Page 56 of Puck & Make Up

And hopefully not have alienated him so much that he’s changed his mind about moving forward.

And…

I need to tell him that I love him.

Which hopefully won’t sendhimrunning for the fucking hills like a dumbass who doesn’t know a good thing when she finally finds it—or rather when it findsher.

None of which gets him here any sooner.

None of which eases my ever-increasing nerves.

None of which?—

The sound of an engine reaches my ears, and I whip my gaze down the street, straining to catch a glimpse of the car coming this way. My heart leaps when I see that it’s Fox’s and immediately my nerves amp up so high that I’m jittery, my hands shaking, my legs feeling like they won’t hold me up.

But…

I have a plan.

And I’m going to execute it.

Apologize. Explain. I love you.

Apologize. Explain. I love you.

The car slows for a moment before returning to its previous speed and before I can even go down the three steps, he’s whipped his car into the driveway and thrown open the driver’s side door.

Apologize. Explain?—

“I love you!” I shout the moment he’s out of the car.

Not the plan.Sonot the plan.

Apologize first. Explain second.ThentheI love youpart.

But, even as anxious as I am, I still feel a blip of amusement when the big, bearded hockey player skids to a halt, his mouth dropping open. It’s fleeting, though, and then he’s rushing toward me again.

In the blink of an eye, he’s in front of me. “What did you say?”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, gripping his forearms, holding his stare. “Sosorry. Last night was perfect and I…I panicked. I was feeling so much, and you were so great, and this is…better than anything I’ve ever hoped for and I want more and?—”

“Sugar.” He slips from my hold to cup both sides of my face. “What did you say?”

Apologize. Check.

Explain. Sort of check.

Now—

“I love you.”

He inhales sharply, that big chest expanding, and then…

He’s moving again, wrapping his arms around me, dragging me against him. “Fuck, Dessie.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I had a moment of insanity. It won’t happen again.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” he rasps. “Especially when you wouldn’t answer my calls.” He pulls back, fixes me in place with a glare. “Promise me you won’t do that again. Promise me that you’ll talk to me, and if you can’t, you’ll at least text me and let me know you need some breathing room or leave a note or send fucking telegram or something.”

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