“So, you’re from St. Louis?” she asks, glancing back at me.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“I’ve never been there. Is it nice?”
I shrug. “It’s alright. Cold this time of year.”
“I bet.” She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t like the cold. That’s why Florida is perfect.”
She stops at the last door on the left and pushes it open, stepping inside. I follow, acutely aware of the fact that we’re now alone in a room with a bed.
The space is simple but clean. Queen-sized bed with a dark blue comforter. Dresser. Small bathroom off to the side. Window overlooking the ocean.
“This is you,” she says with a smile, gesturing around the room. “Bathroom’s through there. If you need extra towels, just let me know.”
I drop my bag on the floor by the bed, my eyes never leaving her face. “Thanks.”
She lingers by the door, fidgeting with the edge of her bikini top. A nervous gesture that draws my attention to her chest. Her breasts are small but perky, the fabric of the bikini stretched tight across them.
I force my eyes back to her face.
“You’re beautiful.”
The words come out before I can stop them, hanging in the air between us.
Her eyes widen, a pretty blush spreading across her cheeks. “Oh! Um, thank you.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “That was inappropriate.”
She shakes her head, the blush deepening. “No, it’s okay. It’s just…” She bites her plump bottom lip. “It’s been a while since anyone called me beautiful.”
Something in her voice makes my chest tighten. There’s a vulnerability there that makes me want to punch whoever made her doubt herself.
“Well, the men around here must be fucking blind, then.”
She laughs, the sound light and musical. “You’re sweet.”
Sweet.
No one has ever called me that in my entire life.
“I’m a lot of things, darlin’,” I smirk. “But sweet ain’t one of ‘em.”
Her eyes drag over me, taking in my 6’2” frame, the muscles that haven’t gone soft despite my age, the tattoos covering my arms, and the gray creeping into my hair and beard.
“I think you might be nicer than you want people to know,” she says with a little smile. “Like one of those hard candies with the gooey center.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Jesus Christ, butterfly. Don’t let that get around. You’ll ruin my street cred.”
Her smile widens, and she rocks back on her heels. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Something about the way she says it makes my blood heat. I need to get a grip.
“So, how long have you been with the Jacksonville charter?” I ask, changing the subject to something safer.
Her smile dims a little. “About six months.”
There’s something in her tone that makes me think there’s more to that story. A darkness hiding behind those bright blue eyes.
