“What are you…oh, shit,” Ford said. “I so lose.”
Trance didn’t say anything. He only let his eyes drift into the same corner everyone else was looking.
His eyes caught on the sign, and they started sparkling with mirth.
Viddy’s reaction, though? Yeah, it wasn’t one that I expected.
“Oh,” she breathed.
Then she burst out crying.
Trance was on the move before she’d even had a tear fall all the way down her cheek.
I took a step back, unsure what had just happened.
“It’s okay,” Trance said as he gathered his wife in his arms.
“No, it’s not!” she wailed. “He’s so beautiful. I can’t believe we get to keep him.”
Was she talking about me?
“Yeah, she’s talking about you.” Ford rolled his eyes and slapped me on the back. “You’re royally fucked now. You’ll never get out of this crazy show.”
***
Oakley
“I really like him,” my mother said softly.
I knew who she was talking about instantly.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Me, too.”
“I can’t believe he did that.” She shook her head. “Your dad picked up that sign. It had to have weighed a hundred pounds. I couldn’t even lift it with the pole on it. And that boy just had surgery! Ford said that he walked it all the way down.”
My belly hurt just thinking about carrying something that large.
“You like him, or you like him, like him?” she pushed.
I rolled my eyes. “I both like him, and like him, like him.”
She grinned. “I’ve always loved hearing stories about him from your brother. He sounded like a good man.”
I agreed.
That was partially why I’d started sending so many care packages when my brother had been deployed that first time. He’d talked a lot about his friends, but it was his ‘friend Pace’ who ‘didn’t get any letters or packages’ that had caught a little piece of my heart. Even from all the way across an ocean.
I’d learned Pace liked peanut butter—and sent everything peanut butter I could find. Especially since I knew that Ford hated peanut butter. That way, I knew that at least some of it would get to the other man.
“I have, too,” I admitted. “Did you know that he still carries around that bunny that you and I found at that old gas station? The one with all the fru-fru, hoity-toity things that looked like it was so out of place? He made that bunny into a keychain and carries it around everywhere with him.” I paused. “I heard him call it his lucky charm.”
My mother softened. “I remember.”
Of course, she did. When I’d bought it to send to Ford, we’d been laughing so much at the obviously delicate rabbit in that old man’s dirty hands. He’d said that it was his good luck charm, too. He’d told us a story about pulling it out of the box that his wife had ordered—accidentally—and thinking that it was a big mistake. When he’d put all the ‘mumbo jumbo’ out, he’d entertained a crying kid with that very bunny.
That kid had belonged to a woman who’d been forced to stop for repairs on her car, and had loved the delicate display of femininity in the middle of a dirty old shop/gas station.
She’d bought up one of everything, and then had sent her friends.
Her friends had sent friends. And those friends had sent friends.
And then all of a sudden that man had his wife order ‘mumbo jumbo’ on purpose.
“That’s very cool,” my mom’s eyes sparkled. “I love hearing that.”
I loved telling her it.
“What are y’all in here whispering about?” Ford asked as he came inside.
He stopped at the cake box and picked up the fork that someone had left inside, then promptly started to eat it straight out of the box.
I rolled my eyes and made a mental note to cut off a piece from the middle, away from all the fork marks.
“We’re whispering about your friend, Pace,” Mom said. “Would you be all right with her dating him?”
Ford stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth.
“I really like Pace,” he said. “So if you do date him, make sure you don’t piss him off. I’d like to keep him in my life.”
I grinned. “I’ll try not to do that.”
“Good.” He took a bite of the cake. “Who’s been eating this cake? It looks like it’s been massacred.”
I got up to look.
The entire cake looked like someone had been eating directly from the box. Fork marks went all the way around.
“Gross,” I said.
Pace came inside then, and saw what we were looking at.
“I ate from that side,” he pointed at the very corner. “It’s not contaminated.”
I laughed.
Then cut myself a piece like a civilized human being, making sure to take my piece from the uncontaminated part like Pace had dictated.
It was delicious.
It also made me think about kissing Pace and tasting frosting on his lips.
Chapter 11
I’m looking for a moisturizer that hides the fact that I’ve been tired since last year.
-Oakley’s secret thoughts
Oakley
It was official.
I was in love with the man that’d given me a kidney.
I didn’t know when it happened.
Maybe when he stopped the nurses from rolling us into our operating room to give me a pep talk.
Maybe over the numerous dinners we’d had together since—though none of those at an actual restaurant. Most of those times, it’d been him coming over to my house, stopping in to check on me.
Whenever it was, I was sure of it.
I was in love with him.
Head over tennis shoes—because I didn’t wear heels—in love with Pace Vineyard.
Today he’d met with his new unit, and new supervisor—Captain Morgan—to discuss his new job.
And he’d called twenty minutes ago asking if I’d like to go get a bite to eat.
