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Dylan
“You there, Dylan?”
My cell phone slides from my hand, making a thud as it hits the desk and then a cracking sound as it falls further to the floor. I don’t look down and I don’t care if I have to buy a new one or if I’ve gone silent on a call with my largest supplier. That stuff can all be replaced.
A girl like her can’t. She’s a once in a lifetime. And no one like her has ever walked into my shop in the twenty years I’ve been in business, which is probably longer than she’s been alive.
Leaning forward in my oversized leather seat in the back room I stare into the CCTV feed, my palms gripping the sides of my thick oak desk, the sound of the wood cracking from the death grip I’m applying.
The toes on my right foot bounce uncontrollably as I watch this angel talk to the clerk in the showroom, jealous that he’s the one helping her and not me. I want to get up. I want to rush out there and see what she needs and give her all of that and more, but I can’t move.
One, because I’m transfixed by her angelic features, her youthful exuberance, and a kind of fresh-faced innocence that you don’t see in my line of work.
Two, my pants are so tented I couldn’t stand up if I tried.
I scrape my palm against the stubble on my chin, my forearm twitching.
This never happens to me.
My heart hammers in my chest to the point I can feel my pulse in the side of my throat. My body is tingling all over and all I can think about are all the ways I want to spoil this princess, make her mine always, and in all ways.
She pulls out an ID and what appears to be a permit, and I grab my desk drawer, yanking it open, sending the contents flying everywhere. I frantically stab my hand at the floor for the joystick to the camera controls, placing it on my desk and zooming in on her driver’s license.
Out of state, and clearly a fake, just like the permit which is on the counter next to it, quickly being inspected by my employee. But what isn’t fake is the way I’m feeling right now. I’ve never felt this way about a woman before. I quit dating years ago as there was just never a spark, never something between me and a woman that made me feel complete. Something was always missing.
I’ve yet to see this girl in the flesh, to lean in and smell her hair, to run my calloused digits across her smooth skin. Nothing. But I already know she’s everything.
And just like that she’s gone, being dismissed by my employee at the drop of a hat.
My hand squeezes into a fist, destroying the joystick, the sound of the plastic braking snapping me back into reality.
I jump up out of my chair, hitting the throbbing need I have for her squarely against the underside of the desk. The pain is intense, but the thought of losing her forever is more painful, more intense than any kind of physical torture I could ever imagine.
“Where is she?” I snarl, busing out of the backroom in a fit.
“She was trying to buy a Glock with a fake ID and permit.”
“I know,” I growl. “I didn’t ask that. I asked where she went. Tell me. Now.”
“Out the front door boss, where everyone who comes in goes out.”
I’m losing it, and fast.
I dart to the front of the store, slamming my hand into the horizontal bar that pushes the door open. My eyes scan both directions and I catch a single car pulling away from the parking lot.
Quicker than lightning I’m back in my office, grabbing my motorcycle helmet and back out the door, throwing my leg over my matte black Ducati, and hitting the ignition button. No time for the white Lambo I own parked next to it. I need to avoid being spotted, and I need to be nimble, which isn’t easy at six foot five and nearly two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle.
I take off like a rocket shot out of a cannon, on the highway in seconds, and spot her car immediately. I’m on her like a heat-seeking missile before realizing my mistake, dropping back in traffic a bit, and letting her lead me to wherever she’s going.
