by Casey Winter
“I’d help,” I say instantly.
Dad flinches. “Your money’s your money, Luke.”
“I’d help,” I repeat. “And if you really wanted to do this, you’d swallow your pride and let me.”
He looks up at me. For a second, he looks proud through the gruffness. “Nothing’s set in motion, yet,” he mutters.
I sit on the chair near him, folding my leg over my knee, leaning back. “If you want to do something, do it. No half measures. You taught me that.”
“I did,” he murmurs. “But sometimes it’s easier to teach something than abide by it, eh?”
“Sometimes, maybe most of the time,” I agree.
He sighs, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. I watch, stunned, wondering if he’s going to cry. I don’t know what to do. Go over there and put my hand on his shoulder? But we’ve never been like that.
“I miss her so much, Luke,” he says, voice choked. “Sometimes at night, I’ll reach out for her, forgetting. Or I’ll hear the screech her tires must’ve made as they locked and slid. The car flipping …”
“I know,” I whisper. “Me, too, Dad.”
He looks at me, dry-eyed but trembling a little. “I never wanted her to sell,” he says. “But your mother was too kind, Luke. She didn’t have a head for business. She would let people in for free. She would hand out free food, free drinks. She’d look the other way when people sneaked their friends in. That’s just who she was. She had an open heart. It was the rink or Nelson’s Nails, and I didn’t know a thing about how to run that place. It was a money sink. It was either sell or both businesses would go under.”
“I know, Dad,” I say quietly. He never talks about this. “You don’t need to beat yourself up about it. I’m just as pissed that I didn’t start earning real money until after she died. But Mom never blamed me … or you. She understood.”
“I know,” he growls. “And that’s the worst part, sometimes. Knowing that she couldn’t hate me for it. She was too good, that woman. The way she went … it wasn’t right. It shouldn’t have happened. I should’ve saved her.”
“Saved her?” I whisper. “How? She was driving on her own. She slipped. It’s unfair but it happens.” He sighs, head hanging low. I hate to see him like this. “It’s okay, Dad,” I mutter uncomfortably. “We’re both soldiers. We’ll keep fighting. That’s just what we do.”
That bolsters him a little. He sits up, nodding firmly. “You’re right, son,” he says. “And thank you, for the offer about the ranch. I hope I don’t have to take you up on it. I guess it’s just me and you, now, eh?”
“I guess so,” I say. “The Nelsons, two cantankerous bastards with two giant chips on their shoulders. I think we make quite the pair, old man. Maybe the best we can do is make Mom proud?”
“And Noah,” Dad says quickly. “Don’t forget about your brother, Luke.”
“Of course not,” I whisper, confused.
But do I want to make Noah proud, considering what he did to Hannah?
Can I ever think about Noah the same away again?
“Anyway,” I say, standing up. “I need to shower and change. I’m going out tonight.”
He picks up his laptop. “Have a good time,” he says in that short, annoyed way that tells me he knows exactly who I’ll be having a good time with.
I take a shower and then, on a whim, shave off the stubble I’ve been growing for a while now. It’s itchy as hell and, anyway, I think Hannah prefers my face clean for when we’re kissing … and other things. I get dressed and look at myself in the mirror. Fresh-faced and wet-haired, I look carefree and happy. I haven’t looked, or felt like that in a long-ass time.
When I check my phone, I see Hannah has texted me.
Jeeeeez, you take longer than a woman to get ready, frogman. Xoxo
LOL. I’m coming, don’t worry. Xoxo
Funny. I just said that to my vibrator xoxo
I don’t know who Vibrator is, but I know if I ever see him, I’m gonna snap him in half xoxo
Don’t you wanna use it on me, though? Xoxo
She sends this last one with a tongue-out emoji, and that’s how I know Hannah has my balls in a vise. I’ve never gotten hard over an emoji before.
Only if you take the real thing after, I text. But if you keep sending me stuff like this, our romantic sketching session is getting a raincheck. I’ll come over there and take you hard, and fast, and for so long you won’t even be able to remember what a vibrator is.
