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“Because looking at you does some serious shit to me, and because I can’t not look at you.” I pause, letting her absorb those words. “It also makes me want to switch from voyeur to exhibitionist, because I really want to fuck you right here in front of everyone.”
She sucks in a sharp breath and her tongue darts out to lick her lips. Her eyes darken with desire. The waitress picks that time to reappear with our drinks. Since we haven’t had the chance to look over the menu, I ask her to give us a few more minutes. This time, I point my eyes at the fancy folder in front of me, but I’m still very much aware of her. I can feel her heat and smell her perfume, and it wreaks havoc with my body.
Quickly scanning the menu, I pick something out, then throw it on the table. A few minutes later, Emberleigh does the same. Spotting the waitress off to the side, I tip my chin at her and she leaves her perch against the wall to come take our order.
Once the waitress leaves, Emberleigh picks up her glass of wine and takes a sip before putting it back down. Her eyes meet mine over the table.
“Can I ask you something?”
I nod my permission.
“Are you close with your dad?”
“We are,” I respond.
“And your childhood. What was that like?”
I scratch the scruff on my face that I didn’t have time to scrape off today and consider her question.
“As you know, I didn’t have the typical childhood. I went to school, played sports, and had a few friends who had parents that didn’t mind that my old man owned a strip joint. But I was raised around naked girls. That was my normal. My father watched after me as much as he could, but there were times I was left to my own devices, or when I was too young to care for myself, some of the women did it for him. They all treated me like I was their son. It was illegal to have a child in an establishment such as his, but I always stayed in the back when the doors were open. And none of the women or staff would ever report my father because they respected him. He’s always treated them right. My father was always there when he was supposed to be. It may have not been an ideal childhood, but it was what I had, and there’s no part of it I would change.”
She accepts my answer with a nod. Her finger runs along the rim of her glass as she looks at me contemplatively.
“I can’t imagine growing up the way you did. I’m not saying that as judgement. I think it’s wonderful that your dad was a real dad for you and you had so many people around who cared. It’s just way different than my own childhood.”
I sit up in my chair and take the opportunity to know more about her.
“What about you? Tell me about your childhood.”
A soft smile graces her face and her eyes light up.
“My parents were great. Very loving, and made growing up fun.” Her smile slips some and her eyes fall away, but before that, I see the stark pain that filters through them. “My brother and I were really close. We were two years apart, him being older, but we were always together. He was my best friend and very protective. There was one time, I think I was about eight years old, when we were in the woods behind our house. We came across a hornets’ nest. All we were doing was looking at it, but something must have set them off, because they started swarming at us. Of course, it got worse when we started swiping at them. Jason pushed me to the ground and covered me with his body so they wouldn’t get to me. Dad used to tell Jason it was his duty as my older brother to always protect me.” Her eyes lift back to mine and she releases a small laugh, but her eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “He took that job very seriously.”
I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. Lacing our fingers together, I give her what comfort I can, because I know this doesn’t have a happy ending. She’s referring to her brother in the past tense.
“What happened?” My question comes out low.
Her fingers jerk in mine and her face scrunches up in pain. I give her a minute to compose herself. She pulls in a deep breath, and I watch as the strong person I know she is pulls herself together.
“I stayed home from school one morning because I wasn’t feeling well. He had just gotten his license a month before, so he would always drive me to school with him. My parents didn’t make him, he just wanted to do it because that was the kind of brother he was.” Her smile is sad before it drops. “There was a woman who was running late for work. She was applying makeup as she was driving and swerved into my brother’s lane. They hit head-on and he went through the windshield. We were told he died instantly and wasn’t in pain, and although that gives us a little comfort, it still doesn’t make it any less painful.”
“Jesus, Emberleigh,” I say gruffly. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
Her fingers tighten in mine as she looks at me with so much pain reflected in her eyes it makes my own chest feel tight. “Thank you.”
Getting up from the table, I walk to her side, pull her to her feet, claim her seat, then tug her down to my lap, not giving a fuck if we are in public. There’s nothing that would keep me away from her right now. As I’m adjusting her so she’s sitting sideways, her wide eyes watch me. Once we’re settled, she looks around once, then buries her face in my neck. I rub her back and hold her tight as her body trembles against mine. She doesn’t cry, but I know she’s on the verge. I can feel it in the way her heavy breaths touch my neck. I admire the hell out of her strength.
Several minutes pass before she lifts her head. I rest my forehead against hers and cup the side of her face.
“You okay?”
She licks her lips, her throat bobbing a couple times. “Yeah. It’s something I don’t really do well with talking about. I’ve struggled with his death for years, and have only come to terms with it the last few.”
I place a gentle kiss against her lips. “That’s understandable. I’m sorry to have brought it up.”
Now it’s her turn to kiss me. “No,” she murmurs against my lips. She pulls further back to look into my eyes. “I need to be able to talk about it. I miss Jason with my whole heart. He was a wonderful brother and friend. I need to remember him that way and not just think about the pain of him being gone.”
“You’ll have to tell me more stories about him one day.”
