The only thing he’d been able to think about all day was Deanna. Not just think about—he’d missed her. His body missed her so badly that it actually hurt. And it hadn’t even been twelve hours since he’d last seen her.
He’d been shocked when he’d dropped the I-love-you bomb last night. It wasn’t like he’d planned it. It wasn’t like it had been a premeditated bomb drop. But he knew now more than ever that he hadn’t been lying. Because, if this wasn’t love, what the hell was?
Chapter 19
‡
Deanna shook her hands out, hoping that the nerves washing over her would fall off like drops of water. It didn’t work. They were still flooding through her.
Lifting her hand, she made a fist and then knocked. Loudly. If she had to do this, which was the case, she just wanted to get it over with.
Rip the sucker off like a Band-Aid, although she had a feeling this would hurt like the adhesive was superglue. Metaphorically speaking.
The door opened and the face of the man, who had her stomach so tied up in so many knots that she was sure even the best Boy Scout in the world wouldn’t be able to untie her intestines appeared in the doorway. It’d been five days, six hours, and thirty-four minutes, give or take, since she’d last seen Lucky. Well, in person anyway. She’d seen him on her computer and her phone screen plenty.
His scruff was a little more grown out than she’d seen, which only added to his over-the-top sex appeal. He was wearing sweats that, even though they were baggy, fit him well in all the right places, and a white T-shirt that stretched tight over his broad chest and his muscular arms. His hair was wet like he’d just taken a shower, which flashed all kinds of memories in her mind from their shower rendezvous.
Yeah, this was definitely going to hurt. The self-preservation side of her brain was screaming for her to turn and run.
No. This was for charity. Nothing personal was going to happen. No matter how sexy and tempting and hawwwt he was in his T-shirt and sweats. How was it that she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and she felt underdressed?
He’d told her to dress “casual and comfortable” for today’s activities. Since they visited Children’s Hospital last week, maybe they were going to work on Habitat for Humanity or something. Whatever it was, this was the last time she was obligated to be with Lucky, and hopefully, after today, she’d be able to put this entire thing behind her.
That was, if everyone else could. Her mother had not been pleased that her daughter was “making headlines” with a bad-boy athlete. She said that it was an embarrassment to the family. Which was rich coming from Victoria Lane, since Deanna herself was a product of one of the baddest boys in baseball. In his heyday, Doug Bishop had had a worse reputation than Lucky did and she’d been conceived at the height of it.
Then there were the guys at the station. They’d been taking full advantage of the situation, giving her a hard time about it, and bringing it up as much as they could. Eli had actually been more supportive than she’d thought. Apparently, he liked Lucky, and he had been the only person to ask if this was something “real” or not. She’d assured him that it was nothing, that all of the outrageous headlines were ridiculous.
Which was true. She wasn’t pregnant with Lucky’s child. They weren’t getting married. They weren’t even a couple.
She had left out the part about them having a hot one-night stand, which she now felt comfortable classifying it as.
“Hi.” Lucky lifted his hands above his head, holding on to the top of the frame, and a slow smile built on his face, which showcased his deep dimples.
Have mercy, her inner voice said in its best Uncle-Jesse-from-Full-House impression.
Deanna’s heart forgot the stern talking to she’d given it in the car on the drive over—the one where she’d told herself that, no matter what Lucky did or how she felt about him, nothing would happen between them tonight, and then, after her obligation had been fulfilled, Lucky Dorsey would be out of her life completely.
This past week had been hell. Everyone in town had made comments on the story that just wouldn’t die. Some, like Vivien for instance, had taken the direct approach, asking her if she and Lucky were together. Others had offered congratulations for whatever they’d read on some website that they deemed “good news.” Then there were her favorites who’d said that they had always known she and Lucky would end up together.
Seriously? How could they have always known that when she and Lucky had only known each other a couple of weeks?
“Hi.” Deanna felt awkward standing out on Lucky’s porch. And she was concerned that photographers might be lurking.
Yesterday, when her shift had ended, she’d seen a few across the street at Brewed Awakenings. She’d been able to get away, and she was fairly certain she’d lost them thanks to her creative drive home. But, since she knew they were in town, she was still nervous. The last thing she needed was more pictures of herself “trending.”
“Can I come in?” she asked, not even trying to hide her discomfort.
Lucky blinked down at her, his eyes clearing like a magician had just snapped his fingers to end his deep hypnosis. “Sorry. I just… I missed you. Yes, come in.” He moved to the right, and Deanna stepped past him.
Her arm brushed along his torso as she did, and she hoped he didn’t notice the 8.0-magnitude tremor that shook through her at the brief contact.
When she heard the door shut, every cell in her body came alive with the awareness that she and Lucky were in his home. Alone.
Down, girl, she chided herself.
“You’ve been a very hard person to reach this week.” His voice sounded behind her.
She turned and found him leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, which emphasized every muscle in them. “I’ve been busy,” she said, attempting to sound friendly but not too friendly.
He grinned. “I thought that, maybe with everything that was going on, you were trying to avoid me.”
Ding, ding, ding. Circle gets the square.