I’d, of course, said yes.
It’d been six weeks since the surgery. Six weeks since I’d first met the man. Yet, it felt like I’d known him forever.
We talked every single day, and we texted even more than teenagers.
That was about to all change, though, since he was going back to work.
I bounced on the heels of my feet as I waited outside my house for him to arrive, and it didn’t take long.
I smiled when he pulled his truck into the driveway and got out.
He grinned when I rushed toward him.
We didn’t hug, but God, did I want to throw my arms around his body and bury my face in that beautifully defined chest.
Opening my door for me, he waited until I was firmly planted inside, with my seatbelt on, before he closed the door and rounded the truck.
When I was clicking myself in, my eyes caught on something in the back seat, and I frowned.
“What’s that?” I asked when I pointed into his back seat.
He grimaced.
“My new uniform,” he grumbled.
That grumble had me turning my head to stare at the man that I’d never seen grumble before.
“Ummm,” I hesitated. “What’s so bad about it?”
He paused. “I’d have to try it on for you for you to see why.”
I opened and closed my mouth, then said, “Well, let’s go try it on. We’re still here.”
He sighed. “It’s bad.”
Let me tell you something, folks. It wasn’t bad.
It was magnificent.
When he came strolling out of my bathroom ten minutes later in his new uniform, my eyeballs nearly rolled into the back of my head in a near instantaneous orgasm.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
“It looks ridiculous, doesn’t it?” he said as he looked down
at his prosthetics in disgust.
I was too busy taking in the way his junk looked in his pants to look any further.
“The uniform comes with shiny black hooker boots, too,” he said as he continued to look at his lower body. “But I’m not sure how those’ll work just yet. I’m probably going to skip wearing those. At least until I can take them to my prosthetist for evaluation like I’ve done all my other shoes.”
There were times that he wore the ones that straight up made him look like an extra from X-Men, the ones with the blades—like the ones he was currently wearing. Then there were other times where he wore the ones that allowed him to wear shoes. And I could definitely tell that he preferred the blades based solely on the fact that he wore them more.
“You have prosthetics that allow you to wear shoes, correct?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes, but when I’m wearing those, I’m not nearly as steady on my feet. Nor can I just get up and go like I can when I’m wearing the blades.”
“Hmmm,” I said as I forced myself to take in the rest of him besides his junk. Which, might I add, still looked so damn good. I really, really wanted to jump him. “I was skimming over Instagram as I was working today. I saw a half-marathon post of a woman who was running. She wasn’t a double amputee, but she did have a blade thing for a foot like you do, but she also put shoes on the blade thing.”
He grinned. “I’ve looked into those but…those are way too much money.”
I’d have to do a little research into what ‘way too much money’ was.
There had to be a grant or something out there that he could look into. And I was fairly certain that the police department could find some way to pay for the boots if Pace couldn’t himself. They might have a lot more leeway in what they were and were not allowed to do when it came to their officers’ uniforms. Accommodations for the officers were necessary. Maybe that included help with prosthetics?
“I can see the wheels of your brain turning from here,” he said as he turned around and began heading back into the bathroom.
I nearly lost my breath at the backside view.
Holy cow.
The uniform on the top fit him like a glove. It skimmed his upper body like it was a second skin. And the broadness of his shoulders spread the fabric of his shirt out so nicely. I could see every muscle, divot, and indentation that there was to see.
And then I followed those muscular shoulders down to his trim waist, then lower to his magnificent ass.
I must’ve made a sound or something because Pace turned and took me in.
He must’ve liked what he saw because he grinned.
“Oakley Spurlock, are you checking out my ass?” he teased, turning slightly in the doorway.
He brought his arm up to rest against the doorframe. The move put the muscles in his arms on display, and I wanted to lick the indentation right below the back of his bicep with my tongue. I wanted to follow his defined muscles and not stop until I reached other, more tastier parts of him.
“I was,” I admitted. “But in my defense, it looks really, really good in the pants.”
He snorted and turned even more, leaning his shoulder against the door jamb now.
That was when I continued to look my fill. Only this time instead of staring at his ass, I was staring at his cock. His rather engorged cock that looked quite a bit bigger than when I was looking at it earlier.
“It’s my body’s automatic response…” he said as he saw where I was looking.
“To what?” I asked breathlessly.
“You.”
My eyes jerked up to meet his.
That was when I had a decision to make.
We’d been playing this cat and mouse game for weeks.
He’d spent a lot of time with me. He’d touched me—but all innocently.
He’d tuck my hair behind my ear, or press his index finger to my nose when I said something cute that he liked. Or hell, sometimes he even put a finger underneath my chin to bring my attention to his eyes instead of just calling for my attention.
That was one of my favorite things that he did.
