Thank fuck.
“So let’s not then.”
She tips her head back to look at me. “Are you sure? Because you said you didn’t want a commitment either. You never said anything about continuing past Arizona.”
“All of that is true. However, I changed my mind on the no commitment thing a while back.”
“When?”
“I’m not sure of the exact moment. But sometime in the last week you’ve gotten so inside me that I can’t imagine ever spending another day apart from you. I want you at my games. I want to go to your first gallery show. And I want…a lot more than that. I want everything with you, Jasalie.”
She brushes her lips to mine. “Me too.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dylan and I switch our cars back at my apartment.
“Let’s walk to get frozen yogurt around the corner before we go to the airstrip,” I say as I take his hand and lead him across the street.
I’ve never taken anyone to this shop before. When I walk up to the counter, the woman says, “That’ll be it?” after I place my order.
I’m happy to say, “No, one more,” as I turn to Dylan.
* * *
Dylan insists on us exercising together before we fly out to Montana in the evening. “Just once,” he says as we drive through the city. “If you hate it, we’ll never do it again. I promise.”
“I should warn you now I’m not in the best shape. I don’t know that I’ve ever really exercised in my life.”
“Sex is exercise,” he offers.
“I guess I’ve done quite a bit of exercise this week then,” I say. “So why do we have to do anything else?”
“Because I need to get a workout in, and I don’t want to miss out on any time with you today.”
“Give me the options,” I say with a groan. “And I’m assuming sex isn’t one of them.”
Dylan leans over to kiss me. “Sex is in its own separate category of exercise. It’s under the headers of erotica, and irreplaceable, and X-rated things.”
“And this kind of exercise is…”
“I’m thinking of something we can do together. How about tennis?”
“Tennis!” I say it like a swear word. “No!”
“Why not?” Dylan furrows his brow. “I thought everyone liked tennis.”
“Where’d you ever get that idea? I hate tennis!”
“Why?”
“One, it’s dangerous.” I begin my checklist. “You can get hit with a ball in the head and not even know until you’re unconscious and it’s too late. Two, it’s very exertive.”
“Two doesn’t count.” Dylan laughs. “Exercise is supposed to be exertive, baby.”
“Three,” I continue. “Repetitive motion is very bad for you. To keep winding up your arm over and over to serve? Repetitive.”
Dylan swerves and turns down a side street. “I know the perfect place to play. Outdoor courts by the ocean, right next to Venice. I used to play all the time growing up in Montana. I’ve even got two rackets in the trunk.”
