Page 60 of His to Love
He’d been moaning ever since.
“But you already got a bed, a dresser, and a couch.”
I eyed him, my grin full of mirth. “And I need tables. Lots of them.”
“Lots of tables,” he muttered. I laughed and grabbed his hand, pulling him along with me as we weaved through the massive furniture store. It took one trip around the store to realize I didn’t like any of them. None of them would go with the curved sofa with a chaise longue at one end that I bought earlier. None of them would look good next to my wrought iron bed and gunmetal gray dresser.
“Okay.” I sighed and began heading toward the exit. “I’m done here.”
Tyson tugged on my hand until I turned to look at him. “Done? You haven’t bought anything.”
“I know. I’ll just have to look more later.”
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling in a heaven-help-me gesture.
“Not tonight,” I clarified. “Right now, I want to go eat. I’m starving.” I laughed as the worry that I would drag him to another store eased from his shoulders.
“Thank Christ,” he muttered.
“You didn’t have to come,” I reiterated when we were outside and in his black truck.
“Maybe I just wanted to see you. But next time I offer that, remind me of how I feel this very minute.”
“And how’s that?”
“Like I’d rather be put through a blender.”
I laughed, shaking my head. I wasn’t that bad. I thought three stores in two hours was pretty good. But all of the stores were filled with traditional or overly elegant furniture. I wanted something country. Chic. Simple lines with dashes of muted color to make my apartment feel warm and comfortable. I sighed and rested my head against the headrest as I realized why those things were so important to me.
“What is it?” Tyson asked, glancing at me before he pulled onto the freeway.
“I just realized that I’ve been trying to find furniture similar to what I used to have at my aunt’s place.”
“Miss her?”
“Yeah, although I don’t think I realized how much until just now.” My voice was wistful and a little sad. With all the work I’d been doing since I moved back home, I hadn’t had time to really consider what I left behind. “I need to call her. She’s probably worried about me.”
Tyson turned to me again and arched a brow. “What will you tell her?”
“Everything,” I said, closing my eyes. “I always tell Eleanor everything.”
Something comforting pulsed between us, warming the air in the truck’s cab. Turning my head, I opened my eyes and looked at Tyson. His eyes were warm and soft as he looked at me before he put them back on the road, navigating us down Main Street in Latham Hills.
“What?”
He shook his head, but he was grinning. “I was just wondering what you’d tell her about me.”
A hint of doubt in his tone made his grin fade until I reached over and placed my hand on his.
“I’d tell her everything. Eleanor and I don’t have secrets.”
“Then what will you tell her about me?”
“That I found you again,” I whispered, hesitating briefly as Tyson pulled into a parking spot. “And I never want to lose you.”
The memory of Eleanor insisting I quit following Tyson’s football career after his injury flashed through my mind. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him, she just saw how much it killed me every time I found a snippet of an article that mentioned his name. She saw how devastated I was when I realized his lifelong dream had just died. I had never felt more alone then. Had never missed him more. All I’d wanted to do was reach out and comfort him and tell him how sorry I was, but Eleanor—knowing what was best for me—talked me out of it.
My vulnerability was written plain on my face, and I jumped as his palm cupped the side of my cheek. He leaned forward, sliding his hand from my cheek to my neck and then tugged me to meet him. Our lips met in a slow, gentle kiss. Sparks of desire trickled through my body, and I moaned into his mouth.
