I laugh, lift my dress, and dance for him.
When he returns, he confesses, “That was awesome. I’ll never be able to be in the VIP lounge and not think of you on the floor above me. If I died today, I’d die a happy man.”
“I might die if you don’t feed me soon. I get grumpy if I don’t eat.” I look at him and push my lips out into a pout.
“How about In-N-Out? We can take it home and watch the movie.”
“Perfect. I want a double-double with fries and a chocolate shake.”
He gives a look of surprise.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been exercising from morning to nightfall for two days now, and I’m famished.”
“You have to be hungry. I exercise all the time, and you’ve worn me out. I think the scarf and heels will have to wait for another day.” We take the elevator to the first floor. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”
“Who wanted to make love in a tree house and dance on a glass floor?”
He raises his hand, “Guilty. I can’t get enough of you. The glass floor was a sight to behold. Next time I want you naked.”
“Fat chance of that.”
“Is that a challenge?”
The one thing I know is Damon always rises to a challenge.
We take our dinner to the theater and watch the new release he scored, then snuggle on the couch and enjoy a peaceful night together.
Exhausted from the physical demands of pleasing each other, we trudge to his bed and collapse. Lying next to Damon feels so natural. He’s my person.
“I’m falling in love with you,” I admit cautiously. I don’t know how he’ll respond, but I know it’s something that needs saying. I can’t fall further and expect to survive.
Pulling me as close as possible, he tells me, “I love your love, and I’ll do my best to be worthy. My life is better because you’re in it.”
It’s not an affirmation of love, but it may be as close as I’ll get from him. Actions speak louder than words, and Damon’s actions say he cares. I fall asleep with his breath on my neck and my heart in his hands.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Should I fear meeting your parents?” Damon asks.
Stuck in traffic on Interstate 210, we have plenty of time to talk. Normally it’s the 405 that’s bottlenecked, so it’s odd we’re at a complete stop.
“You should be terrified. I don’t come from the average American family. My parents are way ahead of their time, but they’re traditional and old-fashioned in many ways. I couldn’t date until I was sixteen, and everyone had to meet my dad before I went anywhere with them. He made copies of their identification cards so he could track them down if I disappeared.”
“Thank goodness I brought my ID. They may even let me leave the house with you,” he teases.
“These days, I’m on my own. Once I went off to college, they figured they’d done their job. If I didn’t know how to care for myself by then, then I’d succumb to natural selection.”
“You’re joking, right? I’ve never met a daddy that didn’t obsess over his little girl’s safety.”
“Dad worries about my safety, but he trusts me to make good decisions.”
We inch along on the freeway until we come across an awful car accident. With the amount of mangled metal on the side of the road, no one survived.
“That’s a bad one,” Damon says.
“I hate the traffic in Los Angeles. People get distracted so easily with cell phones and other stuff. Accidents happen when people don’t pay attention.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Once we clear the accident, the freeway opens up, and it’s smooth sailing.
“Tell me, have you met a lot of fathers?”
Has he always been cool and confident, or does he ever waver under pressure?
“I’ve only met one girl’s father. He was okay. Since then, I wouldn’t call what I do dating. You’re my first date in ten years.”
“You can choose not to answer, but who’s this girl who broke your heart?”
He stares ahead and bites the inside of his cheek, causing it to hollow. I wish he’d open up. It would be so much easier to have a battle against a known enemy.
“Mara was my first and only girlfriend before you. All I’ll say is, she was unfaithful, and it destroyed me.”
I take his hand and squeeze. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to give your love and trust to someone, only to have them betray you. Infidelity would ruin me.
“I’m sorry. I promise to never invalidate our relationship by being unfaithful. I’m yours, and only yours.”
His large hand wraps around mine to bring it to his lips for a kiss.
“What else do I need to know about your family?”
It is sweet that he wants to make a good impression.
“The best way to earn my family’s respect is to be honest. Engage in conversation and enjoy yourself. They have no filters, so don’t be surprised at how inappropriate they can be. Everyone says exactly what they’re thinking or feeling. Out of the bunch, I’m the most reserved, and that’s not saying much. For example, penises were the topic at dinner for Thanksgiving last year. How you end up talking about man sausage during turkey dinner is beyond me, but it happened. We ended the conversation when my brother thought vaginas should get equal billing.”
“I agree with your brother. Only I’d push for top billing.”
Damon doesn’t know what he’s in for. Going to my home is like entering a clown car. You’ll make it alive, but it will be an experience.
“If they’re like you, I’ll like them just fine.”
“They’re like me, but on steroids. Pay close attention, or they’ll bulldoze you.”
“Okay. I’ll try to keep up.”
Mom must have heard the roar of Damon’s tricked-out Mustang pull into the driveway.
She walks toward us, drying her hands on the kitchen towel tucked into the waist of her jeans. Once we exit, she gives me a bear hug, then walks straight to Damon to say hello.
“This is the Viking god you were telling me about? Katarina, you were right. He is every inch as beautiful as you described. Turn around, Damon, and let me see the whole package.”
He looks at me incredulously as his forehead creases, and one of his brows raises to his hairline
I bite the insides of my cheeks to hold back a smirk and give him an I-told-you-so look.
He nonchalantly turns as told. His blue jeans hug his body, showing what he’s working with while his yellow shirt squeezes his chest, displaying finely tuned muscles. The sleeves stretch over his beautiful biceps—the same biceps that flexed above me this morning.
“Do I pass inspection, Mrs. Cross?”
“Oh, yes, you’ll do. I love a little eye candy at the table. It makes the meal sweeter.”
“Leave him be, Mom. He’s been here for less than five minutes, and you’ve made him an ornament at the table. Come on, Damon. Time to meet the other comedian who raised me.”
My father and brother are in the living room.
“When did you decide to come to dinner?” I ask Chris.