Chapter 22
Daisy
By the time Daisy and Dunk were less than an hour from Dodger’s Stadium, Daisy was fidgety from being in the car for five hours. As promised, Dunk had put on his Nineties playlist while he drove them from Carmel to L.A., his hands loose and competent on the wheel and the gear shift. They’d spent the whole time singing or snacking, and Daisy had snuck more long, lingering looks at Dunk than she could shake a stick at.
Getting out of the car and into the stadium, where they climbed to their truly cheap seats way, way above and behind third base, only made it worse. Dunk was in his element, a lifelong athlete at a sporting event. He bought a bratwurst and a beer from a vendor, devouring the brat in three bites, his throat working and moaning in pleasure. It was not sexy, but Daisy had to cross her legs and squeeze them tight together all the same.
Then he roared non-stop, cheering on the Dodgers and challenging the ump’s calls when they weren’t in favor of the Dodgers. He knew all the players on both teams and their stats and he kept up a running explanation of everyone’s strengths and weaknesses. It would have been condescending coming out of anyone else. But with Dunk, he was enthusiastically sharing his knowledge, and it demonstrated so clearly why he must make an incredibly good football coach.
The last straw came in the top of the ninth inning, when a foul ball streaked through the sky towards them. A bunch of people shot to their feet, but it was Dunk who leapt into the air like an orca exploding out of the ocean and caught the ball in his bare left hand.
“You’re on the jumbotron!” someone shouted.
Dunk grinned, his eyes sparkling, and slung his arm around Daisy’s shoulders as he hefted the ball in his other hand. “Best game ever!”
“That was amazing!” everyone around them shouted, high-fiving Dunk so that he let her go.
“Your boyfriend is fucking hot!” the woman seated behind them cried right into Daisy’s ear, her two friends bobbing their heads.
“I’m questioning all of my life choices!” Daisy cried back, knowing they couldn’t hear her since people around them were still yelling and the stadium was in full roar as the Dodgers had one strike left before a win.
A minute later, the Dodgers won and Daisy screamed and jumped too, because no matter how mixed up she was about Dunk, she did love baseball and it had been an amazing game.
Getting out of the stadium and then the parking lot took forever, but it gave Daisy the time to find a cheap motel with two available rooms. It was almost midnight by the time they got there and checked in. Their rooms tonight were across the hall from each other, and they both paused at their doors, hanging there like neither wanted to separate.
Daisy was wound so tight that she thought it was impossible that Dunk hadn’t noticed.
“Do you want to hang out?” Dunk asked, as if reading her mind. “I know it’s really late, but I’m too hyped up after the game to sleep.”
“Okay,” Daisy said, knowing it was probably a terrible idea.
The rooms were small, but they each had two twins, so luckily Daisy was able to sit at the foot of one bed while Dunk sat on the other.
He grabbed the remote and turned on the television, flipping through until he found a dumb comedy. “This okay?”
“Yeah,” Daisy said, scooting up until she was leaning against the headboard, hugging one of the pillows to her chest to keep her hands from plucking at her shirt restlessly.
Dunk stayed sprawled out on his belly, his whole big body on display for her while he watched the movie, laughing uproariously at the jokes.
“How have you been?” she blurted out like a total amateur during a commercial break.
She watched Dunk’s muscles tense, rising up against the tight fabric of his tee shirt, and he answered warily without turning around to look at her. “You know I’m always good. Same old, same old over here.”
“Are you… seeing anyone?”
That had him flipping over and sitting up. “Daisy you can’t—”
“I just… we’re going to be together for like four more days at least. Today was so fun, but I won’t be able to sit in the car and sing or be quiet for all those hours. I just thought, I don’t know, that we could be friends,” she finished, running out of whatever bravery had prompted the question, deflating, squeezing the pillow tighter.
Dunk licked his lips and dropped his eyes to the worn out knees of his jeans. “I’ve been trying,” he admitted in a low tone. “Dating, you know.”
“Me too,” Daisy said a little weakly.
He nodded slowly, as if he’d already known or as if he hadn’t expected anything else. “But, uh, women don’t… they’re used to me being easy.”
Surprise sent a laugh shooting out of Daisy’s mouth.
“Hey!” Dunk exclaimed.
His cheekbones darkened, ruddier than usual.
Contrition made Daisy bite the inside of her cheek. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. So they just want you to… do what you always do?”
