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A spidery sensation tickles my spine. It’s a sense that I know well. Every time my seal team was in danger I would get the same tickle.
Hurrying back to the VIP area, I find Rome signing a cocktail napkin. He looks up and says, “Did you find the culprit?”
“Yeah, but it was a dead end. Your team has a still image to show you in case you may know who she is.” I take a moment to study their body language and determine that we are leaving. “We need to go.”
“Can’t we stay a little longer?” She twists her hair again.
“We’re leaving.”
Vanessa snatches the napkin and says, “Pleasure doing business with you, Rome. I’ll get the ball rolling and send you actual contracts from the attorneys.”
He kisses her on the cheek, finding the corner of her mouth. Her lips don’t actually touch his.
“Looking forward to it. But we still need to talk about the partnership with Mr. Fitch.” He gives us both a wicked grin and raises his glass of Bourbon.
Rome Lennox. Fuck. He can’t have her.
I slide my arm around her back, cementing her to my side. No one’s getting near her under my watch, not even as we wade through the packed club.
It takes several minutes to get to my truck. Vanessa is wearing a killer dress that’s had me readjusting myself all night. Black dress, spaghetti straps, a low-cut back showcasing her untouched skin, and a hint of cleavage. She has more than she did when we were together. A little chuckle escapes my throat. Comic relief is real. When the team would get back from a mission we’d laugh like SpongeBob and Patrick—most of the time—if we accomplished the mission.
“What?”
She doesn’t need to know that her breasts have been daring me all night. “Nothing.”
“Beau, do you have any idea what we’re dealing with?Whowe could be dealing with?”
Her body shakes and her lips quiver from the cold night air. It’s October, which means it can be seventy degrees during the day and forty at night, and she’s definitely dressed for daytime.
“Get in and I’ll warm you up.”
She appears to like the idea. A faint grin pops up, and her big green eyes round.
Vanessa Barron is still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
She was beautiful at twelve, even with hair she didn’t know how to manage yet.
At thirteen, Vanessa got braces. She was stunning with her mouth full of metal. Her smile shined even brighter—wider.
And fourteen, forget about it. She had to start wearing a bra because her chest started catching up with her long legs.
When she was fifteen, she developed muscles from cheerleading. Talk about giving a guy a hard-on. I could hardly control my teenage instincts.
At sixteen, I saw her completely naked for the first time, and damn, that night when her body was stretched under mine is still etched into my brain.
At the tender age of seventeen, Vanessa exuded a remarkable self-assurance in her body and hair, and that magnetic confidence was undeniably captivating. She mesmerized me as I escorted her to the homecoming dance. The cheerleading coach let her wear her hair down for the homecoming king and queen ceremony.
It was a chilly October night, much like this one. Some of the candidates were in suits and dresses, but Vanessa and I were in our Friday night gear—our uniforms. I remember throwing my sweaty arm over her at halftime while we waited for the announcement. She stared up at me, and I bent down and kissed her right when they announced us as king and queen. The crowd chanted and clapped. The town thought of us as their kids.
I never got tired of looking at her. On her eighteenth birthday, we went skiing with our friends: Wynter, Scotty, Jessie and Mark. She was puffed out a few extra sizes from all of the layers and the puffy coat. And still, I remember thinking,she’d be gorgeous at any size.
And here we are, she’s probably gained twenty or thirty pounds since I last saw her, and I promise, she’s more beautiful than she’s ever been. My dick hasn’t stopped aching since I walked into her office.
I look around the parking lot as I jump into the truck and blast the heater. As much as I would love to be the man to warm her up, I’m not sure my heart can handle it. Devastated is the only word that describes how I felt that summer night after our senior year.
The crux of it is, if I’d known that Vanessa and I would eventually break up, I still wouldn’t have changed a thing. The only exception being how it ended. I would have preferred having theI can’t do long distanceconversation over what actually happened.
The music plays softly as we cruise down the interstate. For a moment, we talk about the note, and she goes over every detail from the bathroom. Did she see anyone else? Did she overhear a conversation that felt odd? Did anyone seem familiar?