Heck, Luke. I was kidding about the vibrator, LOL. But I might have to get one now. But srsly, I’m outside. I thought we’d take my baby xoxo
The Beetle? Now what did I do to deserve that? Xoxo
She flips me the bird when I emerge from the house, walking down the street to where we always meet, as if two dozen yards makes us invisible. She’s already behind the wheel. “Please tell me you’re not one of those men who won’t let their woman drive,” she sasses. “I realized that earlier. I’ve never driven us anywhere.”
“I like to drive, it’s true,” I tell her. “I like to be in control. But for you, I’ll make an exception. I just hope you drive as well as you skate.”
She reaches across and touches my face intimately. “No such luck, I’m afraid. I think I’d have some trouble two-wheeling a car. But I love this new look, Luke. Very sexy.”
I grin, touching her hand. “I did it for you,” I tell her. “I know you’re too scared of hurting my fragile feelings to tell me you prefer the clean-shaven look, so I look the initiative.”
“Oh, yeah,” she says sarcastically, starting the engine. “You’re the most fragile man I’ve ever met.”
We laugh as she pulls away, and I sit back, stunned when the nerves don’t come. I wasn’t joking about preferring to be in the driver’s seat. Ever since that battle in Helmand, I’ve always felt like I needed to be in control. It wasn’t a coincidence that I’m always the one driving us around. But I trust her. I trust her more than I understand.
We end up parked outside Memorial Park, Hannah looking at me with a cheeky smirk on her face. “What?” I say.
“What?” she echoes, cutely.
“I don’t like that mischievous look in your eyes, twinkle toes.”
“I was just thinking how great it’d be to sketch you,” she admits. “With the moonlight coming through, all hazy through the window, before you grow that grotesque beard back.”
“Grotesque,” I growl, laughing. I reach across and tickle her. “If I’m gonna let you do this, I’ll expect something in return.”
She bites her bottom lip, sexy as a spell, and suddenly a slideshow of all our steamy moments runs a million miles per hour through my mind. “Okay, I’m down for that. So we have a deal?”
I nod. “Yeah, we do. But don’t you want to know the stakes first?”
“Uh-oh … hit me with it, then.”
“I want to tie you to the bed, Hannah, so that you’re spread-eagled. I want you naked with a blindfold over your eyes so that you can’t see me, only feel me, only hear me. I’m going to make you wait for it, get you damn horny before I give you what you want. Stroke your whole body softly until you get goose pimples, until you’re shivering in anticipation, and then—only then—ravage you.”
“Oh, jeez,” she mutters. “Yeah, I’m definitely down for that. But I didn’t know you were into that kinky stuff, that BDSM stuff.”
“It’s not BDSM,” I tell her. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to control you … for a little while. It’s a trust thing. I want you at my mercy, but knowing that I’m going to treat you right.”
“You already had me,” she whispers. “But yeah, now, I’m more than down. But first I get my treat.”
“What do I have to do?” I ask.
“Just sit there looking handsome.” She reaches into the back of the car for the sketching pad. “Shouldn’t be hard for you, especially—”
“Without the beard?” I interject.
&nb
sp; She pouts. “Don’t pretend I’m predictable.”
“Oh, you’re anything but,” I say. “I just know you, Hannah.”
“I won’t argue with that,” she exclaims. “But no moving now. You have to stay still. As still as I’m gonna stay when you, when … you know.”
I smirk. “Shy now, twinkles toes?”
She glares. “Nu-uh, I’m just not as good as you at that dirty talking stuff.”
“I’ve never been good at it, either,” I say, honestly. “But you just bring it out in me.”
“Okay, no talking now,” she commands. “And definitely no dirty talking, kay?”
“I’ll try,” I grin, wolfish. “I’m not promising anything.”
She flushes, attractive even without makeup and in her casual workout gear. I love seeing her all dolled up for me, it’s true. But she’s just as beautiful without it, her natural allure gleaming through, diamond-bright. You a poet now, soldier?
“What are you thinking?” she asks, reading me.
