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Chapter Eighteen
Cade
I have the restraint of a saint.
By Friday, I still haven’t pressed my lips to Dylan’s, although I have grown accustomed to the taste of her skin. I’ve kissed her shoulder, her neck, her cheek.
And only in the morning.
Only after waking up to her pressed in front of me.
Last night, we slept in her bed instead of the theater, but it was completely PG.
Well, PG but for the raging hard-on I had.
That aside, everything between Dylan and I remained safe. Steady. Not toeing into an area she’s not ready for.
I did, however, talk her into a trip south to L.A.
In that talk, she decided it was time for her to return to the city, so we packed up her things and loaded them in the truck, closing up the White’s house.
She’s not able to get into the lifted vehicle on her own, but I’m not complaining.
“This truck is not conducive for pregnant women,” she complains after I help her up for the third time. We’ve stopped for pee-breaks no less than once every seventy minutes and every time she says she has to stop, she apologizes.
“It is for the man who wants his hands on his woman,” I tease, sending a wink her way before closing the door. I can see her face flame red before I jog around to the driver’s side.
We haven’t discussed what we are.
I’d like to say more than friends, but it hasn’t been hashed out.
I’d like to claim Dylan as mine; to claim her baby as mine. But that’s a caveman’s way of thinking, and if there’s one thing I know about Dylan, it’s that she can be stubborn when she feels she needs to be.
The rest of the drive is done without breaks, but only because Dylan takes her afternoon nap.
I knew she napped every day.
She wakes just as pull into the city limits. We’re still a good fifteen minutes, by GPS, from her place.
“I gotta pee,” she says on a sad sigh, and I chuckle. “It’s not funny. Sitting here hasn’t been great for my bladder. This boy…” Dylan shifts, and I catch her pressing her knees together.
“We won’t make it to your place?” I ask, reaching out to put my hand on her tight thigh. Nope. We probably won’t make it to her place.
“Maybe to my parking garage,” she mumbles, her thigh bunching under my hand again. “But I’ll probably still piss in your truck.”
I know of a Whole Foods coming up, so I make my way to the left lane, knowing I’ll need to turn shortly. Besides, she’ll likely need groceries, so we can get it all done at once.
The grocery store is almost in view, and Dylan is subtly dancing in her seat.
I grin over at her. “We’re almost stopping. Thirty-seconds.”
But we catch a green light where I was hoping for a green arrow, and we have to wait for a decent amount of traffic.
“I’m going to pee in your truck. Oh my God, this is so embarrassing,” Dylan is mumbling beside me.
It would be funny if she peed in my truck. I have enough young guy in me to think bodily fluids are mostly funny.
But I also don’t want her refusing to see me because she’s embarrassed.