Instead of addressing the fact that he was spot-on in his analysis, Deanna changed the subject. “So, what’s on the schedule for today?”
“Wow. No, ‘Hi, Lucky. How are you doing? Did you see all the headlines we’ve been in this week? That’s pretty crazy, huh?’”
“Hi, Lucky. How are you? Did you see all the headlines we’ve been in this week? That’s pretty crazy, huh?” she parroted back to him. “Anything else you’d like me to say? I’m here to serve.”
She’d meant it sarcastically, but the second the words had come out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back. The energy between them crackled with so much heat that she wished she were wearing her turnout gear. Actually, her SCBA (self-contained breathing apparatus) would’ve come in handy as well, because it seemed like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
After pushing off the wall, Lucky took one step and closed the space between them. He was standing so close that she had to lift her chin to see him. Then he brushed a hair behind her ear and the rough tips of his fingers grazed her skin, which had suddenly become hypersensitive.
“There are so many things I’d like you to say.” His voice was gravelly and tight. “But not until you’re ready. And you’re not here to serve tonight. You’re here to play.”
As much as her body was screaming, Yes please! Let’s play! her mind and her heart were still running the show. Taking a step back, she raised her hands defensively. “No, Lucky. I’m only here for the station. We’re not having sex.”
“Whoa, Pop-Tart. Who said anything about sex?” he said, whispering the word and looking around like he was checking to make sure no one had heard him. As he shook his head, his eyes widened like he was shocked by her. “Someone’s mind is in the gutter.”
Deanna fought the laugh tightening in her throat and pursed her lips. No matter what the situation was, he could always make her laugh, even when she really didn’t want to, because laughing meant droppi
ng the walls she’d carefully constructed for her own protection. Which was so frustrating.
“I was talking about playing games.” He motioned towards the living area.
When she looked over, she saw Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit, Battleship, Yahtzee and several other board games stacked up on the coffee table.
“Completely G-rated board games.”
Board games. The ones she’d said had been her best memories growing up.
“I thought that, maybe since you had such a busy week, a night in, just hanging out, might be exactly what you needed,” he explained as he walked over and sat on the couch.
She was speechless. Every time she thought she had Lucky figured out or knew what he was going to do, he surprised her. Most guys, especially guys like Lucky, would’ve been pissed that she hadn’t returned any of their calls or text messages. In fact, she’d half expected him to tell her to leave when she’d shown up. To forget about the auction, that he didn’t want to see her. Or at least make her do some menial tasks because he could.
But, instead, he’d gone out of his way to tailor the night especially for her. Tears swelled in her eyes as she lifted them to him. “Are you for real?”
He looked down at himself and then patted his hands up and down his chest and his stomach. “I think so.” He grinned and held his arms out to his sides. “But feel free to do a pat-down of your own just to make sure.”
Deanna smiled the first real smile she’d worn since she’d seen the first headline, and swatted his arm down. Grabbing the Scrabble box, she tilted her head. “You may be the reigning UFC Welterweight World Champion, but fair warning, I was the Scrabble Heavyweight World Champion for three consecutive summers.”
“Is that a challenge?” His left eyebrow rose before he reached for the box. “Because I love challenges.”
That’s what she was afraid of…
*
“You really weren’t kidding about your Scrabble title, were you?” Lucky stared at the board and the score. This was the third game they’d played, and she’d dominated every one.
“No, I wasn’t.” She beamed, soaking in her victory. Then, sighing, she leaned back against the couch. “But, in all fairness, I think it’s only because, when I was home with my mom during the school year, I read constantly. It was kind of my escape. When you read that much, you build a fairly expansive vocabulary. It’s kind of my secret weapon in Scrabble.”
Lucky pointed to the last word she’d made: quixotic. “I don’t think your weapon is as secret as you think it is.”
Deanna shrugged her right shoulder and smiled an open and happy smile. One he wished he saw more often. One he wished he could see every day—and night—for the rest of his life.
Being with Deanna tonight had put any lingering doubt he might’ve had about how he felt about her to rest. He loved her. He wanted to marry her and have babies and a dog and a white picket fence—if she wanted babies and a dog and a white picket fence. If not, he’d be more than happy to just get to do the marrying part.
Tonight, they’d played Scrabble for six hours straight. They’d also talked, laughed, and had pizza and beer. And, even though every second had been a serious test of his self-control to not climb over the coffee table and kiss the most kissable lips he’d ever seen or kissed, he was happy they’d gotten this time to get to know each other.
He’d discovered more about her childhood, and he’d shared more about his. She’d told him about college, that she’d studied Krav Maga and was a level-four blue belt—which, if he hadn’t already loved her, might’ve sent him over the edge. He’d talked about being in the Army and his first big fight.
Italian was their favorite type of food. They both binge-watched TV shows on Netflix and were huge movie-watchers. They shared a love of comedies, and neither really liked horror movies. She was a big reader—him not so much. She loved her career—again, him not so much.
