More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5) (25 page)

He knew I wanted it.

Wanted him.

And for the first time since he knocked on my door—angry and pissed off at the world—we found what we were looking for. And it sure as hell wasn’t in the bottom of a bottle.

It was in each other.

We found the horizon.

He found his calm.

And I found my reality.

We drive. His
hand on my leg. The sun beaming down on us. While we talk about
my
new car and
our
new house.

Dreams—
they do come true.

Riley

D
ylan rolls up
the sleeves of his shirt, his eyes on mine and his lips pressed tight.

I take another look around the empty kitchen. “Well,” I ask him. “Where should we start?”

He smirks. “Probably where it all began. On the kitchen counter. Then the bedroom floor. Oh, and the shower. I’ve always wanted to fuck you in the shower. The possibilities are endless, Hudson.”

He jumps back, avoiding my smack on his stomach. Then he laughs. “I don’t know, babe. It’s your house.”

“Our house,” I tell him.

Shrugging, he says, “Yeah, but I don’t care what it looks like. Anything will be better than how I’ve been living.”

I rub my hands together. “My Little Pony it is!”

He shrugs again.

“You seriously don’t care, do you?”

“Nope.” He steps toward me, his arms going around my waist. “Just as long as you’re happy.”

“I feel horrible,” I admit. “We’re spending all your money.”

He shoves me away jokingly. “Yeah, go get a job, gold digger.”

An excited burst of laughter bubbles out of me. “I can’t wait to move in and make this our home.”

“So let’s do it then. What do we need? Bed? We can bring one of ours. Fridge? I have a spare in the garage.”

“Mom said she’d give us her kitchen table and any linen we needed.”

Dylan smiles. “Then that’s all we need. We can get everything else as we go.”

I cover my lips with my hand, hiding my smile as I look around the empty house again. “I can’t believe you bought us a house.”

He places his hand on my back as I walk from room to room. “I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you all to myself.”

I turn to him, my hands on his chest. “Shut up. I’m the lucky one, Dylan.”

He takes my wrists, and kisses the palm of each hand. “We’re both lucky.”

“I’ll get a job to help pay for things.”

“It’s not necessary, but I do think it’ll be good for you.”

I nod.

“So are we moving in today or what?” he asks.

“We’re here. Now. Why not?”

Eric and his
dad help us move my bed and his fridge using Dylan’s truck. Mom raids the house for whatever she can give us. I can tell she’s sad to see me go and I’m sure she was more than hesitant when Dylan brought up the idea, but she’s doing exactly what she’s always done. She’s doing what’s best for me. I’m sure the fact that I’m only a ten-minute walk away helps. Dylan makes plans with Logan and Amanda to come over the next day so Amanda can give us ideas on how to decorate since she’s apparently into that stuff. I don’t tell him that the idea of getting to know his friends on more than a “
Hey, I knew you in high school
” level absolutely terrifies me. It’s not so much that they’re intimidating, because I don’t think they are. I think it’s more my worry about being compared to Heidi. I don’t know. I just hope they like me. And accept me. Because I don’t plan on going anywhere.

We make love on the kitchen counter. And in the shower. And finally in our bed. And we make plans. Stupid plans. Things like turning the guestroom into storage for random clown and moth paintings.

I hate moths.

He hates clowns.

We spend the night laughing, not bothering to stifle them in case we wake anyone, and when exhaustion finally takes over, we fall asleep the way we do every night—with his arms around me, and my arms around him—keeping each other safe.

*     *     *

I hide out
in the bathroom when Dylan tells me Logan and Amanda are close. I don’t know what else to do with nerves so high and my hands so shaky.

Dylan knocks on the door. “Babe, Amanda’s here.”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

I check my make-up free face in the mirror—once pale, now a little tanner since I’ve started leaving the house. I check my eyes, gray and full of hope, and I look down at my dress, hoping it’s enough. I curse myself for not being more like my mother—a woman who enjoys the wonders of hair and make-up. A woman like
Heidi
.