“Yeah.” His mouth twisted. “I ask them out to dinner and they counter with how about you come over at ten and we’ll see about breakfast.” He shrugged, the movement jerky and uncomfortable. “I never minded before, and I can’t blame them for not knowing I’ve changed. But after…”
He paused, then looked up to meet her gaze squarely, determined, his jaw ticking. “They don’t know me and they don’t really want to. Which is fine, if it’s just fun. But after dating you, I don’t want to go back to that.”
There were so many layers there, so many questions that Daisy had, and so many feelings about Dunk McCoy, that Daisy’s mind whirled and her tummy lurched. She remembered Chase’s text that she should try to get to know Dunk. Was it possible that there was more to him than she’d discovered in months of happy, earnest dating?
Then she remembered the other thing Chase had mentioned.
“They don’t know? Like, they don’t know that you read romances?”
Dunk’s mouth fell open then worked silently before he crossed his arms and freaking pouted. “Who told you that?”
Now it was Daisy’s turn for her mouth to fall open. “It’s true?”
“So?” Dunk muttered defensively.
“Chase told me once,” Daisy answered automatically.
“She’s dead to me,” Dunk mumbled.
“Is it like a pick-up thing?” Daisy asked, fascinated.
“No,” he said, sulking, his crossed arms bulging in distress before they burst away from his body as he tossed his hands in the air. He flopped back onto the bed and heaved a huge sigh. “I just like them.”
“Huh.” Daisy carefully uncurled her fingers from where they were clinging to the pillow, studying the tension in Dunk’s body. It was unusual—she’d never met a man who read romances, or one who would admit to it anyway—but Dunk wasn’t usually defensive about who he was or the things he liked. Then again, a football player who read romances? If anyone had ever found out, even his sisters, he’d probably been teased about it. “I’m more of a suspense fan myself.”
Slowly, Dunk relaxed, then one eyebrow raised. “Daisy Rhys, with her pretty little sundresses, who makes dainty teacups, likes suspense? Like the gory ones where serial killers and arsonists are running around?”
“Books are an escape, aren’t they? I like being scared every once in awhile,” she countered challengingly.
“Well, thrillers might be escapes, but romances are magical,” Dunk said, his eyes lighting up. “I started reading my sisters’ when I was a teenager. I wanted to know what women’s fantasies were.”
Suddenly, Daisy flashed back to the first time they’d had phone sex.
Is it good for you?
No wonder all of those women lavished their love on him.
They did it because he lavished his love on them; he made it good for them, fulfilling their fantasies, his eagerness to please them reinforced by all of the experience he’d piled up doing it, making him exponentially better. No wonder he’d always seemed to know just what she wanted, just what she needed, just how much she could take. He’d been paying attention every second, reading every cue of her body and comparing it to the vast playbook of moves he’d accumulated from reading romances.
It should have made her feel played like a violin.
But she had heard, watched, and felt the pleasure he got from it.
“Aren’t you just showing off hidden depths?” she murmured at last, aware that she’d been quiet for too long.
“Nah,” he said easily, as if he hadn’t noticed the silence.
“They clearly taught you plenty,” Daisy said dryly.
Dunk’s blue eyes clouded. “I don’t read them to learn tricks,” he said, and she was surprised by his vehemence. “Maybe when I was sixteen, I was fascinated as hell to learn how powerful a female orgasm was. But I don’t read all those books about falling in love and then use that to….”
He choked his words off and jumped off the bed, pacing.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Daisy whispered in horror.
She slid off her bed more slowly, approaching him carefully, until they were closer than they’d been since the break up, their bodies only a few inches apart. Her face was tilted way back to meet his eyes. She wanted so badly to cup his cheeks in her hands, to tell him that the sex between them had been perfect, but it wasn’t because of his skills. It was just… him.
“Duncan,” she said sharply when he didn’t say anything, just stood there breathing quickly, hands fisted. “I know you’d never manipulate anyone like that. I know you only ever wanted me—um, want your partners to be satisfied, to take care of… us.”
“Don’t ever lump yourself in with other women when it comes to me,” he pushed out through clenched teeth, his face taut like some ancient warrior or something. “Don’t you ever believe that I thought about you, about us, the way I thought about me with anyone else. No one else—”
“Hush,” Daisy whispered, her heart aching.
She gave in and touched his face, smoothing her palms over his stubble before holding his jaw. Her heart was pounding, but she couldn’t let that lie, couldn’t let that worry sit in his heart and fester and hurt him.
So she took in a shaky breath and locked their eyes together and whispered, “Don’t you ever forget that I’ve been in love before, Dunk. I know what it feels like; I know what it feels like to make love with someone who’s in love with me. Maybe some people can hide it and maybe some people can’t feel it, but we’re not some people, are we?”
Then she brushed her lips over his chin and slipped out of the room.