“What about you?” he asked. His question jolted me out of my stupor.
“What about me? Just like boring and regular. Played flute, rode horses, was a super nerd in high school with no boyfriend and lots of band practice.”
His face blossomed into a gorgeous smile filled with relief and good humor.
“Braces?”
“Yes. Ugh. Three years.”
“Pimples?”
“Malcolm, doesn’t everybody?” I jabbed him in the ribs.
“Nope, not me. But I had stubble by fifteen.”
“I bet you were so hot,” I said wistfully.
“Tell me about your family Claire. Why social work? What led you there?”
“We don’t have to talk about that. Oh my God, my life is so average, it will bore you to death. You just let go of a really heavy load. We should keep processing that.”
“Nah, nothing about you is boring, Claire. And besides, I think I’m all talked out for today. I’d love to hear about you. All of it. Genuinely.” I hesitated for a moment but then Malcolm gently squeezed my hand and smiled. “It’s okay. I’m good.”
“I have a very mundane life. I grew up in Cleveland, Ohio, dude. My mom is a kindergarten teacher and my father is a firefighter, recently retired. Typical middle class upbringing. I have a younger sister, Sybil. We’re close but competitive. No real trauma or tragedy besides my eight grade haircut that my mom did herself to save money. Oh, well, and I guess there is one thing. When Sybil was in sixth grade. A boy in her class brought a gun to school. He opened fire during recess on the playground. No one died. A couple of kids got grazed. But it made a huge impression on me and my sister. I think as soon as I knew she was safe, I stopped taking things for granted.”
“I like it, Claire. It sounds so wholesome. I want that someday. What made you decide to become a social worker? The school shooting?”
“I wanted to help people and couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Mom made us volunteer at the local soup kitchen and I was sort of fascinated with the runaways who’d eat there. Kids my own age, but you know, so distant, so tough. I wanted to interact with them then, but they were guarded and transient. They left a big impression on my heart. I still wonder what became of every single one of them. Why they were unloved. No one is unlovable.”
“You’re right. And you’re a damn good social worker,” Malcolm said. He smiled at me and it reassured me that he was so interested in who I was.
“I’m learning.”
“No. you’re good at it already. Look at the way Skylar responded to you. You’re a natural. You saved her life.”
“No, Malcolm, you saved her life. And you’re one to talk, Skylar lights up like its Christmas every time you come into the room.”
“It’s the presents.”
“It’s your presence, big dummy. That kid truly loves you.”
Malcolm grabbed me then and rolled me under him on the blanket. He held himself propped on his elbows with the length of his body engulfing mine. His bright green eyes bore into mine.
“Claire, I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”
I silenced him with a kiss, and he took it hungrily. I wrapped my legs around his huge frame and lined his hardness up with the center of me. I wove my hands into his hair and kissed him until I was breathless.
“I never thought I’d fall in love with a biker. My mom told me to marry a pastor.” I laughed at the ridiculousness of it.
“I hope your mom likes lawyers,” Malcolm said.
He kissed me back until the sky began to blur with color and the temperature dropped significantly.
“I’m kid free tonight,” I told him boldly.
“My place or yours?”
The sky lit up in its natural fireworks display as we cruised to lower ground. I wrapped my arms around Miller and knew that I would never, not for a second, ever let go.
Chapter 7
Malcolm
Claire agreed to come to my place; I’d never before invited a date home to my house. I lived in a gated community about thirty minutes from downtown and the courthouse, and forty-five from the club. The fact that I lived in a closed community surprised a lot of folk, but when you knew crime as well as I did, you didn’t fuck around. Especially when you were a star prosecutor and had put some bad people away for a long time. You didn’t want ghosts from former cases showing up on your front doorstep with a death wish and a vendetta. Bad combo. I’d pay for the extra security so I could actually sleep at night. Hard to change a tiger’s stripes, I still slept with a Glock in my nightstand and a rifle mounted above the basement door. Old habits die hard. I wasn’t looking for trouble, but trouble found me easy enough. My past gave me a large bone to pick with home intruders. I wasn’t going down without a fight and I already knew the outcome. I’d win.