An anatomically blessed Ken doll.”

Oh boy.

I wedge myself between them. “Yes, Linda, he’s hot.”

“I like this sister,” Dean says, his lips close to my ear, making me shiver. “She seems like the smart one.”

“I’m the gay one,” Linda volunteers with a wink. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a fine-looking specimen such as yourself.” She lifts her glass of my mother’s homemade eggnog. “Cheers!”

Next, Judith approaches. “That’s what you two should’ve been for Halloween—Baby Daddy Ken and knocked-up Barbie.” Judith snaps her fingers. “Missed opportunity for a great costume.”

“I’ll make a note for next year.”

Judith shakes Dean’s hand, her eyes reserved and slightly judgmental.

Brooke steps forward and introduces her brood—perfectly polite as always.

Then Erin appears, bracing her shoulder against the doorway and waving standoffishly. “Good to see you again, drummer-guy.”

Dean nods—calm, cool, and devastatingly sexy.