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Not nearly enough.
He was young and healthy and doing his duty to his country and family. This shouldn’t have happened.
How could a good man die when evil continued to exist?
Life wasn’t fair.
It could be downright cruel.
But there didn’t seem to be anything cruel or evil about the man she approached. She went toe to toe with him and his nostrils flared ever so slightly as she slowly reached around him to grab her purse. It had been left knocked over and open on the counter after the girls had dug through it to find her credit card.
She remained right where she stood, her eyes locked on his darker ones, and blindly dug inside it for her wallet. After slipping it out of the zippered opening, she leaned in again as she returned the purse to the same spot, keeping her wallet in her now trembling hand.
She only dropped her gaze long enough to remove the cash and count it to make sure it was enough. Once she ensured it was, she held the bills between them, hoping he wouldn’t notice how he affected her. Though, she was pretty sure she was looking at him like he was a glass of ice water and she was extremely parched.
Without looking at the money, he pulled it from her fingers with excruciating slowness. When he shifted forward, she held her breath, wondering if he was going to touch her.
The movement of air brushed along her skin, instead. Their chests were separated by only inches, his face even closer. So close, she could see the black flecks in his dark brown irises.
Her lips parted and her breathing shallowed as he reached behind himself, pulled out his chained wallet, unsnapped the flap and tucked the money inside with the quickness of a sloth. All without counting it.
She forced, “You don’t want to count it first?” from her seized throat.
He shook his head, his eyes still holding hers and softly said, “Trust you,” as he slipped his wallet back into his pocket.
Trust you.
He might as well have said, “I want to fuck you,” because that was what her body heard.
Loud and clear, too.
A current ran through her, causing her nipples to pucker painfully in the sports bra she wore under Brendan’s white button-down shirt. It was one of a few shirts she kept for working around the house, not for sentimental reasons. She had kept plenty of other items that held more meaning and memory.
Heat swirled in her belly as his eyelids drew low over his eyes, taking them from dark brown to black, especially with the way his pupils expanded.
Luckily, her pussy clenching hard jerked her free from her sexual stupor and brought her back to reality.
Good God, she needed to step back before she melted from the scorching heat between them. Or she touched him inappropriately again. Without asking.
If she asked, would he...?
No, Chelle!
Where was the water bottle she used to spray Pumpkin with when he was a kitten and used to jump on the kitchen counters? Someone needed to squirt her with it.
Bad, pussy, bad!
She was losing it. She swallowed hard and forced herself to take a step back. Her fingers had soldered themselves to her wallet, so she loosened her grip and put it behind her on the table nearby, doing her best to gather herself.
She cleared her throat. “As soon as I get more money saved, we can do another room.”
“Guess I’m done here, then.”
She didn’t want him to leave. Not yet.
If you were smart, Chelle, you’d let him leave before you do something stupid.
“Are you hungry?”
Like ask him to stay for leftovers.
He shook his head. “Stuffed myself earlier.”
She wondered if he cooked for himself or someone cooked for him. Maybe he did have a girlfriend or wife.
She should just let him leave. “How about a beer instead of another bottle of water?” Of course, she should.
“You got beer?”
She smiled at his obvious teasing. “Of course I have beer. It’s a local craft beer from a brewery in Williamsport, though.”
“Beer’s beer.”
The talk of beer had cooled the smolder between them a smidgeon. She could breathe a little easier as she went to the fridge and opened it. “Don’t let a master brewer hear you say that. It’s an art.”
“Yeah?”
She grabbed two bottles and shut the fridge door with her foot. “I watched a documentary on the process of making beer.” She placed them on the counter and pulled out the bottle opener from her junk drawer. Even if they were twist tops she always used the opener to make it easier.
She jumped when the question, “Gonna make your own?” came from close behind her.
He grabbed one bottle, twisted it open and handed it to her, then opened the second one for himself.
“No, I’m just a nerd like that.”
“Doubt you’re a nerd.”
“Don’t bet on it. You’d lose.” She lifted her bottle between them and when he lifted his in response, she tapped them together. “In celebration of a job well done.”
