Wheeler (Seattle Sharks 8)

“But?”

“But I can never figure out what our...normal is.”

And now she was wringing her hands. What did I fuck up this time?

“I don’t quite understand.”

She started pacing. “Okay, so you want me to stay tonight.”

“Yes.” I folded my arms across my chest and watched her.

“And if I stay, then what happens tomorrow night? Do I stay then, too?” She made a full lap around the dining room table and started for round two.

“If you want. You can always stay if you want. I rather liked having you around all the time when we were in Sweden.” She hadn’t questioned herself in Sweden, at least not after that first morning-after. She also hadn’t worn a path around my table with her pacing.

“Sweden was different.” She gave me a pointed look but kept moving.

“How?”

“I don’t know. It just was. Here, I’m all the way by Queen Anne, and you’re out here. I have school, and you’re in meetings or on the ice. Our lives…” She shook her head. “They don’t ever intersect unless we make them.”

“So,” I reached out gently, halting her pacing by pulling her back against my chest. “Let’s make them. Relationships are work, Faith. You know that. And I know work doesn’t scare you. I’m sorry that I’m not in college with you. That I’m six years older and in a different stage of my life. I really am. I would give anything to be easy for you.”

She softened and let her head rest against my chest. “I don’t want you to be easy. I want you to be you.” She turned in my arms and rested her hands on my chest.

“And I want you to be you,” I agreed. “And I want you to stay.”

“A girl in my class asked me today if I was dating anyone,” she said softly.

Ah, and now we were getting to whatever was bothering her.

“Okay?”

“And I didn’t know what to say.” She backed up.

“What?” I kept my voice level when I wanted to snap. What did she mean she didn’t know? What the fuck was I to her?

“I mean, we never labeled this, you know? And I knew if I told her yes and she asked anything else, I wouldn’t know if I was allowed to say I’m with you—if that’s what we are—because we never went public. And you have a right to privacy, of course, but it’s really confusing sometimes, and I’m trying so hard to be mature, and let this be easy and uncomplicated, but—”

I reached for her again, but she jumped away. “Oh, no you don’t, Lukas. You get your hands on me, and I lose all of my freaking brain cells, and then we skip this conversation, and I still don’t know if I’m supposed to say, ‘Hey, I’m staying over,’ or if I have to wait for you to invite me.”

I would have laughed if she hadn’t looked so utterly miserable.

“Faith, you can call us whatever you want to. Call me whatever you want to.”

“What do you call me?” she asked, one strap of her tank top slipping from her smooth shoulder.

“Mine,” I answered as gently as I could, but I was pretty sure it came out as a growl. “I call you mine.”

The corners of her mouth quirked up. “Still not a label.”

I stepped forward, and she stepped back with a shake of her head.

“For fuck’s sake. Label us whatever you want. It’s not important to me.” At her stricken expression, I scrambled to explain. “You are important to me. This—” I gestured between us‚ “—is important to me. I want you to call it whatever you’re comfortable with because I’ll be okay with whatever you say.”

“If I say we’re dating?” she challenged.

“Great.” I stepped forward, and she retreated again.

“If I say I’m your girlfriend?” Her chin rose, and her eyes danced with a determined sparkle.

“Awesome. I like possessive pronouns.”

“You really don’t care?” She moved to put the table between us.

“I care that you’re running away from me.” I groaned at the look she shot me. “Faith, I don’t give a fuck. Just don’t call me your brother or your ex.”

“What if I said I was your wife?” She threw out with blatant sarcasm. “Would you care then?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

Her eyes flared with triumph, but she was so focused on the little battle that she lost sight of the war.

“Then I’d have to take you to city hall because my wife certainly isn’t a liar.” I shrugged.

Her jaw dropped, and I took advantage of her shock to brace my hands on the table. Before she could move, I’d jumped, and propelled myself to slide feet first across the polished surface. I landed next to her and wrapped my arms around her before she could protest.

