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His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. "Mine," he growls.
"I might not be what you're expecting," I confess, my bravado suddenly deflating.
"You're exactly what I'm expecting," he answers immediately, grabbing the back of my head with his hand and pulling my lips within a hair's breadth of his. "Because you are you and that's all I want. A clean, innocent canvas to paint on for the first time, however I wish."
"It's not fair. What about you?"
"Who said I've been jumping into bed with anybody and everybody?"
"You can't be?" I roll my eyes and shake my head.
"Keeping the streets safe kept me beyond busy. I did it for the community, that was my thought process. Now I know the real reason why. I did it for our future children, so they can grow up in a safe place. Protected. Always."
He's saying everything I want to hear, and more. My body starts to shake, nerves taking over, but before I can do anything else he leans in, his lips claiming mine in a kiss as hot as the air is becoming thick.
I don't stop him, don't fight the pressure of his mouth against mine. His desperation to taste me is only equaled by my own for him. The sweet taste of my alcoholic fruit punch mixes with his beer, a strange combination that for some odd reasons makes me think of 'liquor before beer and you're in the clear'. But am I, with him, my dad's best friend? The one he's been gushing about all these years even though they've been out of contact?
My heart and my head say yes, but the logical side of my brain also tells me I need to stay focused, to solve this cold case while I can, and then celebrate and reap the rewards afterward.
That's easier said than done when his tongue slides past my lips, a poor gatekeeper for my sanity, as my own tongue rises to meet his, both of them twisting like mating snakes.
He pulls away from me quickly, our kiss emitting a popping sound as rapidly as he stands, stuffs his hand in his pocket, and pulls out his wallet.
The bartender moves toward us and he throws a hundred-dollar bill on the table and quickly puts his wallet back, offering his free hand to me.
Looking up at him I see a leader, an older man who knows what he wants, and equally as important as what he wants is who he wants it with.
Me, to help me. To be my everything.
He already is.
Placing my tiny hand in his he leads me from the bar, toward the bank of elevators, holding the door open as I step inside. A second later he's punching the last button labeled 'PH', a hollow sounding AI generated woman's voice saying, 'This floor's access requires a key card. Please-'.
He silences the robotic annoyance by slapping a plastic card on the reader and up we go, to the top.
This is a microcosm of what my life will be like with him. From the ghetto streets to the penthouse suites.
My dream come true, and not because of what, when, or where...but because of who.
Him and only him.
