Dream Chaser (Dream Team #2) - Kristen Ashley Page 0,93
Boone?”
He studied me.
Then he sighed.
After that, he spoke.
“You gotta be strong. You gotta be tough. You gotta take the hard knocks and keep on ticking. In other words, you gotta be perfect, because if you’re not, if you give anyone reason to go, you think they’ll go. You can’t let yourself be human because your dad taught you to work for love, when love isn’t work. It isn’t, Ryn. Love is a gift that’s the only gift there is that isn’t about earning it. People say that. Shit like, ‘You gotta earn her love,’ and it ticks me off. Because that’s not the way it works. Love just happens. It just blooms. Then it’s yours to give. And you give it. The end.”
I stared up into his gorgeous face.
“But we get where you’re at with that now, you feeling the need to be all to everyone, stand strong, never fall down, and we’ll work on that too. Though I’ll say, that’s you. It’s obvious that’s how you’ve gotta be and it’s a part of you that’s beautiful. It’s just that I gotta get you to the place where you know you’re safe not having to be like that with me,” he finished.
I heard him.
But mostly I was hearing a repeated refrain of, Love just happens. It just blooms. Then it’s yours to give. And you give it. The end.
“Ryn,” he called.
It just blooms. Then it’s yours to give. And you give it.
He had an awesome pad.
He cooked great.
He fucked amazing.
He was beautiful.
He complimented my outfits.
He liked lots of ketchup on his onion rings.
He did the work (albeit belatedly, he still did it) to get shit straight between us.
He got uber pissed at the thought of his friends being mean to me.
And he lost it when he thought he was falling down on the job of protecting me.
And now…
This.
“Ryn!” he said sharply when I kept drifting on the gentle waves of how great my hopefully-now-official boyfriend was.
My hands shot up, I caught his cheeks, I yanked him down to me, and I declared, “I like you a whole lot, Boone Freaking Sadler.”
“And I like you a whole lot too, Kathryn Sweet Fuck Jansen.”
I felt my eyes widen.
Then I collapsed against him and burst out laughing.
He put his arms around me.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
When I quit laughing, I said into his ear, “Totally beat you on the breakfast thing.”
“Tonight, you get to make dinner.”
“Shutting up now.”
He lifted his head and looked at me, doing this chuckling.
He started to stroke my back, and he kept his tone light, but I knew it wasn’t when he asked, “Okay now?”
I nodded.
“Good, baby.”
I grinned at him.
His tone stayed light, but still serious, when he said, “You need to talk about this shit more, you know?”
I sighed.
Then I nodded again.
“And don’t think you got out of the holding-your-breath discussion.”
Well.
Shit.
I rolled my eyes.
I rolled them back when I felt his mouth on mine.
He kissed me quickly, pulled away and nabbed our bowls, handing me mine.
“Finish your oatmeal.”
I did a salute before I took the bowl.
“You were a good girl last night, but warning, I got a great memory, so you can be good at the time, but I’ll remember if you earned a spanking.”
I rolled my eyes again.
He chuckled again.
I let us finish our oatmeal and I let him bring me more coffee without instigating any further heavy.
Boone seemed content to stand between my legs, one hand on my thigh, staring out the window and sipping from his mug. And I was content to watch his handsome profile doing this, liking it a good deal that he could get in that zone of just being with me like that, but I shook myself out of it because I had to.
And then I prompted, “Boone. Brett.”
He turned to me.
“We got dick,” he announced.
Was he serious?
“What?” I asked. “It’s been four days.”
“Cops on our crew have exhausted all avenues to try to find someone who might know if Tony Crowley was investigating a couple, or a syndicate, of dirty cops. And after two of our boys went and struck out, Ally visited the widow, hoping she’d open up to a woman. But she’s locked down tight. Scared as shit. They got to her, but she knows something. So we did some checking, and in a thorough search of her house, no files, no hidden panels with folders filled with damning evidence—”