Page 46 of Please Don’t Go (The Midnight Strike #1)

I didn’t mean to directly ask that; I just didn’t expect him to be here.

They won their first series against Cal Poly, and I know all the guys were going to celebrate.

At least that’s what Pen said in the group chat.

She and Vi begged me to go, but I thought a little distance from Daniel would do me good.

Plus, Bryson is going to be wherever they’re at, so it was a hard pass for me.

A boyish grin grows on his face as he takes me in, not offended by my blunt question. “Are you going to stand there, or are you going to come down here and congratulate me?”

I lean against the railing, crossing my arms over my chest. “Congratulations, Captain.” I smile a little at him from up here.

I’m serious about keeping my distance.

His eyes drop instantly to my lips, and I swear his whole face lights up. I’m not sure why. I look the least bit appealing, and I didn’t go to him like he wanted me to.

My heart takes flight as he climbs the steps before he’s standing in front of me. “I love working for things. So now that I’m here, can I get a real congratulations?”

It might’ve sounded a bit snarky, but I meant it. However, this time I tone it down and repeat myself. “Congratulations, Captain. Better?”

“No.” He shakes his head.

I drop my gaze, it’s quick but still I notice the way his hands twitch, lifting slightly before he settles them by his side.

A hug. He wants a hug.

I shouldn’t, but…

I slip my arms around him, pulling him in until he’s flush against my body. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his strong arms around me. He inhales deeply, his body going pliant against me.

“Congratulations, Captain,” I try again, softer this time.

He nuzzles his face in the crook of neck, another deep inhale, and his arms tighten. I shouldn’t have allowed that, but sometimes my body reacts in ways I can’t control. It feels second nature, familiar, comforting. It feels good.

So much for distance.

“Did you watch me play?” he asks, voice hopeful and keen, like my answer will determine something for him. I just don’t know what.

“There was nothing else to watch, so yeah, I watched the game.”

He chuckles, his warm breath fanning my neck, making me shiver. “But did you watch me ?”

“Do you mean, were my eyes solely on number six the entire two and a half hours? The player everyone calls Sparky? Did I happen to see the multiple double plays, the home run, and hear the commentators get hard-ons from watching him play?”

Daniel draws back. He smiles so bright, it’s blinding. He still holds me, and because he’s a few steps down, we’re at the same eye level. It shouldn’t be an issue, but this feels too intimate.

The look on his face tells me he’s thinking what I’m thinking, but he doesn’t move.

“That number six is something else, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess. A little cocky if you ask me.”

“But hot right?”

A laugh tickles my throat. “I guess…”

“You guess?” He looks appalled.

“I mean if you take into account the other guys on the team…he falls somewhere under…”

He holds me tighter; a possessive gleam shines in his now dark eyes. “Don’t finish that.”

I lean forward, my lips to his ear. “I couldn’t focus on anyone else when my attention was only on number six.”

“Lucky guy,” he pridefully states, pulling back so he can look at me.

I should let go. I need to let go. But my brain won’t connect with whatever it is that sends the signals to get the rest of my body to work. I stay rooted in my spot, my arms still around his neck, fingers twined through his thick, soft locks.

“So what are you doing here?” I ask.

“Celebrating with you, of course.”

“You realize we’re standing on the staircase. Pretty positive this doesn’t count as celebrating.”

“It is as long as you’re spending it with the person you want to be with.” He stares at me so endearingly, it makes my skin itch again. “How we celebrate doesn’t matter, as long as I get to be with you.”

My heart manically races. “How do you want to celebrate it then?”

“Can I hold you?”

His question throws me off. “I think you’re already doing that.”

“No, I mean, can we watch a movie or something and you let me hold you?” he firmly asks, but the question doesn’t sound demanding. It sounds like a plea.

“I’m not a cuddler.” I get awkward being held for too long or even at all.

I know Daniel’s held me before, but that was all in the moment and when I wasn’t thinking straight.

Even now, I’m only okay because he’ll let go soon.

“I…I get weird and I move and you’ll get annoyed and things will get weird. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

“Can I be the judge of that?” His face dims like he already knows that I’m going to say no.

I want to say that but maybe being held by him won’t be the worst thing in the world. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” he asks, voice bordering on zealous.

I smile at that. “If that’s what you really want.”

“I really do.”

A few minutes later after he’s placed a pizza order, he’s sitting on the couch and I’m trying to figure out which is the best way to settle next to him.

Bryson and I didn’t cuddle, and if we ever did , we always ended up having sex.

It wasn’t because I wanted to, but he was insistent, and I just wanted him to shut up.

What the hell was wrong with me? Hatred and self-loathing , a self-deprecating voice taunts in my head.

A laugh bursts out of him. “Don’t overthink it. Come here.”

I scratch the back of my neck and pad over to him. “So how do we do this? Do you want me on my side or on top of you or…”

“I want you however you’re comfortable, but we really don’t have to do this.” He smiles assuringly. “I’m good with you sitting next to me.”

“No, I’ll cuddle with you. Lie down,” I instruct, and on beat, he does. He’s on his side, elbow propped up, his temple resting on his closed fist. I sit and stiffly lay on my side, until my back is flush against his front. “Is this okay?”

“As long as it’s okay with you.” I nod and then he asks, “Can I put my arm over you?”

He literally had his mouth on me and fingers inside me, yet he’s still asking for permission to do that? There’s no way he’s real. I must be dead because guys like him don’t exist.

“Yeah,” I respond quietly.

He drapes his arm over my stomach, his massive palm resting on top of my hand. Then I feel his mouth hover over my ear. “You’re safe, Josefine. I promise.”

I twist my head to look up at him. “I know.”

My bunched muscles and coiled nerves relieve themselves from the tension they’d been trapped in. Now all I feel is safe and okay.

He stares at me like I’m his most prized possession—something delicate, something important to him. And I hate that because I’m not special, yet he makes me feel like I am.

He smiles at me before his gaze drifts to my lips. I want to look away, but I find myself doing the same, staring at his lips.

I don’t let myself think this time as I lift my head and meet his lips halfway. He softly kisses me, not rushing with lust or hungrily like something he needs to get over with. He takes his time as if he were savoring me.

When he pulls back, he smiles down at me, places a chaste kiss to my forehead and holds me like I’m his. It’s dangerous I know, but at this moment, I pretend like I am his and not a disintegrating mess.