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That black scruff of a beard on his face makes him look dangerous. Dangerously hot.
"Nah, she's with me tonight." Jane, the bikers, and I swivel our heads in Damien's direction. His firm, deep voice and self-assured smirk announced to the world what's on his mind. Oh yeah. And just like that, I'm crushing on him hard, all over again. I break into a grin and stack the final glass on their rack. Then slip from around the bar to stand near Damien. "I'm with him tonight." I jerk my head in his direction.
"Didn't get a chance to hug you before," he murmurs. "C'mere." A fresh wave of giddiness washes over me. Right then, Spotify plays The Strokes, a raw and smoky song that was popular the year Damien and I kissed. I'm with him tonight.
"Imagine that," Damien chuckles. "She seems to like motorcycle guys. I watched her flirt all night. When I wasn't watching you, of course."
"And you'd rather be here with me than on the back of a Harley." Laughing, I come back around and realize we're going to need something to drink out of. My mind isn't working right tonight. I climb on a stool, lean over the bar, and grab two glasses. My feet ache, my skin is sparking from being touched by Damien, and I'm so ready to relax. "Is a shot of Jack good with you?" I look over my shoulder to find Damien openly checking out my butt. Perhaps the faded cutoff jean shorts weren't such a bad idea after all. "More than good. It's perfect." "When did you get so cocky?" I tease, plopping onto
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"That's the way of the friggin' world. That's how it works for girls. Damien, you did a lot. You were kind. You didn't tease. You weren't a jerk. You didn't falsely brag that you'd screwed me at the party. You treated me like a human being, and you never stopped calling me your friend."
"Hey! I haven't taken in a kitten." I pause. "I am putting out food for a couple of the neighborhood strays, though." He beams. "See? That's so like Kate Cooper. Always caring for others and not herself."
He studies my face, and it feels intensely intimate. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself that it's not so bad." I tilt my head. "You always knew me a little too well." He extends a hand and rests his index finger on my bare knee. One finger. That's all it takes for my insides to liquefy. "Maybe I didn't take the time to get to know you well enough. Maybe that's why I came here tonight. Didn't want to miss yet another chance."
All night I've been staring at her. Every time I force myself to look away, I'm drawn in by another detail. The soft waves of her light brown hair. Her giant blue eyes. That pouty mouth of hers. It always seems turned up into a soft smile. That tiny, curvy body. I want to crush her against me. Could I do it without breaking her? Probably not. She's so petite. The whole package makes me nearly blind with desire. No one's ever given me an electric, kinetic jolt like Kate. Back in high school she was my dream girl. A dream I never wanted to wake up from. And now she's my dream woman. I don't need
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"I love listening to you talk, Damien. Something about your voice. It does things to me. Always did."
This is a mistake. I'm leaving for Syria in three months. And I might not return. The moment our mouths meet, I know this kiss is absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent, a huge fucking mistake. Because I'm still in love with Kate Cooper, and I don't deserve her incredible kisses. I don't deserve her at all.
"You are so, so beautiful," he murmurs, his hand brushing my hair back. He's half on top of me now, his big, hard body pressing into mine. "This is exactly what I wanted ten years ago." "Us smooching in the back of a perfect wagon in a parking lot?" I giggle. "Yep. This."
"Totally single. Never been more single. Single and ready to mingle. But only with you." He traces my cheekbone. "So this is perfect timing. I happen to be single, too. No problems here." "Thank God. I don't think I could handle it if you had a boyfriend." A grin spreads across his face, and I reward him with a soft kiss. He wraps his arms around me and rolls me on top. I feel like I'm a third of his size, and I giggle at his sheer physical perfection. I feel like I'm making out with some sort of superhero who could protect me against a nuclear war.
"If I say the word fuck in relation to you now, to us, it's out of lust and emotion. In my more rational moments, I don't want to fuck you." My stomach plummets. "Oh. Okay. I'm sorry." He puts his big hand over mine. "What? Why are you apologizing? I want to make love to you. With you. Ravish you. Devour you. Consume you. When I said the word while we were dry humping a few minutes ago, it was shorthand for, I want you so bad that I can only utter this one word because all the blood's rushed from my brain and into my dick. Got it?" "Got it."
"Two. I've had a massive crush on you since freshman year when you transferred into the school. I was such a dork back then that I didn't get my shit together to talk to you until senior year. When you said you'd go to that party with me, it was the best day of my life."
"Mmm. I remember how nervous I was going into that bedroom with you." "And when we kissed in that bedroom? Jesus, Kate. You have no idea. I was so pissed when the guys interrupted us." "You were my first kiss. Did I ever tell you that? It was such a perfect one." I squirm half on top of him again, mindful of the small space. My lips find his, and we smooch slowly for a couple of minutes, until he shifts his big body. "Still perfect. You're a damn fine kisser, Damien."
