Page 3 of Thankful For Him

A janitor, some tired grouchy looking parents. That’s it.

I check my watch again, we’re bang on time.

No Misty.

I take a moment to register my true feelings. I actually feel a stab of hurt, like I really hoped she’d-

There she is.

I can hear her huffing it in heels long before I catch the welcome sight of her chest bouncing, making my dick pulse back to life with each of her short steps.

Whatever I was telling myself about my best friend’s daughter being too young for me flies out the window.

There is such a thing as love at first sight.

I’d have laughed if anyone told me, but when I see her, it’s all I can feel.

Without even speaking to her yet, without even knowing her innermost thoughts, I know she’s the one.

She’s the real reason I came home.

To make our home together, someday soon.

Her blond bangs dance in the glaring fluorescent light, her oval face flushed with a mix of determination and hesitancy while her clear blue eyes flash a message of hope and apology.

She’s wearing gray track pants, a sweater, and two inch heels.

I instantly know she’s late, and that she wanted to have a special outfit on. Something she’d planned in advance maybe.

For me?

Nah, couldn’t be.

I stand watching her, astonished. Arrested by her youth, her beauty, but most of all those curves that seem to have my name on them. Begging for me to grip her and hold her close.

But by the time she’s close enough, it’s me who has his tongue tied. I don’t know which way to look.

Her heaving chest, breathless in front of me, shifting from one foot to the other as she explains how she’s running late.

All I can see is her eyes on mine, feeling each pulse of her pounding heart matched inside my own chest.

For the first time in my life, I’m actually speechless. Zak Ramon has nothing to say.

I just stare, grinning like a maniac as I scan her curves, my dick about to shatter under my eight hundred dollar pants as I press my carry on harder against it, wishing it was her.

Wanting her.

Needing her suddenly, without even having spoken a word.

“Zak!” she gushes. “I’m late… Sorry!” she adds looking down as if I’d mind.

I want to hold her, hug her. My whole instinct is to cover her up and protect her.

But I’m standing here, hard as a rock, grinning like a madman still.

“Can I take your bag?” she asks, and I grip it tighter, fearing being exposed in front of her.

“No!” I blurt out, finally, thrusting out my hand instead. Business as usual.

“I’m Zak, your Dad’s friend,” I announce, feeling myself redden, kicking myself for stating the obvious.

“Misty,” she chimes formally, not missing a beat.

And as her hand slips into mine, it’s like an electrical charge explodes.

We both instantly understand a ton of things without even having to say another word.Chapter ThreeMistyHis photo doesn’t do him any justice, and it’s probably fifteen years old.

True to form, I feel myself melting, getting wetter and more anxious with each staggering step as I get closer to the gate, knowing I’m late.

Oh, why did I wear heels and sweats?

The blur that’s the few people I pass pay me no notice. Everyone looks tired, numb. It’s after four in the morning and it’s freezing out.

But my whole body and mind are burning for Zak before I even spot him, the fear he might have got a cab already and left driving each foot in front of the other.

Before I know it, I’m standing in front of him, his huge frame like a wedge against the burning glow of overhead lights in the wide space of the airport.

He’s smiling, grimacing almost. And holding a bag over his front like his life depends on it.

We know each other, but we don’t know each other at all.

His hand is in mine in a moment, and it all makes sense.

I never want to let go, I only want him to draw me closer, to turn our handshake into something else.

I could be dreaming still, half asleep, and dazed from being so late so early in the morning, but something else tells me that Zak is just as glad to see me as I am him.

“I-I slept in, running late,” I stammer, noticing his hand still has mine, making it feel tiny but warm as he shows no sign of letting go.

“You’re all grown up,” he says, and I watch his face shift as though he’s said the wrong thing, but his eyes scan my body instead, making me flush with a new warmth.

Not the red shame of embarrassment, but the pulse of heat in response to the signals he’s transmitting.

I don’t know how or even why, but I get a strong feeling that Zak Ramon likes what he sees and the feeling is certainly mutual.

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