Page 24 of The Pucking Proposal

And then I burst into laughter. “What?” I say around full-on belly guffaws that shake my shoulders. “What the fuck are we arguing about?”

“I don’t even know,” he answers, laughing too.

Suddenly, we both dissolve into a mutual laughing fit at the absurdity of the movie and each other. And still, Sheila, Jameson, and Bernie snow-fight on, which only makes the whole thing funnier.

Eventually, the laughter starts to subside, and I ask, “You really think I’d shit a sweet guy out before lunch?”

“One hundred percent,” he declares with complete surety. “Wouldn’t matter, though. He’d be running scared within the first thirty seconds of meeting you, intimidated as fuck by your mouth, mind, and tits, in that order,” he says, ticking the attributes off on his thick fingers.

My mouth falls open in surprise. That almost sounded like a compliment, but I must be wrong because Dalton Days doesn’t give those out. Especially to me.

Except, while he has called me mouthy at least a half dozen times, he’s also said I’m smart and strong, and he doesn’t seem to hate my body given his response to it.

“You didn’t run,” I say quietly.

He huffs out a sound of disbelief. “I’m not sweet and weak. And I’m still running. You’re fucking terrifying. I leave every interaction with you glad that I got away with my life and replaying our conversations to see if I missed any threats to it. The only thing scarier than you is ... losing.”

It sounds like he actually believes that. For some reason, I don’t want him to be scared of me.

“I don’t mean to be terrifying.” I sigh heavily, rolling my eyes in exhaustion. “Maybe I’m ready for a soft woman chapter. I’ve been a boss bitch for a long time,” I confess. “I think that’s why I like the stupid romance movies.”

Dalton turns on the couch, bringing up a knee between us. “If you’re serious, you should know that you don’t need to change a single fucking thing about yourself for the right guy to fall in love with you. You don’t need to be soft. You only need to be you. No giving up your career, moving to Vermont, or adopting a litter of dogs that’ll shit on the rug.”

I let my head fall back on the couch cushion, smiling at his dark humor. “I’m not going soft or giving up anything. Trust me, I know what I’m bringing to the table, so I’m not afraid to eat alone. I think I’m just a little lonely since Hope left.”

“Lonely? With me coming over or calling all the time?” he teases. And as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he reaches out to smooth my hair back from my face, peering at me curiously.

For a split second, I let my eyes close, enjoying his touch as his big palm slides over my hair, almost petting me. It feels good, releasing a knot in my chest I didn’t even realize had pulled tight.

I loll my head over, opening my eyes to lazily grin at him. “Yeah, you’re pretty annoying,” I agree, but there’s zero truth to my statement.

He’s not annoying in the slightest. He’s ... something different than I thought he was. I knew he was tough, hardworking, and cocky. But he’s also insecure at times, kind, and funny.

It takes a long minute, but I can feel the mood shift as he intentionally takes his hand back. “Always have been, always will be,” he quips. “On that front ...”

He drops his eyes to his lap, and when I do the same, I can see that he’s already hard beneath his sweatpants. I wonder if it’s from touching me, or if his dick has developed a Pavlov’s response to my voice because every time it hears me, it gets a moment of freedom and a few strokes.

“Yeah,” I answer hollowly, sitting up and tucking the blanket under my chin as a barrier between us.

Dalton’s hands lower to his waistband, where he slips his thumbs inside the elastic. I don’t breathe as he frees his erection. He doesn’t touch himself this time, already so hard that veins are throbbing along his length and his balls are pulled up tight against the base.

I stare, captivated by him. Hungry for him. And still, I sit unmoving.

Tonight has been fun. I’ve enjoyed hanging out with Dalton Days, which is something I never thought I’d say ... or think. But giving in and doing what else I’m thinking about doing is a bad idea. For both of us.

I accused him once of letting women hop on his dick to do all the work, while he lay back and took pleasure from them. Honestly, right now, I would throw a leg over his hips, settle my aching pussy over him, and impale myself as deeply as I could physically handle to ride him until we both came powerfully hard and I passed out from bliss, still attached to him, and not hold him at fault in the slightest.

I scissor my legs, squeezing my inner muscles as tightly as I can, wondering if I might come without a single touch. All from seeing his cock in all its glory.

Wouldn’t that give Dalton the ego boost of the century?

I don’t move any closer, don’t let my eyes drift, and certainly don’t check to see if he’s enjoying my obvious arousal.

After a minute, he pulls his sweats back over his penis and cups himself, adjusting so his hardness isn’t uncomfortable. “I should go,” he grunts, standing up slowly.

“Yeah, uh ... I’ll see you after the game,” I murmur, following him toward the door as I suddenly become the hostess I told myself I wasn’t. “I mean, for an interview. Or at Chuck’s. Or whatever,” I add, realizing I sounded like I meant we were going to meet after the game, like a date or a plan or whatever the hell it is people do.

But not us. We’re not people who do that.

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