“You know you broke the internet just now, right?” he said, voice low and teasing as he set his phone down and dropped onto the bed beside her.
She shrugged, eyes soft. “Only the parts I care about.”
Dylan leaned in, pressing a kiss to her jaw. Then lower, to her neck. “You’re dangerous when you’re confident.”
“I’m dangerous anyway,” she murmured, threading her fingers through the ends of his curls. “You’re just now catching up.”
He huffed out a laugh, but it faded as he shifted, gently rolling her onto her back and hovering above her. “I’m staying, by the way,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Until Monday morning.”
Her heart stuttered. “You are?”
He nodded. “I’m not ready to let go of this yet. Of you.”
She reached up, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You don’t have to let go.”
“I know,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers. “That’s the whole point.”
He kissed her again, deeper now. Slower. His hand slid beneath her shirt, tracing the curve of her waist, her ribs, like he needed to memorize the map of her all over again.
They didn’t rush. Not this time.
Every movement was a promise—quiet and tender and achingly reverent. The way he kissed down her body like he hadall night. The way he whispered her name into her skin like it was a secret just for them.
Ali clung to him, breathless, eyes glassy, her body arching beneath his as they moved together. And when he finally pushed deep and still, holding her gaze with his own, she knew—without question—this was what coming home felt like.
They stayed wrapped in each other afterward, limbs tangled, hearts steady.
She rested her head on his chest, drawing lazy circles on his skin, and smiled. He was here.And for once, so was she.
August
Ali
August flew by.
Ali spent her days texting Dylan between answering whiny emails from clients trying to write off country club memberships and scrambling to wrap up quarterly filings. His texts were constant—sometimes playful, sometimes filthy, sometimes just a sleepy selfie from the training facility with a “miss you” that derailed her focus for the rest of the afternoon.
Camp had him up before sunrise most days, and the pre-season schedule was already heating up, but he still found time to call her every night. Sometimes it was from the backseat of a car headed to a team dinner. Other times, it was from his hotel room with his hoodie pulled over his head, asking what she had for lunch like it was the most important question in the world.
And even though the season was closing in fast, every message felt like a promise:I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.
She was standing barefoot in her kitchen, nursing an iced coffee that had long ago melted into a watery mess, when her phone buzzed.
Dylan??????:
You got a sec, baby?
She smiled, already moving toward the living room to plop onto the couch.
Always. What’s up?
Her phone rang almost immediately. She answered on the first ring.
“Hi,” she said softly, already smiling wider.
“Hi,” Dylan replied, that deep, syrupy voice curling in her chest like honey. “You busy next weekend?”
Ali scrunched her nose, mentally scrolling through her calendar. “Not that I know of. Why?”
