“Just moved here,” I reply over the top of my screen. Though much older than me, he’s got near-perfect posture, a thick silver mane, and appears meticulously groomed. Ex-military.
“Moved from where?”
“Not far.”
“What for?”
“I guess you could say I just switched careers.”
“What were you doing?” The man asks, his tone a little louder than socially appropriate, no doubt due to some hearing loss.
“Lot of this and that. Mostly, I was in service.”
Cecelia snorts.
“Military?” He yells across the bar. “Ah, I got you. I served in Nam. So, is this your first week back as a civilian?”
Cecelia watches me, and I smirk. “Exactly.”
“Hard at first, but you’ll get used to it. There are benefits to being a veteran.”
Eyes rolling down her frame, she doesn’t miss it. “I’m hoping that’s the case.” My cock springs to life as her lips part slightly, the small taste of her from this morning lingering on my tongue. “It’s going to be an adjustment being a real citizen,” I toss in for good measure. Getting her to both listen and believe my truths will be a new sport. Fingers itching to touch her, I resist and click out of a few screens.
“What brings you to this part of Virginia?”
“Something I can’t live without,” I admit easily and feel Cecelia tense just before the cook calls for pick up.
“You don’t look the type for a small town.”
“Actually, I was raised in a town just like this, about ten hours from here.”
“Well, DC isn’t far away if you ever need to scratch the itch for some city life.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Name’s Billy.”
“Nice to meet you, Billy. I’m Tobias, Cecelia’s boyfriend.”
Cecelia coughs, and Billy smiles, his teeth untarnished from age. A good majority of Cecelia’s customers are wearing dentures. This isn’t the type of hipster town with micro-breweries popping up from a population spike. In fact, it’s probably one of the last American small towns that the rest of the US has forgotten about. And a damn good place to hide.
“You never mentioned a boyfriend,” Billy says to Cecelia.
“I’m a best-kept secret,” I interject, giving him a wink.
Billy rolls a toothpick across his lips. “Don’t kid yourself, son, every man who frequents the place thinks he’s her boyfriend.” His grin amps up. “If I was thirty years younger—”
“Try forty, and Billy, don’t finish that sentence,” I warn, as Cecelia finally smiles and walks over to me. She lifts my sandwich and takes a large bite. It’s an act of kindness, a rarity since I showed up, and my shoulders ease back a little.
She chews slowly, and our eyes meet and hold. She’s in there, hiding, both the girl I met and the woman I love, as she was yesterday. Maybe her dream haze anger has passed. “Done with this?” she asks, snatching the plate just as I reach for the other half of the sandwich.
Maybe not.
“It’s true, Billy. He’s my old flame,” Cecelia snarks in an indicative way that means trouble is coming. “He’s here to try and win me back. But I’m thinking of passing.”
Billy lifts his brows. “Well, what’s wrong with him, other than the way he dresses?”
Billy-1, Tobias-0
She crosses her arms, lips lifting. “Quite a bit.”
“Does he always dress like that? He could be in one of those rap videos in that getup.”
Billy-2, Tobias-0
“It’s just a part of his disguise. He’s a professional liar.”
Shit, here we go. And no doubt she’s going to make this publicly painful.
Bring it, baby.
“That’s never good,” Billy says, sizing me up as Cecelia begins to tick off my crimes on her fingers. “He’s a thief, a liar, and the first time he kissed me, he didn’t ask permission, so definitely not a gentleman.”
“Shame,” Billy analyzes me with a crease between his brows. “You should always ask a woman’s permission.”
“And he betrayed me,” Cecelia adds, and there’s nothing humorous in her tone. I feel that blow so much I grunt through it.
You hurt, I hurt. Look at me.
But she doesn’t, and it’s all I can do to keep from jumping over the counter.
“You did all that?” Billy asks, his frown deep-set.
I nod. “I did.”
“You’re not even going to defend yourself?”
“No,” I reply as she lifts her eyes to mine. “It’s all true.”
“Well, then, do you have one reason why she should take you back?” Marissa is standing a foot behind me, and I can feel the rest of the sparsely-filled café leaning in on bated breath.
Small fucking towns.
Cecelia collects a tub of dirty dishes when I finally speak up in a shitty defense. “I stopped lying yesterday.” I barely get it out before she passes through the double doors.
Not long after Billy leaves, she immerses herself back into cleaning and making small talk with her customers. I lay low, hoping the rest of the shift will pass without incident or another public inquisition. The more I try to concentrate on the task of tying up a few loose ends for Exodus, the more I’m distracted by her presence mere feet away.
It’s the ache of wanting her. It’s the need to erase the distance, not just physically but emotionally. But on the physical side, I’m tamping down a thirst that’s been constant since the first time I thrust inside her.
Cecelia has always been beautiful. Her face a mix of innocence and incomparable natural beauty. She measures above the average woman in that respect. Still, it’s also in the way she carries herself with confidence, the way she beams when she smiles, the carefully conveyed words that come out of her mouth that express her warmth, empathy, and intelligence. In appearance, I still see some of her lingering youth, her curiosity for the world around her. She’s forever a student, and I find that appealing. Where some women seem to be convinced that they’re experts on everything after a certain age, she’s always searching for ways to understand the world around her, to both learn and grow.
