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“At first?” she asks.
I meet her eyes, wondering if she can sense the darkness in me my past left behind. “When I became a cop, I made a point of keeping tabs on him. Turns out being a landlord wasn’t his only moneymaker. He had fingers in all sorts of sick pies. The motherfucker will be eighty when he’s released if he ever is.”
“Good,” Piper says passionately.
I nod.
“So you cared about the law…” Piper prompts.
“Yeah. I became a cop, but I’d always dreamed of being a lawyer. So I started taking night classes. I worked as a lawyer for a decade, and then I became a judge.”
She smiles softly. “You make it sound so easy. It must’ve been hard work.”
“Sure, yeah, it was. But hard work has never frightened me. It’s the opposite, actually.”
“Not working hard scares you?”
“It does. I remember what it was like being poor, so poor I thought I’d have to live on the streets when I aged out of the system. I guess I’ve got a little of that in me, even now, even after…”
I wave my fork at the house in general and then bite down on my streak.
Closing my eyes, I savor the taste.
“Good?” she asks.
I swallow. “Better than good. I should have you cook all my meals.”
She tugs at her shirt, drawing my attention to her cleavage, even tastier looking than the steak. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
“You say that now.” I laugh. “But what about when I’ve been at the gym for two hours and I come home demanding a feast?”
Her smile lights up her whole face. It makes me want to provoke more smiles, my mind fills with all the good times we could share together. I wonder how widely her lips will spread across her beautiful face after she gives birth to our first child.
I wonder…
Here I am, fantasizing about her when she’s right in front of me, so deep in my imagination I’m not even listening.
“Sorry?” I say.
“I said I’d cook you a feast, whatever you wanted.”
My cock gives another twinge. I’ve never been much for flirting – as far as my love life is concerned, I’ve never been much of anything – but I’m almost certain that’s what’s happening here.
Almost.
Bones, as if reading my mind, rubs his face against my leg. It’s like he’s reminding me to remember that she belongs to him, the little man, and he won’t forgive me if I scare her away.
“Tell me about your course work,” I say, cutting into my steak.
“It’s not as exciting as being a police officer or a judge…”
I raise my eyebrow, silently telling her I don’t give a damn. I could listen to her talk about anything and still be interested. As long as it was her talking.
She could describe paint drying on a wall and I’d still not be able to look away.
“It’s graphic design,” she says. “I’ve always loved art. I grew up sketching everything and anything.”
“Why?” I ask.
She purses her lips. She must have no idea what effect she has on me, her full mouth pouting like.
The thought suddenly spirals into a vivid vignette, and suddenly I’m sure I can feel my hands in her hair, my cock in her mouth, as she opens those beautiful eyes and gazes up at me.
“It’s a difficult question,” she says after a pause. “I can’t really remember a time when I didn’t want to be an artist in some form. When I was a teenager, I was really into graphic novels. I guess it was easier, hiding away in the library, my head buried in a book…”
“Easier than what?”
I’m aware she could grow tired of my questions. I need to remind myself I’m not grilling a witness or a perp.
But the setting seems perfect for this sort of intimacy if that’s what it is.
The rain pelting the house, the lights turned down low to set the mood, our legs so close under the table they’re almost touching. I can feel the heat of her, emanating from her, as though calling out to me.
“Easier than high school.” She shrugs. “I wasn’t exactly bullied. I was more invisible, I guess. People were always surprised that I was even there. It was like everybody had agreed I didn’t exist. But I didn’t help myself. I preferred books, and especially graphic novels, to people.”
“I know how that feels,” I say. “Well, to some extent. When I was a kid, I didn’t have many friends. I spent most of my teenage years at the gym or reading about the law, devouring every book I could get my hands on.”
She nods, holding my gaze for a few long moments. A connection is forming between us, like a rope looping around us, something just for me and her.
“My weight didn’t help.” She sighs. “I wasn’t called names often, but when I was, it was about that.”