When I finally gain the courage, I head out of our room. They’re all standing in the kitchen while Dylan tells them the details of the house. The age, the build, and a bunch of other stuff I tune out when Amanda turns around. She’s in denim shorts, a tank, and flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up like she’s ready to work. She’s dressed exactly like I do. Her hair’s in a knot on top of her head and when she smiles at me, her eyes smile too. She places a giant folder on the kitchen table as she makes her way over to me, arms outstretched when she says, “Hi Riley!”

She pulls me into a hug, not too over-affectionate, but not underwhelming either. “It’s good to see Dylan let you out of his grasp long enough to finally meet you.”

Logan’s next to her now, his arms out just like hers were. “’Sup, Riley?” he asks, pulling me in for a hug.

Dylan breaks us apart while Logan and Amanda laugh. “That’s enough of that,” Dylan says, not a hint of humor in his voice.

Just so I’m clear, Jealous Dylan = Hot Dylan.

“Did you want to show me around the place first and then we can go through some ideas?” Amanda asks, stepping up next to me. She waves off the boys as she picks up the folder and the next thing I know we’re talking Scandinavian versus Modern Eclectic and picking out paint samples at the hardware store.

At some point while we’re there, Logan gets a call from Cameron and by the time we get home, all of Dylan’s friends are waiting out front. Apparently they’d all come home for the weekend because they wanted to help us get settled in, and they wanted to see Dylan.

“I brought the food,” Mikayla (Jake’s girlfriend) says, lifting boxes of pizza in her hands.

“I brought the booze,” Lucy adds.

And now we’re having a paint party.

“Do you mind?” Dylan says when he finds me in the bedroom. “It’s just that we don’t get to see each other often and—”

“I don’t mind at all!” I replace my dress with what I normally wear, smiling as I see him watching me from the corner of my eye. I’ll never get sick of his reaction to my body.
Never
.

We eat first, then end the night painting and dancing and singing to the
High School Musical
soundtrack. I get to know his friends; they get to know me.

The only rule Mom had when Dylan spoke to her about me moving in was that no alcohol was to be kept in the house. It was a no-brainer for Dylan, and even for me. He once asked if I thought I should go to AA for my drinking problem. He even offered to go the meetings with me, but I didn’t think I needed it. Truth is—Dylan had become what he once offered. He became my alcohol. Only he didn’t just dull my pain—he
cured
it.

I guess the rule was just Mom’s way of making sure I don’t fall off the edge, and regardless of how I may have acted months ago, I truly appreciate her thinking of it.

I don’t have an issue with other people drinking. I don’t even mind watching other people drink. Especially Dylan. Because Buzzed Dylan = Handsy Dylan = Hot Dylan.

Lucy gets drunk
and curses like a sailor, which everyone finds hilarious. Me, especially.

She then goes on to tell Dylan the details of
Operation Mayhem: Roxy-Is-A-Slut-Of-A-Fucking-Whore Edition (aka Ho-peration Whore-hem)
, and even though I’m sure the fumes from the paint contribute to our mood, I’m having a good time. A
really
good time.

Because Lucy and I had been chatting about books, I kind of felt like I knew her already. And because Amanda and I had spent the day together, we had bonded. So I find it a little odd when Mikayla stands next to me, paintbrush in her hand and a Tar Heels cap pulled low on her brow and says, “I remember my first night meeting these guys. Swear, I thought they were all crazy, but crazy
good
, you know?”

I nod. “You didn’t go to our high school, did you?”

“Nope. I met them all the night of senior prom. We had it on the same night. It’s long story. I’m sure Dylan can tell you about it.” She drops her gaze, just for a second before looking back up at me. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “I kind of felt compelled to reach out to you and let you know that they’re all good people. They’re accepting of anyone, no questions asked. They’re the type of friends who become family, Riley.” She looks over at Dylan quickly. “And if you ever need anything, you can always call us. Especially when…”

“Yeah,” I finish for her.
When he deploys
, she wanted to say.