It’s clear within just a few hours of being here that she has the respect and admiration of her employees and her frequent customers.
She’s impossible not to love.
And the more she matures, the more she’s become that woman, the unavoidable and irresistible woman that deserves every bit of admiration she gets.
Men have been falling for her since well before I met her.
She’s never used her sex appeal as a weapon or fully wielded its power. If she were ever to harness that, she’d be a black widow sort of fucking lethal.
And I’d be a dead man.
I’ve barely been able to tear my eyes from her today after denying myself for so long. I’ve never known another’s body as intimately, nor mapped it as intricately as I have hers.
Instinctively, I still know it.
But she doesn’t see herself the way men do—the way predators do. Especially because for a majority of her life, she felt like she was undeserving of love. I fed into that ridiculous notion when I was at my weakest to keep us from eating each other alive, but I fucked up royally in doing so.
I refused her heart when she begged me to retrieve it, revive it.
Jealousy isn’t something I’m used to dealing with. Women have come and gone with me; my mission always taking precedence. Yet, this one woman has made it impossible to ignore that inside me lurks a heart in need of what only she can give it.
It wasn’t until the day I witnessed how they loved her, the way Sean and Dom loved her, that I became acquainted with that type of bone-deep jealousy. And in feeling that, I lost control.
Briefly, I close my eyes and shut my laptop.
I signed up for hard.
I came ready for hard, to face and deal with the impossible, but it’s the guilt that makes it the harde
st.
It’s the tension that’s killing me right now. Her hesitation to even look at me.
I recall some of yesterday’s conversation in the parking lot. Fuck being okay with whatever ending we get. That’s not good enough. I want her happy. I want our ending happy. That’s what I decide as I watch her interact with the people in her café. I want her smiling about thoughts of us before she ever greets a stranger.
I will do everything, anything, to make our ending blissful.
Simply being together is not enough. We aren’t settling.
While she remains weary, I’ll be ambitious for the both of us.
In our time at her father’s house, we were blissful, content, despite our circumstances and the underlying threats to that peaceful state. Despite the fact that I knew we were a time bomb. Despite me.
Our pleasures came easy. She could look at me then. Now she avoids it.
Standing abruptly from the counter to stretch my legs, filled with restless energy and entertaining snacking on a napkin, I shoot off a text on my new phone.
It’s me.
Sean: Me who?
Funny.
Sean: I’ll shoot the number out to the crew.
The bubbles start and stop. I pause when I read his message.
Sean: How’s it going?
Do you give a fuck?
Sean: Of course, I give a fuck. Report.
She’s fine. She’s good. Really good. She bought a café. It’s nice. Her house is too. She’s doing the daily grind.
Sean: Knew that already. What about you?
I read the text again. A question I didn’t expect. When he, correction, when Tessa invited me to their wedding, I thought maybe then we might start to repair what was broken between us, but even then, things were off. The day we buried Dom, he looked at me like he hated me. And I know he did. This olive branch he’s extending feels just as foreign as my position in my new life. I’m at the mercy of the people I hurt.
And I want to be here.
But fuck if it doesn’t suck.
When I went to Sean for help in finding her, that’s when I felt a little give on his side. Over the years, I’ve felt his absence significantly. I convinced myself our mutual cause is the only reason we’re still part of each other’s lives, despite our history. But a hope lights inside. Maybe that’s no longer the case.
You really want to know?
Sean: I wouldn’t ask, man. That bad?
Cecelia’s priorities
Dog
Café
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
ME. And fuck you for laughing because I know you are.
Bubbles. I decide I hate bubbles as much as I hate peas.
Sean: You didn’t think it would be easy, did you?
Hell no.
Sean: She’s got you by the balls already, doesn’t she?
More than that.
Sean: If it didn’t hurt, then it wouldn’t be worth it. You’re too used to getting your way. Let it burn. It will be worth it.
Disgusted I need consoling this early in, and by him, I change the subject.
Things good?
Sean: Can’t even last a day, can you, man?
Throw me a fucking bone. I’m useless here.
Sean: You’re not even twenty-four hours in. Give it time.
I will. I am. I’m not complaining.
I can feel the hesitation on both ends of the phone. A minute passes before I get another text.
Sean: It’s weird, huh?
You have no idea.
Sean: I have some idea. Wait until you go from Maverick to married with three kids.
Two kids.
Sean: Three. Found out this morning.
Congrats, man.
Sean: You going to have any?
I just starved half a day to make sure she didn’t poison my sandwich. I think I’ll table that conversation for later.
The bubbles start and stop.
Stop laughing. Dick.
Sean: You really have no idea what you’re doing, do you?
I want to be here. I know that.
Sean: Go with your gut.
Familiar advice.
Sean: This will work out. Day one.
