Page 84 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“You can call her—later. Right now I’m going to call Amanda, so take your time finishing that beer.” He rolls his eyes at me.

“What I do for you.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get your payback next season when you kick my butt because there’s a B.C versus SPU game on the schedule. That cheers him up and I leave to the sound of his laughter.

In the room, I slip out my phone and scroll through a dozen congratulatory texts including from Mom, Dad, Aunt Viola. And of course Amanda. What I don’t expect is the text from Oscar Harley and I’m doubly surprised to see a text from Emily. I click on it with trepidation.

Congrats on the Win. Wish us luck on our season opener 2morrow

It reads a lot like a bury-the-hatchet text and I return with a message thanking her and telling her I’m expecting her to kick butt. Then I scroll to Amanda’s text and my heart races because I’m a love-sick idiot. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Not surprised u won Jonesy. Hope ur not too bruised up when u get home

Fuck. A not-so-cryptic promise to jump my bones when I get back. Speaking of boners, my dick stiffens as I tap on her speed-dial icon and wait for her to answer.

“If it isn’t Jonesy—how does it feel to be a bowl-winner and a deserter?”

“Ouch. It feels damn good. It’ll feel better when I get home to you.”

“What makes you think my home is your home?” Her voice is breathy and inviting in spite of her challenging words and my dick strains.

“Paul makes me feel at home,” I say. “It’s his house, isn’t it?” She laughs and a zip of warmth and vibrant energy rushes through me. Because she’s a handful of woman.

“Emily texted me.” There’s a beat of silence.

“And? Don’t leave me hanging. Did she condemn you to hell or—”

“Or act like we’re student athlete pals, congratulating me and telling me about your season opener. You know I’m going to that game, right?”

“As long as you stay in the background and don’t get noticed,” she says in a sarcastic drawl. “Oh, wait—you’re a big shot with a horde of groupies and press who follow your every move because you won a bowl game and you’re a Heisman—”

“I’ll dress—”

“Like James Bond?” I laugh.

“I’ll have Dooley come up with something because I’m not missing your season opener—or any one of your games.”

“Be careful what you promise, Jonesy.”

“I’m not worried.” I think of my Dad and his promise to visit over Christmas and wonder why I’m so confident he’ll be there. Because I feel it. “You know I’ll keep my promises. You feel it.”

“I do,” she whispers. “I feel a lot of things where you’re concerned, Jonesy.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” My dick gets so rigid I’m worried about ripping my pants and I’m contemplating phone sex when Shelby bursts through the door. “Damn it, I knew I should have locked that latch.” She laughs.

“One of these days we’ll learn the importance of locks,” she says. I turn away from Shel’s teasing grin.

“Gotta go, sha. See you tomorrow.”

“And all the tomorrows after that,” she says. It’s as good a declaration of love as I could ask for. Because it’s one of those promises I know will be kept. I feel it all the way down to my bones. And in my boner.

Epilogue

Dylan

One Year later

Mom leased our home in Louisiana because neither of us could bear letting go of it, though neither of us can live there right now. She’s content to stay in Vermont. She bought a small house near Aunt Viola. I could only talk her into letting me put up the down payment. She quit her job at the bakery and started her own baking business out of her new home. She’s almost ready to open a storefront. But the biggest news is that she’s dating the butcher in town and he’s giving her tips—no pun—on running a retail business in town.