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“So, same as usual? You just want me to pick out what I think looks best?” She shifts on her hip behind the counter and looks up to meet my eye. She has this way of widening her eyes when she looks up from under her lashes, like she’s not sure I’m real.
I lick my lips. “Yes.” Her body shifts and sways under her clothing as she moves, filling in the fabric with round softness. I like how she dresses. It’s sweet, simple, never showing too much or being garish. Almost always skirts and simple dresses. Her favorite outfit is the one she’s wearing today. A yellow skirt with some white lace at the bottom, a white blouse that she buttons to the top and a pair of red and white polka dot Keds with rainbow sparkling laces.
How do I know what her favorites are? Because I’ve been following her.
Yes. Probably by the legal definition it’s stalking.
Jesus, I’m so far gone I don’t even recognize myself.
The groan that comes up from somewhere in my toes as I think about her makes me uncomfortable, and I swallow and look away just to regain some composure. I lose the fight and my eyes snap right back to her.
Her eyes flash up at me with a flicker of amusement. I want to light her face with a smile to match but I’m no comedian.
I need to say something. “So, how are you doing?” Stupid question. “I mean...” Around her, words become like calculus problems after a fifth of tequila. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to ask if you’re doing okay. I mean, with your mom and Cherokee. I worry about you. You look like you need to eat. Are you eating okay?” She gives me a quizzical look; my questions have turned to something more paternal over the last few weeks and I can tell it puzzles her.
In the ninty-four days since I walked in here, she completely up ended my program. In that time, we’ve actually shared a lot about ourselves. Secured an unusual bond which for me builds with every passing day. I need to know everything about her life. I can’t stop myself. I admit, I’m obsessed. And jealous as fuck. I nearly snap when anyone other male looks her way.
It wasn’t more than a month after I’d been coming in I asked her what she did over the previous weekend. She mentioned she’d been out Friday night with the gal that works with her, Andrea. I immediately asked her where they went, who else they were with, what time she got home, who drove, if they were drinking. I bordered on fatherly interrogation. I felt it was my right. My obligation to know everything.
When she told me there was some jack-off that tried to follow her to the ladies’ room, I jumped to my feet and from the way she startled at my sudden movement, I think I scared her. Her green eyes darkened and her bottom lip quivered for just a second. Thank Christ she quickly tagged onto her story that she’d managed to lose the guy and dragged Andrea out of there, because I was already imagining tracking the little fuck down and teaching him some manners.
Then, twenty-seven days ago, I stopped in just because I couldn’t fight the urge to see her, to hear her voice. Usually I call first to make sure she’s here, but I was in the neighborhood and had to come inside, my obsession getting the better of me. I keep a couple of posters in my trunk, just for such occasions.
Only, that day when I came in, the guy that must be the manager told me she would be gone for a week. I’ve seen him around and I don’t like the vibe he gives off. His name’s Eddie because I make it my business to know the names of the folks she works with. I don’t like the way that he fucking looks at her. If I could eliminate him from her life I would, but that scares me because it only makes it that much clearer just what a psycho I’ve become for her.
The morning she was due back at work, I was at the front door when the shop opened, waiting. My heart broke when I saw her. Red-rimmed eyes, her usual, perfectly smooth hair was in a messy ponytail, her face hinted with gray instead of her usual peachy pink cheeks. Finally, I asked enough questions to demolish her barriers and she told me both her mom and dog had passed away within a few days of each other. I knew about her mom already; when they said she would be gone for a week I did some digging and found out why, but I didn’t know about her dog. I mean I knew about her dog –she’d talked about him a lot– but to find out they’d both died so close together broke my heart.
I hated that I didn’t know before.
It just made me want to protect her that much more. Now, today, I don’t want to make the same mistakes. I’m asking he
r more than just how she’s doing. I want to know how’s she’s really doing.
“Thanks.” She blinks a few times, like she doesn’t want to look at the world. “Yeah, I’m doing okay.” Her words say one thing, but I see her eyes are saying something else. I want to know it all; I want to fix it all. I want to be the one she comes to with everything, good and bad. She takes a breath. “It hurts though. Still. A lot.” The slightest tremble accents her words and my heart clenches.
Against my better judgment, I lean my massive torso over the counter, locking my elbows, and wait for her to look up. I’ve never dared come this close – I’ve never crossed this line.
But today I see she needs someone, and I want to be that someone. I love the way her hair curls under at the ends. It’s the color of rich, strong coffee, with a sheen like hot milk. It makes my fingers twitch, aching to get tangled in it. The way her bangs sometimes catch on her long eyelashes when she looks up. The facets of her eyes, making me think of polished jade, rimmed with sparkling gold ribbon.
“If you need help with anything, ever, I want you to call me.” I draw back one hand to my back pocket, pinching one of my personal business cards out then slipping it across the counter.
I watch her trying to decide whether or not I’ve just crossed the creepy guy line or if I’m being sincere. From the way she’s so unsure around me, I imagine she’s fresh, pure, and untouched. Fuck knows. I can’t be sure. But if I were the praying kind, I’d pray for that. Because I want all her firsts to be mine. I want to own this fragile being in front of me. Own all of her experiences, her body, her heart, and her soul.
Then, I lower my head a few inches inhaling to the depths of my lungs. I swear to God I catch the hint of something else on her. A scent of arousal. I’m instantly hard. A fog of some primal instinct clouds my rational mind, and I reach out to cover her hand with one of mine.
For a second I forget where we are. I’m close to staggering, trying to control the need that shoots through me at the feel of her skin against mine. My cock is at full height, and if she catches sight of what I’ve got behind my zipper I’m going to get banned from this store for life with a restraining order against me.
No closer than your cock will allow, Mr. Leonard.
But in my fire-seared brain, something shakes loose. Her eyes are locked onto where my massive hand eclipses hers, and I lean in farther, filling myself with her scent until my lips come down to brush the silk of her hair.
She releases a gasp and I feel her body tense.
Thoughts of what her cunt looks like right now flicker like flames behind my eyes. I wonder if she’s wet for me. Is she bare or does she wear the same soft brown color down below? The fantasy fills my brain, making the world fall away. I’ve never been this close to her. All my fears about what I want to do to her explode. She’s so tiny and I have to fight for control.
I would hurt her.
And it would be beautiful.
