Page 124 of Play Fast (Brooklyn Dawn 2)

Who had someone like Daisy in their life and nearly destroyed everything?

Me. I’d had so much good in my life, and I’d lost it.

Almost.

Because if there was any fucking chance for Daisy and I to figure this out, I was going to fight like hell. She was worth everything, and I was going to make sure I was worth her.

No matter how long it took.

“Which photo did you find?”

I took out my wallet and showed it to her. She smiled, the smile fading as she turned the picture over and read the words on the back. Then her gaze lifted to mine.

“Is that true?” I asked.

“What?”

“What Kerry wrote.”

She ran the edge of her red fingernail along the back of the photo. “It was definitely 2015.”

“Daisy.”

“If you’re asking if you’re the love of my life, I don’t know.”

If she’d punched me dead in the face, it couldn’t have hurt more. It was no less than I deserved, but still, I reeled from the blow.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever had. The only one I ever wanted. But I don’t know if you’ll be the only one. I was willing to walk away from you and the job I adored to keep myself from hurting. Except it doesn’t matter. I’ll still feel as if I’m missing an arm when you’re not around. I’ll still wish I could hear you laugh and roll my eyes at your maneptitude.”

“Thanks, Jame,” I muttered.

“You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever known. Strong and brave and funny and sweet when you aren’t trying so hard to be a tough guy. Maybe a little lackluster when it comes to studying up on required subjects, but everyone has a few flaws.”

“BDSM lite is a required subject? I like your idea of school.” As quickly as the bravado came, it drained away.

Her eyes were raw and wet. And I didn’t want to wear armor in front of her anymore.

I wanted—needed—her to understand.

“I didn’t think Kerry wanted us together. You even said it yourself, she told you not to hit on me. But then I saw that photo and maybe it was just a joke or maybe it meant something more. It just felt like she was giving me, I don’t know.”

“Permission to fuck me senseless?”

Only her slightly teasing tone allowed me to smile. “Permission to love you for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t.” Her chin wobbled. “Don’t say stuff you don’t mean. Or even if you mean it, don’t say stuff that won’t matter when you get pissed at me and shut me out. Or when some guy sees my tits and you lose your mind and decide you’re evil incarnate for punching him.”

“I didn’t think I was evil incarnate, exactly. Just not good enough for you.”

“Yet suddenly you are? You buy a pink couch and a purple chair—which clash horribly by the way, someone needs to teach you color theory—and you buy—”

“Paint at the women’s craft store, yes, get to the point.”

“Throw pillows,” she corrected, “and shag rugs and dear God, is that actually a picture of a unicorn over there?”

“Put your glasses on. It’s a damn Palomino.”

“I only need them to read, thank you very much. The light’s just weird in here. New lamp too.” She started to laugh, and then she started to cry.

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