But, needless to say, all the innocent touches had started doing things to my body that I’d never felt before.
In my youth, I had most certainly not been a saint. I’d done a lot of things. I’d even had sex—once. Once when I was tipsy when I was twenty. It sucked, and I’d never done it again.
So yes, I wasn’t a complete novice when it came to sex. But what I was a novice to was the feelings that the man so casually leaning against the doorway invoked in me.
He made me feel more things with just a single caress of his finger than others did by sticking their hands in my pants.
I licked my lips, and his eyes went darker.
“I…” I licked my lips again, then swallowed hard. “I want nothing more than to, ummm…” I couldn’t make myself say the words.
And he didn’t make it easier for me, either.
I would’ve thought he’d put me out of my misery by now, but he just waited patiently for the words to come out.
“You want nothing more than what?” he pushed.
I allowed my eyes to slip down his body.
“Every single woman that sees you in this uniform is going to want to do you…like I do,” I blurted out.
And since I was looking at his cock, I saw that it jerked.
I closed my eyes and prayed that the ground would swallow me whole.
I wanted the man. Boy, did I want the man.
But I was inexperienced in the sex game when it came to seducing men with words.
All my knowledge was from horny teenagers that didn’t take much convincing. Not from men that looked like Pace.
Speaking of men that looked like Pace, I opened my eyes and was about to tell him how I really felt, but when I opened them, I found that he was standing so close that all I could see was the wall of his chest.
I gulped and looked up to find him staring down at me. Close, but not touching.
And his eyes were on fire.
I moved closer, my lips barely an inch away from his, when his phone rang.
He cursed.
“I forgot that I have to go to some stupid painting with a twist thing tonight,” he grumbled. “Captain Morgan is making us go. It’s mandatory.”
Disappointment surged through me.
“We can’t even go out to dinner?” I asked sadly.
His finger trailed along the length of my cheekbone before he curled that finger around my cheek and tilted my head up once again to force me to meet his eyes.
“Dinner if we eat quick,” he agreed. “I have to be there in an hour and a half.”
“I can eat a quick dinner,” I teased.
His eyes were alight with humor as he said, “A quick dinner with you is better than anything.”
***
I still felt raw in places.
I wanted nothing more than to close the distance he’d put between us as we sat at the restaurant ten minutes later.
Even more, I wanted to crawl into his lap and straddle him while I kissed the hell out of him.
But, alas, I chickened out.
I did inch closer and closer to him in the booth, though.
That was only after I complained about the bench on the other side being lopsided—which it had been.
Now I was nibbling on a roll and contemplating what he would do if I just leaned into him and rested my head on his shoulder.
I put the roll down on the plate and decided, fuck it.
I was going to do it.
Sighing loudly, I leaned over and rested almost my entire upper body against him.
He stiffened in surprise, and I berated myself as I pulled away.
But before I could get too far—or even off of him completely—he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me tighter into him.
“Tired?” he asked.
I felt
butterflies start to take flight in my belly.
“Yes,” I admitted.
Though I was feeling better most of the time now, I still had quite a bit of fatigue to battle on a daily basis.
“Did you talk to your doctor about it?” he asked.
“Yep,” I repeated. “He lowered my dosage on my medication today, actually. We talked about the side effects of it, as well as my fatigue. He said it’s just something that’ll go away over time. He cleared me for activity as well. I asked him if I could start running again, and he said as long as I kept myself well-hydrated, that I could do anything that I want to do. Though, he stressed that staying hydrated was a must—multiple times.”
“Then it must be important,” he teased, squeezing my shoulder.
I turned into his body slightly and smelled him—discreetly, though.
At least, I hoped it was discreetly.
He smelled good. Like pine needles and something else that I couldn’t quite define. Deodorant? Cologne?
I wasn’t sure.
But whatever the smell was, I liked it.
His arm loosened around me, and for a second, I thought he was going to drop it, but the only thing he did was reach for another roll and shove it into his mouth before going back to his original position.
I grinned and continued to tell him about my day.
“What did you run before?” he asked. “Distance or sprinter?”
“Distance,” I answered. “I was on the cross-country team in high school. I love running. Ish. I love it after I’m done. During the run, I hate it with a passion.”
He squeezed my shoulder.
“I loved running, too,” he admitted. “Like you, I used to run in high school. Then the explosion happened, and I haven’t run as much as I want to since. But, I love running. I love the mindlessness of it. The way I can just forget and feel like absolute shit for hours on end.”
“Hours?” I asked. “How far were you up to before the accident?”
“Eighteen miles or so,” he admitted. “That’s why I’ve bulked up so much since I was a teen. Going from running as much as I did to doing a fraction of that and adding in strength training now has really changed my body. I don’t think I could run a 15K right now without dying.”
I'd Rather Not (KPD Motorcycle Patrol Book 3) Page 10