Page 89 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Pretty much.” He laughs. “And then he told me how proud he was of me. How it must have been hard growing up in his shadow, and that I need to handle the transition back into the game, with Santiago being on the team, with the exact same amount of grace as I did growing up as his son.”

He clears his throat, and there is nothing I can say to express how thankful I am that Cal heard me and actually said something. I can tell that it touched Easton, even though he’s trying to play it off in his gruff way. The fact that he’s not speaking right now is saying it all.

“Here we are,” he murmurs as he turns down a tree-lined drive set back from the road. Dust plumes up behind us as we drive, and my neck feels like it’s on a swivel as I try to take in my surroundings.

When the trees part, we pull up to a two-story brick house that spreads in all directions over the plot of land. Dogs are barking, I can hear a lawnmower somewhere in the distance, and cottonwood seeds dance all around us in the breeze.

I narrow my eyes at Easton as he hops out of the truck and rounds the front to open my door. He takes my hand in his, and the minute he shuts the door of the truck, he pulls me against him, into a kiss to rival all kisses. It’s soft and sweet and tender and has the heat, desire, and need that’s never too far from reach.

“We’re not in the city,” he murmurs against my lips. “There’s no one to see me kiss you, so I’m taking advantage of it.”

I laugh, loving that he’s so protective of our little bubble, and put my free hand to the back of his head to pull him back down. “Me, too.” I brush one more kiss against his skillful lips before letting him tug me along by my hand toward the house.

He has the cutest grin as he pushes the doorbell and just stares at me, shoulders against the wall behind him, one foot angled and resting against it. His eyes dare me to figure out what we are doing, and I honestly have no clue.

The door opens, and a slight woman with long, gray hair stands inside. Her smile widens to epic proportions when she sees Easton. “Mr. Wylder. Thank you so much for making your way out here to come and visit us.”

“The pleasure is mine, Melinda. Thank you for letting us come out on such short notice.”

“It’s such a long way from the city.”

“It’s a beautiful drive,” he says as he steps in, kissing her on the cheek in greeting.

“And you must be Scout.” Her voice is full of warmth as she wraps her arms around me in a brief hug. “So nice to meet you.”

I’m a little startled by her overly friendly welcome but follow Easton’s lead and hug her back, still so in the dark about what we are doing at this woman’s house. “You, too.”

“Let me show you to it,” she says as she leads us through the large but cozy family room of the house. “I had to kick Timmy out with the boys, or else they would have just gawked at you—the real live Easton Wylder in our backyard. Noses smashed to the windows. Eyes wide as saucers. They’d grab at any reason to head out back and interrupt you, and I couldn’t have that.”

“You shouldn’t have. They would have been fine,” he says with absolute sincerity. I get that this is Easton’s public persona, have seen it time and again at the field, but this is also the real him. “Maybe they’ll be back before we head out. Meeting them is the least I could do after you so graciously let us come here.”

“Are you kidding me?” She laughs, her fingers nervously fidgeting with her hair. I want to put her at ease and tell her we all get that way around Easton. “Your generosity is enough to keep the sanctuary fed for the next year. It’s us who should be bending over backward for you.”

“It’s well deserved,” Easton says as Melinda pushes open the door to the backyard. The sound of dogs barking hits us immediately, before I even clear the threshold, and when I do, my eyes widen and the smile is instant on my lips.

“You brought me to see dogs?” I ask, my voice escalating in pitch with each word. I look around the yard, where, organized in a hexagonal type fence, there are about fifteen dog kennels angled off one large play space. And the play space is currently occupied by about ten dogs of different colors, breeds, and sizes. Tongues loll, tails wag, and bodies wiggle in excitement.

“Not just any dogs,” he says with a laugh, “but mutts.”

My feet move on their own, down toward the fence where the fur babies are all vying for attention, hopping on top of one another, trying to lick my hands through the fence. “Can I go in?” I ask as I turn to look at Easton and Melinda, who are both smiling at me.

“That’s the whole point,” Melinda says as she walks the short distance toward me and directs me to go in the first set of gates that closes me off from the rest of the free yard, before opening the second set that leads me into the play pen. “These babies need some extra attention, and Easton said the two of you would love to come out and give it to them.”

“Seriously?” I look over to her and then glance at Easton as the gate is opened, but my attention is diverted as I’m assaulted in the best of ways by licking tongues on my hands and tails whacking against my legs. There are grunts and whines and a few growls.

Time passes in wiggles and pets. The pack slowly calms down; their interest and eagerness is still there, but not as desperate. And I’m so lost in giving and receiving attention that it’s a while before I notice Easton standing inside the play area, staring at me with a beagle snuggled in his arms.

There is a soft smile on his lips, a quiet awe in his eyes, and there’s something about his expression that makes those butterflies in my stomach take flight, tickling my insides as they flitter about. His face is typically all hard lines with his dark features, but right now, with the sunlight on his face, all I see are his soft edges—soft edges that call to me to push myself to my feet and let him know how much this means to me.

And he must sense that I want to be near him but am currently serving as a chair to Lola, the slobbery pit bull with a scarred face and the sweetest disposition of the lot. As I nuzzle Lola with my forehead against her back, Easton makes his way over to me.

I laugh when he’s overrun by the wags and licks like I was when I first sat down, but when our laughter subsides and I look his way, those butterflies hit me again.

“What is this magical place?” I ask as I reach over and squeeze his forearm as he pets the belly of a scruffy three-legged mutt.

“It’s a dog sanctuary for abused and abandoned dogs. Melinda used to work for the ASPCA . . . and she wanted to do more after she ended up adopting some of the dogs she’d nursed back to health herself. She couldn’t turn them away, so she started with one, and then another, and then . . .” He shrugs. “You get the picture.”

“That’s incredible. This place is incredible.” I laugh as I get nudged by a fluffy brown dog demanding attention. “Such a good girl,” I coo, but my next words trail off when I look up to see Easton’s head cocked to the side, eyes on me. “What?”