She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and smirks. "I read erotica."
My jaw drops. Okay...I wasn't expecting that. "You do not!" I respond, shaking my head.
"Oh yes, I do! But I don't care if you believe me or not. I gave you a random fact. Now you."
"I hate ban
anas because they're slimy in the middle," I share.
She throws her head back and laughs but keeps going. "I'm addicted to chapstick."
"I went streaking with some med school buddies in New York." She stops dead in her tracks and turns to me, eyes wide.
"You did not! I don't believe you."
"I did so, and it doesn't matter if you believe me or not." She smiles knowingly when I throw her words back at her and we keep walking.
"I wear granny panties." Now it's my turn to laugh at her random fact.
"You mean you don't wear thongs?" I ask, feigning exasperation.
"Hell no! I'd be digging that thing out of my ass all night long." Yup, there's another thing I love about her.
"I'm scared of owls," I admit.
"Me too!" Her eyes gleam with excitement and in that moment, I see Harley. My Harley. The girl I grew up with. The girl I remember before I left. Open, honest, and sweet as hell. The urge to touch her is too strong and I can't fight it. I swing my arm across her shoulders and pull her into me. She hesitates for a brief moment and then snuggles in next to me as we continue our slow walk home.
The one-mile walk, which should have probably taken us about fifteen minutes, ended up taking forty-five. Mostly because we were laughing so hard we had to stop for frequent catch-my-breath breaks. We talked about everything from favorite flavors of ice cream to future dreams. But something felt off. Even though she opened up, telling me both things I already knew and a few that I didn't, I still felt like she was holding something back. I felt like I was missing...something.
"This is me." Her words pull me from my thoughts and I look up to find us standing in front of a small, brick, ranch-style house. The porch light is on, bathing us in a dull yellow glow, and I pause for a second to take in my surroundings.
Her yard is manicured and several bushes line the front of the house. A small yard swing sits off to the right under a large oak tree, and a pinwheel spinning in circles is nestled in the landscaping. An overwhelming sense of pride runs through me, knowing that she did this—she got herself here.
Turning my gaze to her, I find her watching me tentatively. She wants my approval and that makes my heart clench and then soar. Hell yes, she's got my approval!
"This is beautiful, Harley." Tension visibly releases from her face. "I'm so proud of you. I wish I would've been here to see you get to this place in your life."
Her green eyes soften and her timid reply causes my heart to constrict again. "You're here now." She looks so innocent and sweet right now that I'm tempted to fall to my knees and confess my undying love for her.
I nod, afraid that if I speak I may say the wrong thing and undo all of the progress that we've made tonight. I don't want to push my luck. We made more headway tonight than I expected, and I really want to end the evening on a good note. We have tomorrow, or any day after that to get into the hard stuff.
"I'm really glad that you called me tonight," I finally tell her.
"Me too." A hesitant grin pulls at the corner of her mouth.
"I had a really great time, Harley."
"Me too." The grin tugs up a little bit more, revealing a shallow dimple in her right cheek. I have the urge to lean forward and kiss that dimple, but I restrain myself—barely. Her cheeks turn a soft pink and she casts her eyes downward.
I can't take it anymore. Reaching out, I pull her into my arms, startling us both. She reacts instantly, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, nuzzling her face in my neck. The faint scent of her vanilla shampoo draws me in, and I bury my face in her hair and hold on for dear life.
It doesn't take long for my body to recognize and appreciate our close proximity. Fuck. That's the last thing I need, her thinking I'm taking advantage of the situation. I shift slightly so she can't feel the bulge growing behind my zipper.
Damn, she's perfect. This is perfect. I'm not an idiot, and I realize instantly that right here, in my arms, is exactly where she needs to be—where I need her to be.
The thought of letting go of her terrifies me, but the idea that another man gets to hold her like this regularly terrifies me even more.
Screw it! I need to feel more of her...I need to hold her closer. In a slow, calculated move, I slide my hand up her spine and grasp the base of her neck, holding her against me, molding our bodies together. The move causes a shiver to run through her and I revel in the fact that I'm the one who caused it.