Her hair is wet, and she looks cute in my V-neck T-shirt and sweats even though she’s practically swimming in them. I try hard to keep my eyes in check; I can see her nipples through the shirt beckoning my mouth, tongue, hands…me.
So I focus on the task athand.
Food.
“You hungry? I hope you and Truffles like bacon and eggs. It’s just about all I have right now. I’ve been eating out alot.”
She toys with her hair. “Truffles fell fast asleep on the bed while I was in the shower. But, I on the other hand, love bacon and eggs.” She surveys the food sprawled all over the counter. Diced peppers, mushrooms, tomatoes. “Wait, are you making an omelet?” Her eyesgleam.
“Yes, and all of these veggies are from the garden. Nana loved using fresh from-the-garden veggeis when shecooked.”
She joins me behind the counter, looking up at me with those hypnotic blue eyes. “Can Ihelp?”
I swallow hard, after getting a subtle look at her cleavage taunting me through the V-neck tee. “Sure.”
We cook together, her standing so close to me, driving me insane. Honestly, all I want to do is lift her up, prop her up on the counter, and finish that kiss. Andmore.
Stand down, soldier.Having her here may be harder to handle than Ithought.
When she sets the table, she notices the blue scarf I placed on thechair.
Her scarf, from that day at theairport.
“You saved myscarf?”
I know my face has turned an obvious shade of red. “Yep. Well, in my defense, I meant to drop it off at the airport lost and found, but forgot. It’s been in my carry-on bag all thistime.”
She holds the scarf for a minute, a faraway gleam in her eyes accompanied by a lingering smile. I wonder if she’s recalling that day we first laid eyes on each other. More than ever I think I should have run after her right then and there. If I had, surely by now,wewould be anus. The thoughts I’ve had of kissing, touching, holding her, would be thoughts nomore.
She’s here now, don’t let her get away thistime.
When we sit down to eat, she eyes my wrist and says, “Jaxson, can you tell me about yourtattoo?”
My tattoo. Something that’s always hard for me to talk about. But she’s poured her soul to me about so many instances in her life. Shit, I just witnessed her getting her heart broken; surely I can share the details of mytattoo.
A small drawing of a motorcycle on the inside of mywrist.
I swallow my sip of water and take a deep breath in and out, praying that I get through the story without her seeing my sensitive side. “I had a best friend since grade school, Brad, who got killed in a motorcycle accident three years ago, two weeks before he was to be married. He was like a brother to me and his death took a lot out of me. About six months after he died, I walked into a tattoo shop, looking for a way to honor him. And this”—I run my fingertip along the tattoo—“is was what I came upwith.”
I let out a deep breath, the pain of Brad’s accident hitting me all overagain.
Lauren’s eyes glisten, “Oh, Jaxson, I’m so sorry. And what a sweet way to honor your friend.” She runs her index finger on the tattoo, her touch sending static to mybrain.
Damn. She’selectrifying.
