“We can go to your house,” I say as I’m struck with sudden brilliance, because I do want him badly.
Hawke’s hand pulls away from between my legs, his arm comes around my stomach, and he squeezes me in a hug. “No. It’s getting late and we’re not driving all the way to my house just to fuck, and then turn around and have you come back home.”
“But—” I argue, because I really, really want him. Hawke has to know that my reluctance is due solely to the proximity of my dad and not because I don’t want it. I’m pretty sure I’ll always want it where he’s concerned.
“No buts,” he says, and then squeezes me again. “And I think we can go one night without having sex.”
“No! No we can’t,” I argue, and that starts us both laughing softly so as not to wake up my father.
For a moment, we lay like that.
Spooning.
Hugging.
Laughing.
And everything is perfect in my world.
I can’t believe how strong my feelings have become over the last few weeks. While my heart decided to give up its freedom that night we first made love, the feelings have only grown stronger over the last few weeks. Our days are filled with a sweet normalcy. We see each other at work. We joke. We text each other. He asks how my day is going, and he worries over how hard I work. I praise his game play, take joy in his reconnection to old friends like Oliver, and continually admire the man he has become.
I’m falling in love all over again, and it’s just beautiful to me.
“So,” Hawke drawls out, a means to introduce another idea to me. “If we just slept together, no sex, no hanky-panky, no nothing to cause you to scream out…I can stay the night?”
And I didn’t think my heart could get any more gooey where he’s concerned, but it literally flops over and melts at the fact he wants to just sleep with me tonight.
“Yeah, you can stay the night,” I whisper, my voice clogged with embarrassing emotion, so I cough to clear it.
“Awesome,” he says in a surfer dude’s exaggerated accent. “And for the record, I can control myself, unlike you, and be quiet during any type of…um…sexual ministrations you might want to perform on me.”
“Is that right?” I ask with a laugh.
I flip over on the couch so I’m facing him, and drape my left arm over his waist. I have to tilt my head back a little to meet his gaze, and his smile is bright and his eyes sparking with amusement.
“This is cool,” I say carefully, not wanting to get too sappy with him, but wanting to push around the edges to see if I can glean anything about the state of his own attitude toward me. While we have spent the last few weeks reconnecting and falling into some patterns as a couple, we’ve also diligently stayed away from the topic of our feelings. I try to remember back to the first time Hawke and I said the L-word to each other, and I remember vividly that I said it first. We were on a free period from school, it was a crisp fall day, and we were sitting under a large elm tree on campus. We were both studying for a calculus test. He was sitting cross-legged on a blanket, and I was on my stomach, my book opened up before me. He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear—the side that wasn’t shaved—and said, “You are the most beautiful girl in the world.”
I never thought twice and just blurted it out. “I love you.”
He grinned and said it right back to me, no hesitation whatsoever.
It almost makes me want to say it again, but I hold my tongue. At this point, I’m too afraid of rejection and just as fearful that perhaps this is all moving a little too fast.
“This is totally cool,” he agrees. “Just hanging with my girl, watching a scary movie, and eating myself sick on Snickers.”
I like that.
My girl.
“What did Max end up doing tonight?” I ask as I snuggle into him, tucking my head up under his chin. His arms wrap tighter around me. We had invited Max to hang with us but he declined. We’ve actually been doing a lot with him lately. He and Hawke have become pretty close buds and he’s taken to working out with me and Max during our conditioning sessions. Max is killing it in the net so far this season, but he seems driven to be become better and better. I think the memory of missing last season due to an injury and then Ryker filling in and taking top spot is what’s fueling him.
Hawke gives a slight shrug to his shoulders. “No clue. Said he had plans, though.”
“Plans?” I say with surprise. Max is even more of a homebody than I am. As far as I know, the man trains, plays hockey, eats, and sleeps. That’s it. “Do you think he has a date?”
“Babe,” Hawke says with a dramatic drawl. “I’m a dude. He’s a dude. We don’t talk about stuff like that.”
“Yes, you do,” I argue as I tip my head back and tilt my face to once again look up at him because I know guys most certainly talk about stuff like that. They have to.