stumble, then right myself. I love her.
I've fallen for her.
When had she snuck up under my skin, coiled her scent around my heart, wormed her way into my every waking thought? Somewhere between her walking in on me naked at the cabin and apple-pie gate, I'd opened myself up to her in a way I had never done before. Her sass, her ability to hold her own against me, the way she fights to hold onto every inch of her dignity, that need inside of her to be dominated in bed, even as she blazes forward, trying to build her business.
She is a smart cookie, my woman. Takes no shit from anyone, and that includes me. It's one of the things I love—the fact that I can be myself with her, secure in the knowledge that she'll give back as good as she gets. Fuck. I drag my fingers through my hair... I left her and haven't stopped thinking about her. How can I already miss her? Her laughter, the way she wrinkles up her nose when she’s thinking, how she talks in her sleep... How her features scrunch up before she climaxes, how she draws herself up to her full height, tips up her chin and assumes that haughty ice-princess persona when she is pissed off with me.
How her features had crumpled when I'd told there was nothing keeping us together. I squeeze the bridge of my nose. Why the hell had I said that? Bloody ego of mine. No way, could I stand to share my weakness with her, huh? Would it have been so fucking terrible to tell her what had happened during the time I had been held hostage as a boy? Why the fuck is it so difficult to talk about it still, huh? All the bloody therapy in the world had clearly not helped. Maybe there is a part inside of me that’s broken and nothing can fix it—except her. She could have, had I given her a chance. But I'd opted to lash out at her—at the one person who is more important to me than life itself. Fuck. I rake my fingers through my hair, move forward. My foot connects with something on the ground. There's a dull thud. I look down to find coins spilled on the ground, and next to it a steel can is overturned.
"Sorry." I bend, scoop up the money and drop it back into the container.
"Got a cigarette?" a voice asks.
I glance up at the homeless man seated behind the receptacle. He has a Santa hat perched on his head. Had she actually nicknamed me Alpha Claus? I smirk. Talk about being kinky. But hell, if my North Pole hadn't been a snug fit in her stocking. I shake my head. The hell am I thinking?
"Oy," he waves his hand in front of my face, "got a smoke?"
I blink, shake my head, "Huh? Nope, sorry."
"Spare some change instead?" He peruses my features, "You okay there, man?"
"Sure," I mutter, shove my fingers in my pants pocket, come up empty. Search the other pocket and pull out my phone. Huh. "Guess I forgot my wallet." I glance back at her apartment block—okay, technically my block. But fuck, if I am going back there, not after that scene. Best to give her time to cool off, and then what? Beg her forgiveness? Fuck that. If she can’t accept me the way I am...then too fucking bad. Her loss. And yours. A fine curvy, gorgeous, love-of-my-life-sized loss. "Fuck," I swear aloud.
"You need a drink," Homeless man drawls.
'Yeah."
"Or maybe two," he offers.
I roll my shoulders, "Sounds about right." Why not? Liquor seems to be the way forward. Days and weeks and months of pouring myself into liquid amnesia. At least, I am old enough to cope that way... Hadn't had that luxury in my teenage years when my brain had turned to mush after the incident. It wasn't until I had found my calling as a surgeon, that I'd found a goal in life, a way to ground myself and keep moving forward. Until her—she is what makes it all worthwhile. Someone I can take care of, protect, share my fears, my deepest desires... Someone with whom I can build a future. "Bloody fuck," I growl. Why the hell can't I stop thinking about her? This is not good at all. "Not good."
"Women, huh?" Homeless man folds his legs under himself to sit cross-legged. I stare at his bare feet. There's something