Page 245 of Call the Shots
“How about burgers?”
“I’dlovea burger,” she whimpered.
“French fries or onion rings?”
“Onion rings.”
“That’s my girl.”
I typed up directions to a twenty-four-hour, greasy burger shop. The neon sign flickered ‘open’ and the guy behind the cash register looked annoyed that we were even there. It was perfect. At an outside table, June devoured her burger between shoving onion rings in her mouth.
“I love you,” I murmured. She gave me a tired smile and I held up my hot fudge sundae cup. She clinked hers with mine and I grinned. “This is the kind of love you can’t pass up.”
None of the bullshit mattered because if my girlfriend making fun of me in the past was the worst of it—that didn’t matter. I wasn’t missing out on this.
“You’re moving in with me,” I told her. “That’s non-negotiable.”
“Mm-hmm.” She nodded, squeezing out more ketchup packets for her onion rings. “And moving to Boston together?”
“Uh-huh.” I pointed at myself with my sundae. “Hockey.” I gestured towards her. “Law school.”
“What are you doing after hockey?”
“I don’t know. Not in the peripheral at the moment.”
“You could make video games. You’d be great at it.”
Damn, she knew how to get me. My grin widened. “Kids?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Big house?”
“Not too big,” she said, taking another huge bite of her burger. “But big garden. Swing sets and slides and stuff.”
“Nice.”
“I want to own my own practice by thirty-five,” June said.
“I want to be a hockey captain.”
“I want to take you to my dad’s losing-election party.”
“I want to show you where my mom’s gravestone is.”
We clinked our sundaes again, more promises between each other, and I wrapped an arm around her waist, nudging her closer. We had a drive back to Marrs left and then, sleeping together, like we were supposed to.
She sighed. “Iloveyou.”
“I’m fucking crazy for you, killer,” I admitted, kissing her hair.
When we finally made itback to Roman Villa, all was quiet and peaceful, the perfect night. June was so tired, she could barely keep her eyes open. She heaved a sigh. “I can’t dirty the sheets like this.”
“I can wash them in the morning?—”
“I need a shower.”
“You sure?”
