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His eyes are glassy, a little fogged over, as if he’s stuck in a trance or a haze, but he stares at me. He stares at me like I’m something precious. Like I’m the most important thing in the world.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks. He reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, and his fingers dance across my jaw, in no hurry to pull away. It’s easy, tender affection. The kind that makes butterflies flutter in your stomach and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod, and I’ve never been so sure of something in my life. “I’m perfect.”
His smile matches mine, a slow and indulgent thing full of teeth and crinkled eyes. It warms me, and when he leans over and kisses me, I sigh. It’s gentler than I expect it to be, but I guess that’s what happens when you quell that frantic, urgent need for someone after wanting them for so long—you feel like you finally have all the time in the world.
“I really wish I didn’t have to leave.” He rests his forehead against mine, and now that he’s closer, I can see the flecks of gold around his irises. Light swatches of color that make the room infinitely brighter. “I could stay in bed with you all day.”
“We have tonight,” I say, and I drag my thumb across his swollen bottom lip. I might have bitten it too hard when we tumbled back into bed. “And tomorrow. And the day after that. But I know this isn’t really your thing, so if it was just last night, well, it was fun.”
“Fun?” he repeats slowly, and his eyebrows pull together. “What do you meanmy thing?”
“This.” I gesture between us and the mess we’ve made. Half the pillows are missing, and the comforter disappeared hours ago. “Dating. Hooking up. I don’t want you to feel obligated to act a certain way just because you had your head between my legs.”
His mouth twitches. “I see. Give me a second.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, and the mattress sinks as he hops off the bed. He doesn’t bother with clothes, and I don’t know if I should frown at how mysterious he’s being or admire his ass as he walks away. “Oh, god, is this the equivalent of dining and dashing? You ate me out and now you’re leaving before things get awkward?”
“Your unfilteredness is one of my favorite things about you,” he says, and he disappears into the walk-in closet.
“What else is on that list?”
Dallas comes back into the bedroom a minute later, and there’s a stack of papers clutched tightly to his chest. “Take a look and find out.”
“What are those?”
“You’ll see,” he says, and he drops the pile in my lap.
I pull the twine holding them all together and postcards scatter everywhere. I pick up the first one and run my fingersover the corners, studying it like it might hold some sort of clue as to what’s going on.
It’s from California, a vintage style design with tall palm trees and a bear on the front. I turn it over and see Dallas’s handwriting on the back.
M-
I always get June a postcard from every away game.
It makes being away from home a little easier, and I thought I’d start the tradition with you, too.
It’s silly, but I have this idea that one day when she’s older, we’ll pull them out of a shoebox and I can tell her about the cities I got to see and the people I got to meet.
We’re really lucky to have you in our lives, and I hope you stick around for a long time.
-D
“California. This is from your first road game,” I whisper.
Dallas nods and rejoins me on the bed. He scoops me into his arms with ease and maneuvers our positions until he’s leaning against the headboard and I’m leaning against him. Settled, he kisses my cheek and drops his chin to my shoulder.
“Read the next one,” he says.
My hands shake as I turn it over. It’s another letter to me, longer than the first, and his handwriting is smaller so he can get in all the words he wants to say.
M-
I’m not sure I’ll ever give these to you. If I do, there’s something I want you to know.
You’ve only been with us for a month, and already, I can see the impact you’re having on June.