"Thanks. Three. You're not a pity fuck. You'll never be a pity fuck. You're not a pity anything. So get that out of your head right now. I adored you back then. After that party I wanted you to be my girlfriend." "But you understood why I pulled away, why I refused to go to prom," I whisper fiercely. "I do now. But back then, I was angry. Angry that everyone labeled you a slut, angry I'd gotten into a fight and was suspended, angry that you wanted nothing to do with me. I was a little prick." "I thought I was doing it for your own good. Because if you kept fighting on my behalf, you'd either
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"No. I definitely wasn't good at expressing myself back then. I'm way better at it now, probably because I know how fucking short life is. So I'm going to be honest here. I still adore you. You haven't changed, you know? You're still the amazing girl I knew ten years ago." I am? The silence in the wagon hangs heavy. He does? "I thought you'd forgotten all about me." "No, babe. I went into the Marines, and you went to Chicago. But I never forgot about you." "I never forgot about you, either."
"You're so fucking beautiful, Kate. You know that? Thought about you all day."
"Way. Thought you'd be hungry. It looked like you barely had time to drink water, much less eat. And last night you said you usually eat when you get home. Can't have my girl starving."
Of course, I'm in love with her. How could I not be? I'd crushed on her in high school and now after three weeks, I'm in deep, in some perfect, sugar-coated fantasyland. Like I've been hit by a lightning bolt thrown by a rainbow-colored unicorn. Jesus. If Remy could hear that thought, I'd never live it down.
"It's unethical that you have a serious, chronic medical condition, and you can't afford what should be a basic human right. That's unethical, Kate. Insurance companies are unethical. Our getting married so you get the care you need isn't unethical. It's one guy helping a good friend. It's not pity. It's friendship. It's the opposite of unethical."
He grins. God, he's so beautiful. And now I know he wants to help me, care for me, he's somehow more gorgeous right this moment. This is the man I'm going to marry. And somehow that errant thought makes my body even hotter for him. I've never understood women who look at men and say "I want to have his baby." Until now.
"Actually...I want to be responsible for you. Want to care for you. Thought you understood that." But why, I want to scream. But can't. Because there's only one answer acceptable to me and my heart, and I don't think that's how he'll respond. I chew on my bottom lip and study him. "You're so good, you know that?" He reaches and sweeps a curl out of my face and behind my ear. "I care about you, Kate. So much. You need to trust me, okay? I won't hurt you."
"You want to have someone back home to think about. To write to. To call." "No, Kate, I don't want someone. I want you back home. I want to write and call and think about you." He does? Then why doesn't he say the L-word? Why can't I? It's as if we're both afraid to voice our true feelings. I swallow a few times, trying to rid the lump from my throat. Damien grabs my hand and gives my fingers another kiss.
"Really. I truly enjoy you as a person. A friend. This isn't just sex for me."
"Taking things as they come isn't so bad," I say sleepily. He kisses my forehead, his stubble tickling my face. "Now you're beginning to understand.
"It was her mother's ring. And she...I ...wanted to give it to you. I want you to have it. So that it looks like we're legit and all." He shakes his head. "Christ. Could I screw this up any more? We're legit and all. Dammit, I'm an idiot. I'm sorry. I want you to have this. For real. Will you, um..." My chest constricts and I gulp in a shallow breath. He pops the top back. A diamond solitaire ring winks at me. God, this is awkward. And sweetly romantic. And weird and... holy crap I'm going to cry... "...marry me?" he croaks.
"You don't have an engagement ring, and you need one. I wanted you to have one."
"Sometimes, babe, it's better to let the past be behind you. And, anyway," he shrugs, "You're the hottest woman here, and Anderson knows it. I saw how he stared at you. I win." I chuckle bitterly, then let out a groan. "When I realized it was him, all of those old feelings of fear and shame came back." Damien slides an arm around me and kisses my temple. "As long as you're my wife, no one's ever going to hurt you. Hell, they're not even going to look at you cross-eyed. Don't ever worry about the Eric Andersons of the world again.
Every time I see her little Converse sneakers, my heart jumps.
"Then love her a thousand percent until you leave, and when you get back, never let her go. I can tell how much you care for her. I can see it in the way your eyes linger on her, the way you reach for her hand, the way you search for her in a room filled with people. And she's a mirror of you. She loves you. Take all those feelings you have for each other and build on them."
We break apart and my eyelids flip open. "I..." I smile. His lips part. "Love," he murmurs. "I love you," we both say at the same time. We we kiss again, this time while laughing. Then we walk down the aisle. Together.
"I think I love you more now than I did at the ceremony." He leans in and kisses me, but not before he whispers those three words I've waited so long to hear.
Like when I came inside of her last night and I had a powerful, primal urge to get her pregnant (I didn't share that with her, not yet). Like this morning, when I watched her sleep. How did I get so damned lucky? I'm married to the woman I've been in love with since I was a teenager.
"What?" He grins. "Nothing. Just soaking in your beauty while I can."