“Faith, I don’t care what you call us, or me, because you’re my endgame. Just you. That’s it. I know that might be a little hard to label, but that’s what you are. I’m just waiting for you to catch up to where I am. So I’ll be your friend. Your boyfriend. Your late-night booty call.”

She snorted at that.

“I’ll be whatever you need me to be until you’re ready to be my wife. It’s on your timeline, not because I don’t want to label us, but because I want you to be comfortable with whatever level you can handle. So don’t mistake my willingness to let you define us at your comfort level for apathy. I’ve wanted you for years, Faith. Years. I’m not fucking it up by pushing you too fast just to make myself more comfortable!” So much for playing it cool.

“So you want me to stay the night.”

I ripped the velvet box from my pocket and slammed it onto the table. “I want you to stay forever because I fucking love you!”

Her eyes widened to nearly comical proportions as she stared at the box, then slowly looked up at me.

“Relax.” I let her go and walked past her to lean back against the wall. “It’s not a ring. I’m not stupid enough to think you’d say yes to marrying me yet.”

“Yet.” She repeated slowly, turning to face me.

“Yet. Endgame, remember?”

“You love me?” The breathless hope in her voice drained all of my frustration with the immediacy of a popped balloon.

“Älskling. That’s what it means. Love, my darling. I’ve told you so many times, you’ve just never understood. Jag älskar dig. I love you. So much it hurts,” I answered softly. “So much I’m terrified of doing or saying something that will make you run. So much that I’m walking this razor-thin wire between letting you set the pace of our relationship, and literally throwing you over my shoulder and running to a minister. So much that I’m second-guessing every decision I make because I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Now open the damned box.”

She blinked rapidly and then fumbled for the little box that waited behind her. Her hands shook as she opened it, revealing a little gold key.

“Lukas?” she asked, lifting it to show the little gold and diamond shark charm that formed a key chain.

“I want you to stay, but I want you to be comfortable. I know you left your key on my desk on your last day—”

“Because it was a PA’s key. Not a girlfriend’s,” she answered.

“I know. And now that’s a girlfriend’s key. But how you use it is up to you. Come and go as you please, or come and...stay.”

“Are you saying…” She tilted her head.

“I’m saying we’re causing ourselves way too many problems by not saying what’s on our minds because we’re nervous that the other per

son isn’t ready to hear it.” My head slammed back against the wall.

“Then tell me what you want me to use it for. Not what you think I want it for. What you want.” Faith walked forward until she stood with her hands on my chest, the little shark biting into my pec.

I gripped her hip with one hand and fisted her curls with the other.

“I want you to stay. I want you to go back to your house, pack your shit, and move in here.” I smirked at her wide eyes. “Scaring you yet?”

She swallowed but didn’t nod.

“I want to fight with you every evening while our dinner gets cold. Then I want to fuck you every night until you scream my name while your legs shake. Then I want to sleep next to you tucked against my side. I want to wake up next to you every single morning, and kiss you goodbye before work and school. But I’m not supposed to tell you those things, because we’ve only been together for six weeks. I’m supposed to play it cool and tell you to use it however you want, so that’s what I’m doing.”

Her lips parted, and her breath hitched.

Boom. Hard. Guess my dick wanted to be a part of the discussion, too.

“Your turn,” I told her. If she wanted me to keep laying it on the line, I needed her to ante up.

“I want to be with you. I don’t want to wonder if I should go home or stay. I don’t want to figure out if I have time to see you—I just want to be where you are. I want to come home to you.” She glanced from the key and back up to me. “And I don’t want to have one more discussion about what we’re supposed to do. We’re not everyone else. We’re not conventional. We didn’t get here by playing by society’s rules, and it only fucks us up when we try.”

“Which means?” I urged, trying to calm the flock of birds in my stomach.

“Which means I’ll take the leap if you will. I’ll move in. But if you get sick of me—”

My mouth swallowed whatever she was going to say. There would be no getting sick of her. There would be no uncertainty. There would only be us.

Joy hit my system, high octane and supplemented with lust. My tongue claimed the recesses of her mouth while my hands made quick work of her tank top and bra.