Page 40 of Endgame

I move to hold my arms across my chest, most likely the movement bringing attention where it shouldn’t. Yet Callaway clearly has gentleman written on his tombstone because he’s not the least bit fazed.

Like a firmly planted rock.

He chuckles, “Always. Couldn't help it if I tried.”

He’s constantly surprising me with his kindness. I’m not being unkind, but I wear my damage like a shield, fighting toprotect myself from letting him in. His kindness has no conditions. He wants me, the good, the bad, and the damaged. Since I’m feeling generous, I send him a small smile, ensuring it’s not quite bright enough to give him the wrong intentions.

“It seems you won’t have to look very far considering I work here now.” I hold my badge in the air, shaking my hips playfully—the dance is doing a terrible job of hiding my excitement.

He always seems to find a way to make me laugh. It’s been so long that I almost forget what it feels like to be so swept up in a moment that a giggle breaks free.

His eyes follow the movement of my hips, taking his attention from the topic of our conversation. The clarity in them settles into a hazy shadow of want. I’ve never seen him hold himself back like this. I bet he would already be finding a desperate reason to touch me if we weren’t at our current place of work. His restraint is admirable.

He wastes no time complimenting me, “They’re lucky to have you. I’ll say I knew you first when you make it big.”

Please don’t be nice to me. It only makes it more difficult to deny dating you.

Chuckling to myself, I reply, “This is what small people like me consider big. I’d be a fool not to see that.” I would have accepted the job had they asked me to photograph the bathrooms.

Accepting any job at the caliber of the Strikers Organization is a big deal.

My thoughts are exposed as Callaway’s sudden movement centers me again. He reaches his right hand up to cradle my face and gently cups the back of my neck. My body heats at not only his touch, but also the vulnerability of this moment.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Dakota. You have far too much to offer. You deserve to be here. Let yourself believe that.”

I draw in a short breath, stunned on the spot.

He’s never seen my work, yet he believes in the success of it. I’m learning things about Callaway I have a feeling he doesn’t let many people see. Like how he celebrates even the smallest successes of the ones he loves. He goes to lengths to make sure Navy never feels alone and knows how important she is to him—I saw that first-hand when she and I were in college. From the short time I’ve known Callaway, I can confidently say he’s intentional with all the right things—it’s humbling to witness and an encouragement to me.

The honor and weight of seeing it, and now being on the receiving end of his care feels exponential. I know deep down if I allowed myself, I could love him. That’s a dangerous feeling for someone without a tribe of people who love her. I could drown myself in him. Except the gut feeling that haunts me is of him seeing the scars that are so deep I work hard to hide them.

I’m a fool to think he doesn’t already see them because he does. Callaway has been able to read me from the second we met. I have to be strong enough to admit the risk isn’t something I can leave to chance. A physical connection is the only thing I can offer him. He can take my body and make it his. But my heart…that stays locked up tight.

Although I’m not about to offer myself up again.

Realizing he’s waiting for a response, my face softens. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

I quickly stand to attention, drawing my composure back. He senses my withdrawal before pulling away and moving to hold the straps to his bat bag like a lifeline; it’s either that or a restraint to keep himself from moving in on me.

It looks like I was wrong because before I know it, he’smoving closer with that sexy and invincible ego on lock, stepping up to my side while I stand here, unable to breathe.

I’m immobile and have no plans to change that anytime soon.

Callaway cranes his neck to look at me from the side, while I avoid eye contact at all costs, my gaze still looking straight ahead. His large hand comes into view as he tugs on the tip of my curled lock. He begins twirling it between his rough fingers, lightly humming as he examines the colors in my brown strands. His attention to something as simple as my hair makes my cheeks blush twelve shades brighter. It feels like he’s examining a far more intimate part of me—maybe he is.

“You’re bound to be great, sweetheart. Fuck whoever told you that you weren’t.”

He walks away, and I let myself sink into his words. They feel like a roadmap to the darkest parts of me. How is he so intuitive to my life? I’ve let him dig his way in too far already. So I decide to do what any grown woman would and yell across the field at him. “I’m still not going on a date with you, Callaway. It’s never going to happen.”

The deepest chuckle invades my ears from yards away as he takes off in the distance. He’s got the tightest ass with tree trunk thighs I’d like to feel the weight above me. That didn’t go as planned.

If I gathered anything from our conversation, it’s that I’m royally screwed.

18

DAKOTA

Dakota:FUZZY TWISTED NIPPLE

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