When he’d told her about his idea to work with the nonprofit Adam worked for and maybe starting an MMA camp that inner-city and underprivileged kids could come to there in Hope Falls, her face had lit up, and she’d spoken animatedly about how amazing she thought the idea was.
They’d talked about a lot, but not anything too personal. Nothing about them.
He hadn’t brought up the last night they’d spent together, the last week she’d spent ignoring his calls, or how badly he wanted to kiss her.
“So, what does your three-hundred-and-fourteen-point word mean?” he asked before taking another swig of his beer. He had to take things slow with her, but he was scared that, if he didn’t keep talking, he would do something stupid—like show her how badly he wanted to kiss her.
A blush rose on her cheeks, and her nose scrunched. Then she tilted her head as she said, “Actually…it’s you.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s me?”
“Yep.” She was smiling like the Cheshire cat at her own inside joke.
Damn, she was so adorable.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he scooted a little bit forward. “Can you use it in a sentence?”
Her smile widened. “This isn’t a spelling bee, but fine. Lucky Dorsey is the epitome of the quixotic hero.”
After grabbing his phone, he typed in quixotic as he teased, “I’m tired of your games, woman.”
Actually, he loved her games, but he was dying to know the definition of the word she’d used it to describe him. If it meant asshole, so help him…
As soon as the definition and synonyms appeared on the screen, he read them out loud. “Extravagantly chivalrous. Impractical. Gallant. Impulsive. Dreamy. Foolish. Romantic.”
The last one got him. His mom used to always tell him that he was a closet romantic. She’d told him that, when he fell in love, it would be fast and hard. She’d said that he had a soft heart and would make some girl really happy one day because of it. When he’d asked her what she’d meant she’d said that he would really see her. That that was the most romantic thing you could ever do for a woman.
At the time, it had bugged him, and he’d figured she’d just said that because he’d gone to dance classes and watched all of her chick flicks with her. Yes, he’d enjoyed both of those things, but still, no preteen boy wants to be called a “romantic” or “softhearted.”
Once she was gone, he’d lost that part of himself. He’d “seen” plenty of girls and not one had ever accused him of being gallant, romantic, or chivalrous. Impractical, foolish, and impulsive, yes. But gallant, romantic, or chivalrous? Hell no.
“You think I’m romantic?” His throat was tight as he asked, and he felt raw. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to him, but it did. He tried to prepare himself for the better-than-not chance that she had been joking around.
Her eyes searched his for a moment before her eyebrows pulled together. “Yeah, of course I do. And chivalrous and gallant,” she answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Why?” His heart was beating wildly in his chest, and he couldn’t take in a breath.
She blinked several times. “Um, well, let’s see… As far as gallant and chivalrous go, the first day we met in the woods, you followed me back into town. At first, I thought it might be a creepy thing, but then I saw that you were just making sure I was okay.”
“You knew I followed you?” He’d thought he had been being so stealthy.
“Yeah. A ninja you are not.” She laughed. “I’ve seen you hold doors, hold babies, and hold purses for women. You generously opened the gym so both the fire and police departments could train there. For free. And you spend your time off going to visit sick kids and don’t want any notoriety for it.
“And then romantic…well…” The pink tint Lucky feared he was growing dangerously addicted to seeing, rose on her cheeks. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while now but let’s be honest, I don’t think anyone meets you and thinks “Don Quixote”. I mean your reputation, being what it is, threw me off the scent, but I’ve sniff
ed out the truth.
“It’s not simply that the night we spent together was amazing, incredible… There are not enough words to describe it. And the texts you send that always make me smile and brighten my day. The fact that when you set your mind to something, anything, from going out with me to fighting that guy that was out of your weight class, you don’t let little things like reality of the situation at hand slow you down. And those would be enough in and of themselves, but the real clincher was tonight.” She swept her hands over the Scrabble board like a QVC model displaying merchandise.
“You think I’m romantic because we played board games?” His heart sank slightly.
Maybe he was reading too much into this Scrabble word. Also, he didn’t know what her past relationships had been like, but if this is what she thought romance was, she’d clearly been with the wrong people.
Laughing lightly, she shook her head. “No. I think you’re romantic because you planned tonight for me. Maybe it was because you knew I’d had a stressful week and you thought staying in would be better than going out, which it was. Or maybe, because of my stressful week, you thought that reliving some of my best childhood memories would make me feel better, which it did.”
“It was both of those things, actually.” Lucky’s chest constricted even tighter. He couldn’t believe she actually saw his gesture for what it was.
“And what makes that romantic is that it means you know me. The real me. You see me,” she said simply, not having any idea what her saying those words did to him.
Lucky’s entire world had shifted beneath him as she’d said those words. Nothing else mattered except the girl standing in front of him. Not his MMA career. Not where he lived. Nothing. She was it. She was the one.
He wanted to ask her to marry him now, tonight. Since he knew he couldn’t do that, he moved on to his next best option.
“My cousin Adam’s getting married next Saturday. Will you come with me, as my date?”
Her eyes widened, and her posture stiffened. “Um…no, I don’t think I can.” Standing up, she reached for her purse. “It’s getting late. I better go.”
Lucky Kiss Page 20
