Dream Chaser (Dream Team, #2)(28)

“I’m just a little jealous, I guess.”

“You’ve just been blindsided by some ugly. It’s raw. I’m sure there was good.”

You could say that about being blindsided.

This happening repeatedly since I was six.

I scooped up some potato salad.

I was chewing it when Boone asked in a strange voice with a low timbre I didn’t get, “There wasn’t any good?”

I looked to him and instantly understood that timbre.

He seemed wired in the sense, if that wire snapped, he’d be pissed.

I downed the salad and told him, “My mom is incredible. She’s funny and she’s strong and she’s protective. I think you’d really like her.”

“So she’s like you.”

That was the nicest thing anyone could say to me.

“I hope so.”

He put his fork on his plate, bent forward, reached out a hand and curled it around my ankle.

He then pulled my leg straight, putting my heel on his thigh, repeat with the other foot, and through this, I rescued my plate so it wouldn’t fall in my lap.

Only then did he sit back, with my feet in his lap, and return to his food.

But he did this saying, “We weren’t gonna get heavy. You wanna watch TV?”

“We could stream a movie.”

“I’m up to be haunted by a case.”

I grinned at him.

His eyes twinkled at me then he dug under my calf to get the remote and pointed it at the TV.

I used to like dating. The anticipation. Dolling myself up. Going somewhere fun or out for good food.

After getting burned bad, twice, I’d begun to find it tedious.

He just wanted to get laid.

Halfway through the date, I just wanted to go home.

So in all my imaginings about Boone, I had not considered what a first date with him would be like.

But really tasty food that was no good for us, eaten on my couch with my feet in his lap while watching the ID channel would not have been on my radar.

So far it was the best date I’d ever had.

By a mile.





Chapter Six





All over That





Boone


Boone woke with his face in Ryn’s hair, his body curved into hers, her ass in his crotch, his arm claiming her around her waist and his cock rock hard.

Fuck.

Ryn.

Finally, in his arms, he had Ryn.

Last night, they ate. They watched TV. They cleaned up and put the food away. They took the cookie to the living room, broke off chunks and munched while watching more TV.

He gave it time, then he adjusted them on the couch again.

Having successfully pulled her out of her protective ball earlier, he dragged her from being as far away as she could get so he was slouched in the cushions, his feet on the coffee table and he had her tucked into his side with her head on his chest.

Eventually, she started drooping.

He roused her long enough to get her to her feet and walk her to her door, where he kissed her.

When he had her mouth, she gave it all up like she did the first time, and it was too good, so he knew what came next, he shouldn’t do.

But he did it.

“Don’t go,” she whispered when he broke the kiss, and she knew he was about to leave.

“Baby, that’s not taking it slow.”

“We won’t do anything. Just stay with me. Spend the night. I’ll make you breakfast. Though I’ll warn you, I’m only a passable cook. So alternately, we can go out for brunch.”

He’d been waiting a fucking long time to be right where he was, he had her taste in his mouth, her still in his arms, her devouring her fair share of their big cookie and not hiding she enjoyed it, so he knew sleeping with her and waking up to her was a very bad idea.

Because they both wanted it, and they wanted what was later to come for them, and they wanted it too much.

Even knowing that, he said, “All right, Rynnie.”

She shot him a smile that made him think he was wrong about this being a bad idea, which made it an even worse idea.

She then unearthed a new toothbrush head for him to use with her electric brush, put away the cookie, and they prepared for bed.

He climbed in it in his boxer briefs with Ryn, who was wearing a little blue, cotton-knit nightie that was simple, lace at the bottom and top, but the back was just a band of that lace under her shoulder blades and an open dip beneath it that went nearly to her ass.

Which meant, as he suspected, he was as he was now.

Curled into her with a raging hard-on.

He’d slept great, with her tucked close, the feel of her against him, the scent of her everywhere, in her crappy apartment with its tiny rooms and nicked-up floors and minuscule kitchen that had a carpet he had to pretend didn’t exist, it was that heinous.

But all of it, against those odds, she’d made cool.

Total cool.

Total Ryn.

The cave of her living room was sweet. Dark and warm, with furniture that looked good but was comfortable as all hell.

And her bedroom.

So small, the queen bed was shoved up against the wall.

But she had an awesome headboard made of different types of wood notched together at a slant, and it had some Christmas lights strung on it. More of her plants that were everywhere. Lighter walls, bare floors, save a sheepskin by the bed that’d be kickass to put your feet on in the morning, he knew, because it was kickass to stand on before you got into bed at night. Sloppy-on-purpose bedclothes in a narrow gray-and-white stripe with lots of pillows but only a couple toss pillows. And her nightstand was a thick wood stump, stained and veneered.