She smiles again. “I just didn’t want you to think that because you’re only dating Dylan, it doesn’t make you part of our family. Because you are now.” She laughs. “Whether you like it or not.”

Behind us, Lucy squeals, pulling our attention away from each other.

“You’re just causing more work for me, Luce,” Cam huffs. “You got streaks everywhere. Go sit in the corner like a good little girl.”

“Oh,
Dylan
!” She snaps, puffing out her chest. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

“What?” Dylan asks, turning to her from his spot on top of the ladder. “Did you say my name?”

Lucy yells. “You can
Dylan
too, Dylan!”

“She’s so wasted,” Mikayla says through a giggle.

“Why are you saying my name?” Dylan asks again, his brow bunched in confusion.

Confused Dylan = Hot Dylan.

“We’ve been through this,” Jake tells him.

“I forget,” Dylan mumbles.

Amanda chimes in. “Like that time Lucy forgot that we don’t all read like her and spoiled an entire book.”

“You can
Dylan
, too, AmanDuh!” Lucy shouts.

Now everyone’s laughing. Me included. “Why is my boyfriend’s name a verb?” I ask.

Mikayla speaks first. “It means to shut up or stop, I guess. Or, like, don’t talk about it.”

“Really?” Dylan asks. “Funny. When Riley says it, it means ‘
Don’t Stop. Please. More. Keep going. Yeah. Just like that!
’”

“Dylan, Dylan!” I yell, throwing my brush at his head.

Funny Dylan = Hot Dylan.

And Hot Dylan =
Mine
.

Dylan

W
e spend the
next month getting settled into the house. I see Riley a lot less since she got a job. I told her she didn’t have to, that I had enough income plus Mom’s life insurance leftover from the deposit on the house that she could wait, at least until I was gone. It was selfish, I know, but I just wanted her for myself.

She works at an animal shelter—which is perfect for her because she really doesn’t like people. This way, animals don’t judge her. She spends eight hours a day cleaning dog shit and mopping up piss and feeding them and giving them meds and she couldn’t be happier.

And I’m happy she’s happy.

Now, it’s summer
and Jake and Mikayla, and Cameron and Lucy have graduated. Logan and Amanda still have another year because of the year they both missed—Amanda at the start and Logan when he took the year off with Doctors Without Borders. Jake is… well, Jake is taking his year off now. Everyone questioned why the hell he would possibly take a year off between college and all the possibilities the MLB are offering him and his answer is simple: Baseball’s been his and Kayla’s and his family’s life since he moved back to the states. Now it was his chance to give them the attention they’d been giving him. Everyone thought he was crazy. Everyone but me. I understood completely. The income they have from renting out the house by UNC is enough for them to live off for the next year before things get hectic again with him, so he’s taking the time. If the decision bites him in the ass, then so be it. Baseball is a career. It’s not his life anymore. He and Kayla have plans to travel and see the world, and me? Well, I’m just taking every horizon I can get.

“Watcha got, old
man?” Riley says, her arms spread out as she watches me dribble in front of her.

From the stands, Logan shouts, “Yeah, Grandpa Banks. Whatcha got?”

We decided to put the house stuff on hold for the day and spend it with our friends at the sports park. We normally hit up the batting cages, but today we gave it a break and played basketball instead. Well, Riley and the guys and I played. The other girls sat in the stands arguing about some book something. Unless the book gets me laid, I don’t really pay much attention.

Now it’s just me and Riley, one on one, and she’s in short shorts, a sports bra and lose tank that barely covers said bra. She’s sweating though. Not because it’s hot, but because she’s down 12-2. She doesn’t like losing. It helps I’m almost a foot taller than her and my arm’s almost at a hundred percent again.