Dream Chaser (Dream Team, #2)(72)

I started getting drowsy.

So much so, I didn’t stop even after Boone muttered, “And I fucked up, doin’ it fuckin’ huge, making it so you don’t feel safe to lay your shit on me.”

I said nothing.

And minutes later, I fell asleep.

*



I woke to a room brightened by strong Denver sun coming from behind the blinds.

I also woke up alone.

Boone showing the night before came immediately to mind, but I wondered if I’d dreamed that since he was not there.

But when I opened my eyes, I saw the pillows on his side were all dented and smushed, like they had been the mornings after he’d spent the night with me, rather than askew and/or tossed off the bed with only the ones I slept on smushed, like they were when I slept alone.

The mystery of what happened to Boone was solved when he strolled in wearing his skivvies (nice…shit) and carrying two mugs of coffee (sweet…shit).

His green eyes came to me before he came to me.

He sat on the bed and twisted my way.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Had I failed to mention I really liked his voice?

Shit!

“Hey,” I mumbled.

He offered me coffee.

I pushed up on an arm, slid a bit away from him (the bed wasn’t big, so I didn’t have far to slide, but I did it).

I saw his lips thin as I did this, but he kept the coffee held out to me.

I took it.

He let me have a sip before he asked, “You up to talk?”

Nope.

I was not.

To communicate this, I said, “I’m not really sure what there is to say.”

“Kathryn, sweetheart,” he started, careful and gentle, “you promised not to let me fuck this up and I promised the same thing.”

“And then we fucked it up,” I replied. “The end.”

His tone was far firmer when he said, “Kathryn.”

“I told you,” I began to remind him, “that if I lost you, I wouldn’t be able to hack it. I lost you even before I really had you and last night proved I couldn’t hack it.”

“I’m right here,” he pointed out.

“And what’s gonna set you off to leave again?” I asked.

His head twitched.

He stared at me hard.

Then his face got soft.

Yikes.

That look on him was gorgeous.

Oh fuck.

I was thinking that was not good.

“I’m not your dad, Rynnie,” he said in a voice as soft and gorgeous as his face.

Yeah.

Oh fuck.

This was not good.

“I know that,” I replied.

“What’d he do to you?” he asked.

I didn’t answer that.

I proclaimed, “You know, I’m good. With my life, that is. I mean, it’s good to know about Angelica’s bullshit, so I appreciate you bringing that to light. But I’ve had time to think about it,” I had not, yup, again going with my first reaction and not thinking things through, “and I’ve pretty much got it going on without the drama of a dude blowing through my life.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

Uh.

What did he just say?

“I kinda know where I’m at, Boone,” I told him snippily.

“Where you’re at is you’re building that wall back up to keep everyone out, namely dudes who blow through your life, so they can’t break your heart like your dad did.”

You know what?

This really sucked.

I did not need guys thinking I was freaky because I liked my hands bound when I got fucked.

And I did not need guys thinking they could do whatever they wanted to me because I liked my hands bound when I got fucked.

But what I really did not need was a whip-smart guy who could read emotional situations rationally and figure out what I was thinking even when I didn’t know I was thinking it.

I took another sip of coffee.

“I’ll reiterate,” Boone said. “I fucked up huge the last three days, and I knew that before I got your last text, but definitely after last night.”

I felt my cheeks start to heat.

Okay.

What was that?

I was blushing because I was embarrassed?

What was I?

Fourteen?

“And I’m sorry,” he went on, thankfully not noting the blush verbally, though his eyes strayed to it. “I cannot say it enough or mean it enough. You just have to take me at my word on that and I’ll make it so you can do that because I’m gonna prove it by not fucking up that huge with us again.”

“What if I say I don’t believe you?” I tried.

“Rynnie,” he whispered.

And I failed.

But seriously, I could see it all over his face.

He knew he fucked up. He was sorry he fucked up. And I knew that not only because he’d now said it repeatedly, but that was what was all over his face.

And it might not have sounded like a knight’s vow, but I’d lost it last night, and he liked me, so something else written on his face was that he really did not like that he put me through that, and he wasn’t going to put me through it again.

To end, we were good together, when we weren’t fighting. I knew it. He knew it. So it was worth working it out.