Page 235 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Like?”

“My career. My life. What I want from it.” He leans back and our eyes meet again. “All of this—the clarity, your belief in me, you pushing me, the Cup—has me looking at things in a different light.”

“I don’t see how I had anything to do with that.”

“How can you say that?” he asks. “You heard what your dad said. That it’s your belief in me that allowed me to be my best me.”

“I was just doing my job.”

“No, you were being you.” Those lips of his meet mine again in a kiss that lacks intensity but is loaded with tenderness. “I’m madly in love with you, Dekker Kincade. Maybe I always have been, but you helped me see the me I had lost. You allowed me to be the me who had hope. You allowed me to tell my darkest truths and instead of walking away, you held on tighter. You loved the me I hated.”

“And I love the you that you now love too.”

“I know.” Tears well in his eyes, but he blinks them away just as quickly as they appear.

“If there’s one thing I learned with everything, it’s your next tomorrow is never guaranteed. I don’t want to miss any tomorrows with you. I think we should take the next step. I think we should move in together and start building that tomorrow and the day after that and the week after that together.”

“You do?”

“I do.” He laughs. “I’m getting confused where my toothbrush is and whether I’m coming or going from your house or mine. It’s so much easier if I know I get to come home to you at the end of the day. That’s all that seems to matter anymore.”

“Says the league MVP.”

“Exactly.” He squeezes my hand. “We never made a bet on what I’d get if I won MVP and I did . . . and so”—he shrugs—“cohabitation.”

“Cohabitation?” I laugh.

He nods. “I know I’ll screw up. I know I’m stubborn and frustrating and will sometimes shut you out when all you want is to be held close . . . but I can promise you I want to do right by you. For you. For me. For us. I want to make this work because Christ, I’m miserable without you.”

“But you haven’t been without me for a while now.”

“Exactly,” he repeats, his voice softening, “because you’re where I want to be.”

I’m having trouble swallowing over the love that his words create, wrapping around my soul and taking root.

“Hunter.”

“Don’t cry.” He wipes my tear that slips over. “No more tears.”

“Just tomorrows.”

His smile returns. “Just tomorrows.”

I’m not sure how long I stay wrapped in his arms, settling into this idea of getting to wake up every morning next to him and getting to kiss him every night—but it’s not a hardship to accept.

Not by a long shot.

There’s a knock on the door and we jolt apart like kids getting caught.

“Dekk?” My dad peeks his head into the conference room.

“Yeah?” I pull the door open all the way.

“Can I have my client back now? You’re messing up my schedule.”

“What do you mean your client?” I look from my dad to Hunter and his stupid, wide grin and laugh that vibrates, then back to my dad.

“What you drop, another one of us will pick up,” my dad says.