“Just about how beautiful you are,” I say.
“Yeah, right. That’s such a guy answer. I bet you were thinking about monster trucks and double cheeseburgers.”
I place a hand over my heart. “I’m offended,” I tell her. “I never stop thinking about how beautiful you are.”
“Seriously now,” she warns. “No talking.”
“Okay … so like this?” I pose like a Roman statue, regal and massively over-the-top. I make my face absurdly serious.
Hannah shakes her head ruefully. “Such a dork,” she teases. “But, actually, you look pretty fricking hot right now. So it’ll do.”
There’s something comforting about sitting here as Hannah sketches, the sound of pencil on paper almost like the noise her skates make. I’m struck by how talented she is, how focused she looks as she leans over the paper, glancing up at me, appraising me.
I feel exposed, and yet in a good way. Which I always thought was impossible.
Finally, after about half an hour of sketching, she says, “Okay, so it’s just a quick one. Go easy on me.”
She hands me the pad. I look down, taken aback by how skillful it is. Of course, I knew she had an artistic streak. “But this is amazing,” I whisper. “You’ve made me look …” I pause, searching for the right word. “Calm.”
“That was difficult, believe me. But you really like it?”
“I love it,” I tell her, voice heavy with emotion. “Can you sign it? Can I keep it?”
She glows. “Yes and yes.”
“I want to frame it and hang it in my office,” I tell her as she signs. “But it seems a bit narcissistic, doesn’t it, having a portrait of yourself in your office? But it’s not because I want to look at my mug every day. It’s because …”
“What, Luke?” she whispers when I trail off.
I swallow, feeling nervous, wondering if I’ll sound like an ass. But I say it anyway, “It’s because I wanna remember this moment for the rest of my life.”
Chapter Twenty
Hannah
That Saturday, I head down to the rink to meet Luke before we go to Sheriff Fuller’s house to watch this big MMA fight everybody’s excited for. I’ve never been a huge fan of cage fighting or mixed martial arts, but Luke invited me and, honestly, I’m not going to turn down a date with my frogman.
But other people are going to be there. That’s the issue, for sure. Other people are going to see us together. Or, even if we don’t hold hands or kiss or anything, they might be able to sense the electric energy between us.
Because it’s been off. The. Charts.
I mean, even that’s an understatement. If the charts are sea level, then our chemistry is orbiting Mars, and then some. But as far as I know, it’s just going to be the sheriff, his wife, and maybe a couple of their friends.
No biggie … I hope.
When I get to the rink, Luke’s just finished his patrol. He’s been doing this three times a day since the arson attempt, hoping to catch the suspect in the act. Even with the new cameras and alarms, he’s sure that the Hanlons are going to try something again.
I climb out and walk over to him. “All good?” I ask.
He kisses me briefly, nodding. “Yeah. Alexis is gonna hold down the fort until closing.”
I glance around the parking lot, which has a decent number of cars in it. “Good night?” I ask.
“Good enough,” he sighs. “Not as good as it’d be if you were running it, though.”
He’s made a few comments like this over the past few days, but it’s always just seemed like idle talk. Now, though, there’s a new intensity in his voice. And his expression. His jaws are tight. His bright green eyes are serious.
“Can you imagine?” I laugh, playing it off as a joke.
“Yeah,” he says. “I can. Easily. You’d do a fantastic job.”
“I don’t know the first thing about managing a roller rink.”
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close so that we’re pressed right up against each other. “Since when did we tell each other lies, twinkle toes?”
“Luke,” I whisper-moan. “Is that a flashlight in your pocket or—”
“My big hard dick?” he growls.
“I was actually going to go with the are you happy to see me line, but sure, yeah, that works, too.”
“We have time,” he whispers, kissing up and down my neck, in full view of the rink. This is dangerous. People could see. But I don’t stop it. “My old man is in Lorham with a couple of his Army buddies. Let me take you home.”
