The Lineup(111)

“I’m not leaving,” I say, the words hoarse as they fall past my lips. “Not now”—I look up at her—“not ever.”

Her lip trembles, and I reach out and brush my thumb over it, which only makes more tears fall as her shaky hand comes up to mine. I move my hand to her cheek and she pushes into it, her eyes briefly closing.

“Jason,” she says on a choked sob. “Will you please listen to me?”

I nod. “Yes.”

Opening her eyes, she takes a deep breath but keeps her hand gripping mine tightly, as if silently willing me to not move. “I try to find a positive with all the regrets I make in my life.” She shifts and moves closer. “I try to put a spin on them to show that maybe they’re not regrets, more like steppingstones to get me to where I’m supposed to be. I never regret anything with that way of thinking, but I do have one, one that I will never let myself spin or turn into a steppingstone. I know what I did—or didn’t do—wasn’t a steppingstone, but more like a roadblock to happiness.” She slowly takes another steady breath. “I don’t regret telling the Carltons that you were my boyfriend, because it gave me the nudge I needed to give in to my feelings for you, but I’ll always regret not telling you, not being honest, not giving you the benefit of the doubt of being the great and understanding man that you are.” She lifts my palm and kisses it gently. “I’m sorry, Jason. I’m sorry for hurting you, for making you feel anything less than a perfect and beautiful man. I’m sorry for putting us through this pain, and I’m sorry I never told you how much I admire you, how much I care for you, and how much I love you.”

Those three little words . . . they whisk the breath from my lungs as my eyes tear up as well. I wondered, I questioned, were her feelings anything like mine? I just got my confirmation.

She loves me.

All this pain, this hurt deep in my chest, it eases and lets my heart beat again, beat wildly for the woman in front of me.

“Christ.” I clear my throat, feeling an overwhelming sense of joy that I try to voice, but it comes out garbled. “That . . . fuck, Dottie.” Without giving it a second thought, I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her delicate frame. When she returns the embrace, my heart nearly flies out of my chest. Lifting her chin, I force her to look me in the eyes. “I won’t lie and say you didn’t hurt me, because you did, but I also can’t stay away from you, not when I have this undying love for you that shows up at any hour of the day. I can’t suppress it, I can’t forget about it, and I can’t just drop it like it never happened. I won’t. I wanted to stay mad at you, I wanted to hurt you, I wanted to punish you, but in the end, it would only be punishing myself.” I tilt her chin up a little more and bring her lips inches from mine. “I love you, Dottie. I love you so fucking much, and I’d forever regret not telling you that.” A soft sob escapes her. She tries to pull away, to wipe her face, but I hold her still and close the space between us, pressing a soft kiss across her mouth. My lips spread in a smile while my eyes shed with joyful tears now. “I know this is a lot to ask of you, but please don’t stay here, please don’t start a new life here. Stay in Chicago with your friends . . . with me. Be my partner in crime, my best friend, my lover, my girlfriend.”

Her eyes wearily search mine. “Are you sure?”

What I need. What I suspect she needs too. “Positive.”

“But do you forgive me?”

Smiling, I say, “Might have to suck some of my idiots out of me—you know, with those magical lips of yours—but I think all will be forgiven.”

She laughs, snot bubbling out of her cute, little nose. She’s a mess, a beautiful mess, but I don’t care and press my lips against hers. I love this woman so much. She’s a kind, genuine soul, someone I thought I’d never find, with her sassy mouth, ball-busting personality, but incredibly softness as well. She can’t cook for shit, but there are so many other ways her character complements mine. She’s loyal.

Strong.

True.

Funny.

Adorably testy.

Dottie Domico is my woman—yes, I’m a roaring caveman—and I’ll make sure to spend the rest of my life making sure I’m the man she needs and can rely on too.





Epilogue





JASON





“Are you boys ready?” Cory Potter asks, standing from his chair in the locker room, looking like a magnificent piece of man meat. This is his second season on the team, and he’s already taken on a leadership role. I still can’t believe I get to play next to him, wear the same jersey as him . . . see him naked in the locker room showers.

Any single ladies out there? Telling you right now, the man rivals my own dick, and I think we all know how giant the wildebeest between my legs is. If you’ve forgotten, I’ll have my girlfriend remind you. She has a fresh memory, since I plowed her into our bed before reporting to the stadium for our opening day game.

Yeah, I said our bed.

Look out, Jason Orson is domesticated. I have a girlfriend that I share an apartment with. We are living in sin and loving it. Once we made up, we romantically fucked on her childhood bed—and were caught by her mom. To say it was awkward is an understatement, but thankfully all she saw was my ass and swinging balls that slapped Dottie like a pendulum. She said it sounded like a fish out of water, flopping around. I couldn’t stop laughing all through breakfast. Dottie didn’t think it was very funny, but she wouldn’t be Dottie if she did.