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Ash
Beatrice from my mother’s fancy neighborhood looks damn fine in her shimmering green dress. Better than any other girl I’ve ever met, to be honest. Could be the drink, could be the dancing. All the lap dances from all the pros I’ve gotten over the years can’t hold a candle to the way she moved her body in there. Fluid like water, mesmerizing like a cat.
My fascination with her could be me trying to escape my other thoughts. The ones that have to do with the war that was useless. Or those that will send me gunning to avenge my father’s death.
Eagle was pushing for us to make a night of it at the MC bar, but the last thing I needed was to spend the night with my father’s club brothers. Hell, if I could postpone the meeting with the club president tomorrow, I would. I know he died doing something for the club, I know they’ll take care of it the way they always do and I know it was ultimately for nothing. Because he’s dead and gone now, his house stinks of rotten food and whatever answer I get from any of them won’t change any of that.
“You know I’d tell if I knew,” Eagle said to me while I was working on my third scotch at the second bar we’d gone to. I didn’t ask.
“All I know is that it was on some secret mission and nothing was supposed to go wrong,” he added.
I told him, I’m good not knowing the details. For now. Tomorrow could be another story.
We ended up in an upscale club on top of a hill after all the other bars started closing down and I still refused to go to the clubhouse.
It was the right decision.
Bea, standing by the bar and attracting all the lights and then some, drove everything else from my mind.
And now we’re sitting side by side on a plush, dark velvet loveseat, the stars above us lighting up the almost pitch black sky, and the soft lighting out here casting perfect shadows and light onto her face, making her look like some goddess of the night. She glows, and all I can think is, “I better not fuck this up.” All my misgivings about before are as substantial as the cool breeze.
“So, you’ve been gone for awhile, right?” she asks, leaning in close, so close I can feel the heat dissipating of her in a cloud of the most intoxicating scent I’ve ever smelled. It’s not just the perfume she’s wearing, but more, something eternal and unnamable. I know I have it bad for her, because I’m trying to get poetic. Which I should stop. It usually doesn’t end well.
“Yeah, I just got back this morning,” I tell her and I should probably leave it at that, because my life story isn’t something anyone who just met me should hear. “I’m trying to get my dad’s house in order.”
“And then you’re leaving again?” she asks and I swear I detect regret in her voice. So far so good, in other words.
“I’ll see,” I say and chuckle. “Haven’t made my plans that far ahead yet. You?”
This conversation has gone far enough down this lane. The last thing I want is to scare her off.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” she says softly, leaning back a little, the coy look gone from her eyes and even her intoxicating scent less strong. “I can relate…well sort of…I was very young when my dad died. But I suppose it’s always sort of the same, right?”
I don’t know whether to kiss her, hold her or get us another drink. None of those seem like the best plan.
“It sucks whenever it happens, I guess,” I say instead. “When I left home at eighteen, I thought I’d have more time with him. I’d have come home more often if I knew how little time we had left.”
Her eyes sort of glaze over, or maybe water up. I should’ve gone with one of the three obvious options.
“There’s never enough time,” she says wistfully. “That’s what I’ve been thinking for the whole night, about how important it is to live in the moment, to enjoy life in the moment, because it’s all gone so fast.”
“Like for example someone could reverse out of a driveway without looking and that’s it for you,” I say and chuckle. She gasps, her eyes very wide, her full lips slightly parted, gleaming in the starlight, her breath warm and soft.
“I’m kidding,” I say softly, then lean in to kiss her, because it’s time, high time, almost too late.
She tastes like summer, sweet like apple ripe and ready to eat, like all the possibilities opening up at once, like the best possible path to choose.
At first the kiss surprised her, but then she relaxed, leaned in and let me taste all of her. My cock’s been aching for more of her since she almost ran me over, and right now, I wish we were alone, somewhere where I could peal that flowing green dress of hers off to see what her clothes try to hide. I bet it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever seen, touched or tasted too. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.
But this is nice too. More than nice. Perfect even. Her fingers running along my arms and in my hair, the silky softness of her dress under my palms nothing compared to the softness of her curves. Maybe if I had more, it’d be too much.
Just kissing her is heaven. And what’s more than heaven? Does it even exist?