I thrill, thinking about the other night when he tied me up. It was intimate and not aggressive at all. He kissed up and down my body, from my neck right down to my calves, covering every inch of me in mouthwatering, infernal warmth. Then, finally, he climbed onto the bed and stroked his manhood up and down my sex, making me wet, wetter, until I was drenched and scalding and so ready for him I could weep.
“What’re we waiting for, then?” I moan. “Let’s go.”
The sun is blazing as we drive back to the Mini ’Burbs in Luke’s Chevy. It’s been the hottest day of the summer. Sweat slides down Luke’s body, causing his shirt to stick to him, outlining his arms, the thickness of them, the safety they promise.
He basically drags me into the house, which I love. When he takes control like this, I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster, being whisked along at high speed. Not that I don’t give as good as I get, of course.
Thankfully, Mom and Alejandra are still at The Jukebox, where they’ve gone for a couple of sodas and a bite to eat. Mom’s been improving amazingly lately. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but remission is no longer looking out of the question.
I wipe everything else from my mind, though, when Luke tackles me onto the couch, laying me down with savage softness as his lips explore my neck. I lie back, moaning loudly, running my hands through his sweat-slick hair. I like the smell of his sweat, that just-Luke scent, and if that makes me weird, then I guess I’m fricking weird.
We kiss like we’re starving for each other, our bodies pressed up close. Then Luke leans down, lips red with the contact, and growls, “Tell me your wildest fantasy, Hannah.”
“You’ll laugh,” I mutter. “It’s not exactly wild, but …”
“Go on,” he urges, casually cupping my breast. He strokes harder. “Whatever you want. Tell me.” He grabs me more firmly, making me whimper. “Tell me.”
“Well …” I feel nervous, but I tell him anyway. “I’ve always wanted to have sex with my skates on, from behind, you know, sort of using the skates to move back and forward.”
Luke’s mouth falls open. “You’re a damn mind reader,” he murmurs. “I had that exact same fantasy. Ages ago, when we first—before we were together. When we were still pretending to hate each other. Want to know something that might make you feel violated?”
I giggle. “Of course.”
“I masturbated thinking about that, about you. I couldn’t sto
p myself.”
“When was this—before we kissed?”
“Yeah,” Luke says.
“I thought you didn’t want me then,” I exclaim, secretly thrilled. I can’t help but love the thought of Luke tense and groaning and sweaty for me, especially back then, when it was all sour looks and quick barbs.
“I wanted you that first day I saw you skating in the street,” he tells me. “I mean this summer. Not back when we were kids, obviously.”
“Obviously.” I laugh.
“But yeah. There was something else in my fantasy, too.”
“Tell me,” I growl, imitating his voice.
“You were moaning in Spanish. I don’t know what it says about me, but it turned me on like crazy.”
“Really?” I gasp, intrigued. “Why?”
He kisses me tenderly. “I just love when you speak in Spanish. I don’t know. It’s such a gorgeous, sexy language. But when you speak it, especially, it drives me wild. You always look so … sassy. Even sassier than usual.”
“Why haven’t you told me before, you idiot?” I giggle. “I could’ve been doing that this whole time.”
He shrugs, seeming boyish and nervous. “I guess I didn’t wanna be offensive?”
“Jesus, Luke,” I laugh. “What’s offensive about wanting your lover to moan in their second language? You’re such a weirdo.”
“Let’s do it, then,” he breathes, now that he knows I’m okay with it. “Go get your skates. Right now.”
A shrill of elation causes my sex to quiver and blister in anticipation. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly,” he groans. “Right now, Hannah. Don’t make me wait.” His face drops. “Don’t tell me your skates are in your Beetle, though.”
“No,” I say. “They’re at home. I didn’t bring them since we were only meeting at the rink.”
He leaps off the couch. I can see his manhood pressing eagerly through his pants. His whole body is quaking. “Then hurry,” he yells. “Before I explode just thinking about it.”
I can’t run out of the house quickly enough. Checking that Alejandra’s car is still gone—it is—I jog across the road and grab my skates from the hallway where I left them last night. Then I dash back across the street, my whole body swimming with liquid longing.