"Not much of a dancer, huh?” she remarks to me. The two of us had cut loose from the bar as soon as the band for the night had started. I grin.
"Two left feet here," I reply. My fingers are interlocked with hers, and that’s all I can think about right now. Her touch, how good it feels to be near her.
"Me too," she agrees. "I’ve never been able to dance. I just end up making a fool of myself."
"I bet you’ve got some moves," I assure her, and she laughs.
"I’ll have to show you sometime," she replies. "Maybe then you’ll get it."
"I’d like to see it."
She flashes me a smile. She’s flirting with me, and damn, it’s tempting to just pick right up on that and play along. But I don’t want to rush this. Don’t want to mess things up. When you get a girl like her, you might just have her for life if you play it right. And there’s no way that I’m going to mess this up.
My place isn’t far from here, and she told me that she wanted to see the flowers that I’d told her about; she eyes the motorcycles outside the club as she passes them, and then glances at me.
"You’re part of that group, aren’t you?” she asks. “The Men of Valor?”
No point denying it. I nod. "Yeah, I am."
"Why?” she asks bluntly.
I shrug. "I was in the Marines, serving overseas," I reply. "It’s hard to come back from that and not feel like you’re missing something when you don’t have the same brotherhood around you that you did before. That’s what the Men of Valor are about. Giving each other purpose. A place where we can feel at home again."
"You guys get into a lot of trouble?” she asks warily.
I sigh. Crooked cops are constantly trying to paint us as bad guys, but honestly, I know that we do more good for this city than they ever could.
"Not really," I reply.
"I’ve heard some rough stuff about you guys," she remarks.
I shake my head. "Rumors stir up all kinds of crazy shit," I reply. "You must know that, working with kids."
"I guess so," she agrees, and I squeeze her hand. I want to tell her any way that I can that she has nothing to worry about, but I know better than to just announce it. She needs me to show her. Not tell her. People don’t tend to buy into the idea that we’re better for this town than most of the fucking cops who run it, until they actually get to see what we do close up.
Finally, we turn the corner onto my lawn – and she gasps when she sees the flowers blooming in front of her.
"Those are the flowers...?” she murmurs, and I nod.
"Tulips," I finish up. "Just like the one on your tattoo."
"No wonder you drew it so well, you see them every day," she replies, shaking her head. "These are... these are really beautiful. You planted them?”
"Every last one," I reply, and she gazes up at me.
"Why tulips?" she asks me.
"My nana’s favorite. Guess we’re both sentimental, huh?" I don’t come clean about this to many people – there's just something a little personal about telling the truth of everything that I went through with her, and sometimes, the reality of her loss is more than I can take.
"She used to do a lot of gardening, and she always loved flowers," I explain. "Tulips were her very favorite. So I planted these bulbs to make sure I’d have something to remind me of her."
"That’s so sweet," she breathes, and she reaches down to trail her delicate fingers over the blooming bud of one of the flowers below her. The way she touches it, like it’s the most precious thing in the world, it’s hard not to feel something for her. I might not believe in fate, but when I see her touch that bud, I know that this is meant to be. That it has always been meant to be.
I slide my arm around her waist as she straightens back up, and her eyes meet mine – softer, gentler than before. I know what she wants, and I know that I want it, too. Brushing the back of my fingers over her cheek, I feel her body tense against mine, and it sends the most delicious lick of lust through me.
"Spring," I murmur softly, just in the moment before our lips meet. And, as soon as they do, I know that there is no way that I am getting her back to her place tonight.
6
Spring
I wind my arms around his neck and kiss him properly, our tongues colliding as our lips part and our bodies move against one another. How can a man who looks this rugged and untamed be this sweet? This perfect?
I have never been with a man before. Never met one who made my heart pound and my belly flip-flop. It’s kind of a shock to realize how much I want this right now. How badly I need to feel his body against mine, maybe even inside of me. Standing in his flower patch, with the soft petals brushing against my legs, this feels so much like a dream that I can’t think of it being real.
He pulls me inside his house, closing the door behind me and pushing me back against it. He growls against my mouth, and I swear I can feel it right down in my soul. My whole body responds to his touch, his hands on my waist, pulling me close.
I can already feel his hardness against my hip. He wants me. He’s wanted me since the moment I walked into the tattoo shop. It has been written all over everything that he has done, everything in the way he touches me – everything that he craves from me.
I
