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“Let’s do it.”
We head downstairs and Mom is arguing on the phone with somebody. We both roll our eyes towards each other and slip out the back.
As we cut through the yard, our neighbor’s head pops over the high fence. White hair and blue eyes and a friendly smile.
He smiles at us and Willow greets him with a wave which he returns. “Good afternoon, Mr. Miller.”
“Good afternoon, Willow.” He returns to his duties and I take my sister’s hand.
“Let’s go riding?” I ask, moving to the small garage where my bike is hiding.
She wets her lips, looking nervous. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll go slow. We’ll be able to go further together.”
After a brief hesitation she nods. It’s been a long time since I got her on the bike. She used to ride her own all the time but that ended when she got sick and her arms just don’t have the strength in them to guide the bike anymore.
“This is going to be fucking awesome.”
“I can’t do it,” I growl, feeling frustrated when another fish gets away from me. “Can’t I like stab it or something? This is boring.”
Nok blinks at me slowly. “You mean like spear fishing?”
I nod. “Duh. Isn’t that something your people do?”
“Not anymore but once, I guess. We’d need spears.”
“Or just really sharp sticks with a kind of hook on the end.”
He mutters under his breath about ungrateful women and their abuse of fishing and lack of skill.
“That’s sexist,” I point out playfully.
He grins at me over his shoulder as he finds a long enough stick for me to utilize. Meanwhile, I sit and enjoy the misty, cool air while sipping warm coffee he brought with him.
“So, do you know what I realized this morning?” I ask him and he grumbles, “What?”
“I don’t know what you do for a living for you to have such a fancy-ass truck.”
He raises his brows, clearly surprised. “I’ve never told you?”
“No, you have, I’m lying so you tell me again.” My sarcasm goes over so well. Not.
He picks up a five-foot-long branch that’s straight for the most part and tosses it my way. I sit cross-legged on the ground and balance it over my thigh before starting to carve at one end with my knife.
“You’re very handy for a girl.”
“Sexism,” I singsong, concentrating on my craft.
“Whatever.” He dips his hook back into the water, standing on the bank with parted thighs and a strong posture. “I take people out into the woods to hunt and do survival role-play for a place on the res. It’s fun. I get to keep the truck so long as I look after it.”
I yank on my collar to loosen it; it suddenly feels itchy around my throat. “Sorry about that.”
“I deserved it,” he admits with genuine sincerity for the first time since it happened. He has said it before but it just didn’t ring true. This time, however, I sense, feel, and hear his remorse. I’m growing on him. He’s starting to care about me. “I deserved worse.”
“You’re just saying that because I saved your reputation.”
“You’re going to be smug about that forever, aren’t you?” I can hear the smile in his voice, he’s clearly happy about what I did. He likes my psychotic side, so long as he’s not on the receiving end of it.
He suddenly appears at my back and his legs open around me. The fishing rod is still in his hand, though he’s holding it out of the way, so I don’t accidentally cut the line while chiseling away at my stick.
“I wish we could just come out here every day,” I murmur when his chest touches my back and I can lean into him.
“You enjoy it?”
“It’s the most peaceful I think I’ve ever felt.” I tilt my head back, stopping my whittling for a moment so I can look at him and not cut myself. “Minus the fact you’re here of course.”
“Oh, ha ha,” he deadpans and presses a sweet kiss to my lips as though it’s his right to do so. “You have the sweetest lips I have ever tasted, the sharpest tongue, and the evilest eyes— ouch.”
I hit him for that last one.
“I don’t have evil eyes.”
I so do but that doesn’t mean anyone else can say it.
“You have the worst case of resting bitch face I have ever seen in my life.” His mischievous smile shows his perfect teeth.
“I don’t have resting bitch face, Nokosi Locklear.” I drop my knife and the stick and turn so I’m on my knees on the soft picnic blanket that has seen better days. “I simply have bitch face.”
Smiling, I bite his lip, something I love doing. I decide, what with this being the second time I’ve done it and already I’m wishing for a third. If only to watch his eyes open and then narrow as my bite gets harder and harder, until he growls at me and his pupils expand beyond full dilation.
