Page 78 of I Want to Know What Love Is

Chapter Thirty

Amanda

I take him back to my house and I feel foolish, but more so, I feel on top of the world and scared shitless because what the hell are we doing? Changing our lives because of a hot and steamy affair?

Paul leaps in our direction as soon as we step inside and he lands on Dylan, tail wagging furiously and licking his face.

“Hey, did you already forget who feeds you, puppy?” The fickle animal bounds toward me then, without apology, but with abandon, like he’s teaching me a lesson. Stupid dog. But maybe he’s smarter than me. Because I’m a super stupid girl. That idea doesn’t stop the foolish grin on my face and the swelling sense of well-being from blooming in my chest as Paul licks my face and Dylan pushes him away.

“You’re going to have to share her with me, pal.” He ruffles the dog’s fur and picks up a toy from the floor nearby, tossing it. “This going to be a problem?” he snorts a grin at me, shaking his head as Paul rushes after the chew toy.

“Not even close to the real problems.” He takes me in his arms.

“Hey, I thought we took care of those.” It’s my turn to snort.

“In theory, but you know about theories, right? Reality will be—”

“So much fucking fun—emphasis on the fucking,” he says. I let out an outraged laugh, batting his arm and shoving him away as his hands wander down to my ass.

“Spoken like a true male pig—”

“You forgot chauvinist.”

“No I didn’t. You’re a lot of things, Mr. cocky, but you’re not a chauvinist.”

“Not even when I insist you come before me, orgasmicly speaking?” the teasing smirk on his face deserves a slap—either that or a kiss. I choose kiss. Because the look in his eyes is more than hungry or lusty, it’s adoring and warm and thorough, making me feel like the beginning and end of his world. So I wrap my arms around him and kiss him, opening my mouth and my heart to all he has, giving him all I have. Because I don’t really have a choice. My soul is like the proverbial genie’s bottle, it’s been opened and whatever was inside is his now and can’t be put back.

He walks me backward down the hallway and into my bedroom until we stop at the edge of my bed.

“You’re sure about this? You want to leave your friends, your team and your shot at the draft this year? All for what?” My voice cracks, but I have to say the words that plague me, express the wonder about whether he’ll have regrets no matter how smitten he is now.

“Don’t lie to yourself, Mandy. You’re more than a lay in the hay, and I’m more than a hunky kid.” His quiet words singe me with guilt. He’s not even a kid at all. He’s stronger and braver and better than any man I’ve ever met. “My feelings aren’t fleeting, not even a tiny chance that I’ll have any regrets.” I blow out a breath.

“What about me? Aren’t you worried I’ll have regrets?”

“I’m terrified.” His words squeeze my chest and all I want to do is erase the realness of his fear.

“Don’t be. Please don’t. I promise I’ll hold up, do my part—”

“Even when people whisper about you? When your team questions you? When Emily—”

“It’ll be hard. But what’s the alternative? When I ask myself that, the choice is obvious. Because I can’t imagine never seeing you again, not having… this.”

“Does that mean you’re in love with me?” He arches a brow and smiles, but I know he’s serious. The smile quivers and his eyes show lines of worry. But none of that danger of rejection stops him from exposing himself, from allowing the ultimate vulnerability by putting his heart on the line.

“It could be. But I don’t really know what love is, Dylan.” My words are a plea for understanding and patience.

“It’s what you’re doing right now. Giving me a chance against all the odds, backing me up, being willing to take the fall for me, fucking putting your career on the line to save mine. That’s what it is, sha.” He brushes his lips over mine with heart-breaking tenderness and I let the swell of bliss sweep me up and carry me away as we fall onto the bed.

I roll on top of him, my hand instinctively reaching for his cock, knowing it’ll be ready, hard to some degree on the boner-meter and I’m not disappointed. “Oh, Jonesy,” I say, meaning the words from my depths.

“The way you talk,” he teases, his face lighting up with pride and anticipation. “How long do you think it’ll take you to lose the clothes?”

“I bet I’ll be quicker than you.”

“And there’s that competitive streak I hear tell about, coming out in the most opportune moment.” He grasps me by the hips and lifts me off him, dumping me on the bed beside him as he reaches for his shirt. Drool forms as he lifts it over his head and I forget all about the bet, too busy getting mesmerized by his rippling muscles. But only for a second.

Scrambling to my knees, I lift the dress over my head leaving me only in my bra and panties. He sees I have the advantage, but the searing look in his eyes tells me he’s far from disappointed, far from worried about winning a race to strip. I laugh as he stops to watch me unhook my bra, as it pops open. He’s stopped pulling his pants off and stares at me, one of those smoldering looks that scorches me, leaving a pink blush on my skin as sure as if he were the sun.