Page 57 of Headed for Home

A peek into the nearest stall reveals that Drake didn’t just scoop out the poop and pee. He replaced the old shavings withnew stuff. I had explained the once-a-week, deep clean process while joking about my boss firing me for slacking off. Clearly, Drake was listening, and extremely well considering the task appears complete.

My focus returns to him. Everything else fades into a blur, which is becoming a habit whenever he’s around. “This is more than nice, trouble.”

He stretches, putting his captivating physique on display. “You flatter me.”

I scoff, but the sound lacks ire. “This is a huge job. How long did it take you?”

Drake glances at the rising sun behind me. “Not sure. I started at three.”

“It’s after six now.”

“Well, there you go. That explains why I had to pause and water your bushes.”

“I bet you did.”

His smirk isn’t apologetic in the least. “Why have all this land just to pee inside?”

“No judgment. I can pop a squat as steady as the next cowgirl.” My mind whirls in reverse. “Didn’t you work at Roosters last night?”

He nods. “The bar closes at eleven on Sundays. That gave me a few hours of sleep before I drove over here.”

That sends my curiosity in the opposite direction momentarily. “How’s your elusive house? Still standing?”

A chuckle bounces from him to chisel at the tension. “You’re always welcome over there. My bed is very comfortable.”

“Yet you left it after a short snooze. Just so you could clean the stalls.”

“Grand gesture,” he repeats.“I’d rather be here with you. No matter the conditions.”

I blindly reach for the closest surface before my knees give out. “It’s very much appreciated, but you don’t need to try this hard to get laid.”

“That’s not what this is about.” Drake straightens, seeming to measure the distance separating us. “I’m after your heart. Your trust. Your love. Your future. I don’t just want to date you, beauty. I want to keep you. Forever. I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Hard work doesn’t scare me. Besides, you deserve a day off.”

Good grief, this guy. The kindness in his tone strikes a very sensitive note. Conviction pulses from his broad frame and I’m captivated again.

Heat stings my eyes. I sniffle, wiping away the emotional evidence. Drake is too observant, already stalking toward me. His gentle touch swipes at a stray tear I missed.

Natural instinct has me leaning into him. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“Like in a good way?”

“The best. You saved me a lot of hard labor. My back thanks you.”

He deflates as if my answer is responsible for removing a pallet of bricks from his shoulders. “It’s good for me. I’ve been getting soft after leaving the league. Too complacent.”

“Oh, puh-lease.” I gesture to his chiseled abdomen. “Look at that stack.”

“Feel free to stroke me while you’re at it.”

“Shameless.” But I allow my fingers to trace the sculpted ridges.

His groan is paired with an obscene thrust from his hips. “Little lower, beauty.”

I eye the bulge below his belt. “My kids are asleep, but not for long. I’d hate to leave you hanging.”

He nods in understanding. “Blue balls is my least favorite color.”

My palms drift along his arms, pausing to squeeze his biceps. “How about a massage for now?”

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