The Right Garza : A Friends to Lovers Romance (Red Cage Book 1)
Page 25
He closes in on me, pinning me to the car with his hips. “Glad you came.”
“Let me see you,” I beg softly.
As he never fails to do, he gives me what I want—he removes his aviators. Those beautiful dark eyes burn for me, confirming all that I already feel in my heart.
He belongs to me.
“How long will you be gone for this time?”
He shrugs. “For as long as it takes to get the job done.”
I press my palms to his hard, formidable chest and groan miserably. “Sometimes I hate your job.”
His teeth tug on his bottom lip and the act sends a shiver through me. “I’d quit, but my girlfriend is a little high maintenance. Burns holes right through my pockets.”
I punch his chest. “Shut up.”
He leans down and captures my mouth with his, slipping his tongue inside. I suck on it before rubbing mine against his, getting lost in him. I don’t want you to go.
Obnoxious honking from the jeep across the lot rips a jagged slash through our moment. And I grip his biceps to keep him to me, not ready to let him go.
“Gotta go, baby.”
No. “Okay. Wait…”
I turn and open the car door, lean inside and grab the small, black box wrapped with a white bow from the seat, then pop back out to face him.
“Since I doubt you’ll be back in time for your birthday, I might as well just give you your gift now.”
A grin splits his face as he takes it, and I grin in turn. I don’t know anyone who loves receiving gifts as much as this man does. He’s like a boy on Christmas morning. Want to make him grin? Wrap something, anything, in a gift box and hand it to him. Sure, he might punch you in face if he opens it and finds a rock inside, but it’ll be worth it just to see that rare, heart-stopping grin of his.
“No peeking until your birthday,” I tell him as he starts to tug on the bow.
He shoots me a look of protest and starts to object, but the jeep behind him honks again.
Ugh. Go to hell, True!
I fling myself at him, hugging him hard. “I love you. I’ll miss you. Call me every day. Please.”
His chuckle is deep and rumbling. “I’m not going off to war, babe.”
With this job, he might as well be. It’s not as safe and easy as he tries to make me believe.
Taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tilts my face up until our eyes lock. “I’ll always come back to you.”
I nod. Even though I know that’s not a promise he truly can’t keep.
He kisses me swiftly. “Love you more than life, Hellcat.”
“Love you, too,” I whisper back, but he’s already jogging across the lot to the jeep.
I sag against the car and watch as their jeep speeds out of the lot before he is even properly inside.
I miss him already. But I know he will come back to me.
He always does.
Chapter THIRTY-SIX
“It’s like she doesn’t even know you.”
Trent
A long time ago, I was forced to practice patience. I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it, but what I wanted didn’t want me. Wasn’t ready for me.
Still, I understood that “not yet” didn’t mean “no.”
And thus began a life lesson in patience.
With Fate. With the Universe. With life.
Waiting.
It’s torturous. Treacherous. Like a constant, unending drip, drip, drip on the head.
One would think that after years of exercising patience at its finest, that small stuff, like waiting two days to open a birthday gift would be a walk in the park.
Not even a little.
Not when it’s from her.
My dream girl.
“For the love of God, your anxious energy is bugging the shit out of me,” True grumbles from the driver’s seat, speeding like a madman and cutting off everyone in traffic. “You never could help peeking. Just open the damn thing and get it over with. We’re gonna need your focus, man.”
It’s true that I never could help peeking. Christmas presents, birthday presents, graduation presents...if it had my name on it, I’d sniff it out like a bloodhound and he’d be the one to help me re-wrap it after I’d peeled off the wrapper to peek.
What’s also true is that the mission we’re headed for now is more than a little tricky. Risky, even. And as long as I know there’s a gift for me to open, it’s gonna fuck with my focus. Yup, I’m still a big ass kid in a lot of ways. Gifts are my weakness.
Nevertheless, I resist the urge and try to hold out.
Minutes later, we pull into the landing where the copter’s waiting for us.
As I start to jump out, True lands a punch on my shoulder to keep me in place, then points a threatening finger at me. “No,” he growls, serious as fuck now. “I’ll load the shit. You stay here and open that goddamn thing before you get on that goddamn chopper.” He pushes open his door and jumps out, grumbling, “Don’t know what the hell she was thinking giving that to you now. It’s like she doesn’t even know you.”
Except she does know me. Knows me too damn well, as a matter of fact.
Then it hits me. She knew telling me not to open it would only make me want to open it.
That damn Hellcat. She wants me to open it early.
Running against time, I untie the bow and flip the cover off.
On a wave of red satin cloth rests...a dog-tag?
Yep. A dog-tag. White-gold and lined with diamonds.
Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t this. Disappointment sinks like a sea-rock in my stomach. Anticlimactic to say the least.
To be honest, I was kind of hoping to find a positive pregnancy test. Granted, we aren’t trying and she’s still on the Pill, but miracles do happen.
I lift the tag out of the box and brush my thumb across the diamonds.
Why would she want me to have this early, though?
Or maybe she didn’t. Might just be wishful thinking on my part, to justify opening the damn thing.
I’m about to drop the tag back into the box when I feel light grooves on the back. I flip it over, and only then do I see the real gift.
Spelled out in cursive.
YES
A kind of never-before-experienced sensation bursts in my veins like fireworks, every nerve within me sparking to life.
Patience, especially for the things we want more than anything in this world, is hard.
HARD.
But the rewards of it are worth it every. single. time.
It’s a virtue all right.
A victorious sound rips up my throat and explodes into the confinements of the jeep.
And then, I motherfucking fist pump.
Thank you for reading!
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About The Author
S. ANN COLE is an exaggerator, a laugher, sometimes overly chatty, sometimes overly shy. She’s afraid of cats, dogs, snakes—heck, she’s only tolerable to gold fishes in a tank.
She hates fireworks, schmaltz and arrogance.
She loves carbs, full moons and humility.
She lives nowhere and everywhere.
Jokey people are her favorite people to be around, as laughter is the way to her heart.
When Ann’s not abusing her computer keyboard, you can find her nosing a novel, watching anything on television that makes her laugh until she breaks into hiccups (loves Disney, TBS, and Impractical Jokers!) studying the Bible, or sipping red wine.
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Email me: authoranncole@gmail.com
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Cole.net
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