Page 17 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)
“You get an A-plus for calling it a sweater and not a jersey. You can have one, if you want, but it’s going to hang down to your knees and the material is ridiculously stiff.”
“Can I pick?”
“Sure,” he says, walking us straight into his closet and setting me down on my feet.
Slowly, I spin in a circle, taking it all in.
There’re a lot of clothes packed in here.
The hangers are full—mostly of suits, which I know is what they wear before every game.
There are also stacks of jeans, sweatpants, shorts, shirts. Stacks upon stacks.
“Wow, this is…”
“Impressive, I know,” he says, and I grin.
I hold a jersey up against me, and we both laugh at how comically huge it is. Sorting through a stack of T-shirts, I stop when I find the perfect one. The graphic is a UFO beaming up a man, with the words ask me about my butthole emblazoned across it.
“This one,” I exclaim.
“Fucking hell,” he says, grabbing it from me.
“You said I could pick!”
“That was before I remembered this was in here. It was a gag gift from Lottie.”
“I want that one, Tyson,” I say, pointing at it.
“Fine,” he relents, handing it to me. “You change in here; I’ll go brush my teeth and leave a spare toothbrush out for you.”
Before I change, I pull my cell phone from my waistband and send a quick text to Willa.
Me:
I told Tyson I want to date. I told him about Derik. Now we’re having a non-sexy-time sleepover at his house.
I promised I would check in with her, and knowing her, she’s waiting up until she hears from me.
Willa:
You’re good then? Like, totally good? Do you need to talk?
Me:
I’m good. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Willa:
I’m so proud of you! Don’t push yourself past your limits. Call me if you need anything. I’m leaving my ringer on. I love you!
Me:
I love you too, thank you for always being here for me.
Willa:
ALWAYS
“You good?” Tyson asks, from the other side of the closet door. Again, he’s being a gentleman and not peeking in.
“Sorry, yeah. I’m good, I was texting Willa.”
“Don’t apologize, take your time.”
He’s sweet. Or he’s a normal man, and I haven’t known enough normal men in my life. Either way, I could get used to it.
I change quickly into his silly shirt and rush next door to the bathroom, where a new toothbrush is sitting out for me. When I head back into the bedroom, it’s with a new apprehension. I pause just outside of the door. Tyson is already in bed, scrolling on his phone, bare chest on full display.
“Hey,” he says. When he notices me, his eyes narrow. “Talk to me, Kit. What’s wrong?”
“You have spare toothbrushes,” I say, my toes curling into the soft carpet. His face falls but he recovers quickly.
“Can you come sit with me and I’ll explain?”
I debate taking a minute to think about it, but decide that’s stupid. He’s been so patient with me; it would be unfair to not give him the same grace. So, I move to the opposite side of the bed from him, and crawl up, keeping to the edge.
“Yes, your assumptions are correct. I do have spare toothbrushes for the occasion when I have a woman over. I just left the last one out for you.”
“Better add more to your grocery list,” I snark quietly.
“I have a handful more in the drawer, Kit. I meant, it’s the last one, because I haven’t so much as looked at another woman since my neighbor turned my head.”
“Oh.” Heat bursts on my cheeks, embarrassed that I’ve reacted the way I have. “I told you I don’t know how to do this.”
“Seems like you might have a jealous streak; it’s sexy as fuck, if I’m honest.” He throws the blankets back, inviting me under. “You still want to stay?”
“You still want me to?”
“Without question.” He turns away to plug his phone into the charger. I use the opportunity to climb in without his eyes as an audience. “You make my dumbass shirt look good, by the way.”
“It’s a great shirt,” I mumble, scooting farther under the covers. I eye his tanned skin, wondering what it would feel like, but I’m too nervous to reach out. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I lock my fingers around them.
Tyson watches, his lips twitching to smile. He fights it off well enough, then rolls to his side to face me.
“You doing okay?” he asks, and I nod wordlessly. “Do you want a cuddle?”
Again, I don’t answer. I just awkwardly scoot closer without fully releasing my fetal position. Tyson ends up laughing.
“I like it when you laugh,” I whisper.
“I like it when you laugh, too,” he mimics my soft tone. “It lets me know your comfort level.”
“Your laughter helps with that,” I tell him, and he inches a little closer to me as we stare at each other. “Will you do something for me?”
“Anything you want.”
“Will you…” I start and then think better of it.
“Kit, this is a safe space. Any time you’re with me, you are safe.”
The way he continually reminds me and reassures me makes my heart swell. An expression I never liked, since it sounded like a medical emergency. Now, I understand it.
“Can I have a goodnight kiss?” I ask tentatively.
“Fuck, yes, Kit. Do you want me to control it, or do you want to?”
“I don’t know how,” I say.
“It mostly comes naturally.” He moves even closer. So close that I feel his body heat against mine. His minty breath across my lips. A soft gasp escapes me at how such a small thing excites me so much.
“It takes one-hundred-forty-six muscles to kiss.”
“Then it’s a good workout, too.” He speaks the words at the corner of my mouth, and I feel it in other parts of my body. I don’t want to wait any more. Nor do I want to relinquish the decision to someone else.
Leaning the mere centimeter forward, I press my lips to Tyson’s.
Not thinking about how it may come across as fumbling, I move my mouth against his until I find a position and a rhythm I like best. He follows my lead, only deepening it when a needy sound bubbles out of me.
His lips separate, his tongue darting out to taste.
My toes curl for another reason entirely.