Day one.
I mull over my word choice and decide just to type the truth.
Thanks, man.
Sean: Anytime.
You mean that?
The bubbles pop up and disappear, and a minute later, he replies.
Sean: I do.
Unexpected emotion clogs my throat as more tension leaves my shoulders. Glancing up, I see Cecelia watching me carefully just before she pushes through the doors with hands full of dirty plates.
I reclaim my seat as she comes back through, and the bell rings for pick up. A second later, a new plate is set in front of me.
“Eat before it gets cold,” she says softly. I grip her hand before she has a chance to walk off and bring the back of it to my mouth. Her eyes drop to where I press my lips to her skin before I release her.
“Thank you.”
Tobias insisted on driving home, and I’m thankful for it—my vision blurry from sleep deprivation, my body aching from a day of roller coaster-worthy emotions. I have so many questions but can’t bring myself to ask them yet because any questions I ask right now make me vulnerable and susceptible.
Clearly, I heard him say he stopped lying, and that comment landed where intended. It’s up to me to believe him. Just months ago, I was ready for any truth, any explanation he was willing to give, and when I left, I made peace with the idea that I would never get some of my answers. So far, everything he’s professed makes sense in a way I’m not comfortable with, which only makes it hard to hold on to my animosity. I’m still reeling from his invasion in my life, and I want it made clear that he will not get away with another hostile takeover.
“Stop overthinking this,” he says softly, his hand on the wheel as he effortlessly navigates his way back to my house, his profile lit by the fading sun. He’s dressed so differently from the way I’m used to seeing him. Hoodie, jeans, cheap sneakers, hair disheveled, without product and cresting naturally across his forehead. He’s the same man…yet different in a way I can’t put my finger on. Maybe it’s his openness, his eagerness to reveal secrets and the parts of his life he’s kept hidden. At the same time, I still feel he’s guarding something, something I’m missing. I’m still shell shocked he’s in Virginia, driving Dom’s Camaro, with plans of again sleeping in my bed—more than that—merging our lives.
All things I considered impossible mere days ago. I want so much just to be happy, accept him here, and throw myself into the notion that this is permanent, but flashes of the past haunt me. From my experience, the minute I accept love, accept happiness, it gets snatched away from me in life-altering ways. I accused him of being a coward, but I’m the one now whose fears are overshadowing everything else.
“Ask me anything,” he says, glancing my way briefly.
Instead, I rest back against the seat, my eyes dry, my bones aching. Suspicion gnaws at my conscience. Something wasn’t right today, and I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I decide to compartmentalize that for the moment.
I’ve never been so tired, but I can’t stop staring at him. His presence here is surreal. Not once have I granted myself any version of a life here that included him because I was so intent on letting him go. His revelations this morning changed some of my perceptions, and maybe that’s where my hesitation is. The more it all makes sense, the less angry I’ll be. When he pulls to a stop at the house, it takes effort for me to open the heavy door of the Camaro as he gathers a few plastic bags from the back seat, along with a paper bag full of homemade vegetable soup he requested just before we left the café.
He meets me at the hood, urging me forward with his free hand on the small of my back as we approach the front door. He sorts thr
ough my keys, finding the right one, and sticks it into the lock. Standing to his right, I notice when his shoulders slump forward before he lets out a heavy breath. Confusion sets in as he sets the bags down and turns to me. Placing an open palm on my stomach, a familiar and predatorial look in his eyes, he walks me back toward the brick on the side of the porch, pinning me to the house.
I gaze up at him as he stares down at me intently a split second before thrusting his fingers in my hair, fisting it, and crashing his mouth to mine. Gasping, he takes advantage of my surprise, urging my lips wider before he sweeps my mouth fervently with his tongue, plastering our bodies together and eliminating all the space between us. His erection brushes my stomach as he seduces me thoroughly with his kiss, and in those moments, I forget myself, I forget my grievances against him and kiss him back. Gripping his shoulders, I begin to melt into his mammoth frame, wrapping around him. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s a voice of protest reminding me that I’m freely participating. But this isn’t an exchange of power. This is a lover’s kiss, a reminder.
Heart thrumming, panties dampening, I clutch the material of his hoodie to bring him closer. He indulges me, lifting my leg and grinding into me as we both get lost, making a new memory, a searing kiss I won’t soon forget. A pained grunt leaves him when he pulls away and gazes down at me. In it, I see—need, want, lust, hope.
“I’ve wanted to do that all day, and if I did it once we stepped inside this house, I don’t know if I could stop myself. I’m okay with not being a gentleman because that’s not who I am and not who you love. Asking permission to kiss you? Never going to fucking happen.”
I read into his actions, his intent as he steps away and collects his bags before pushing the door open. He’s trying. Trying to be respectful of the clear boundaries I’ve set, trying to take things at my pace, despite the impatient man he is.
Once inside, he keeps his gaze averted as if it pains him to look at me. “Go take a shower. I’ll walk Beau and warm up this soup for you.”
The Finish Line Page 6