“You okay?” I ask.
“Embarrassed as hell.”
“What happened?”
She shook her head. “I like you a lot, Jagger. But the thought of being alone with a man freaks me the fuck out. I thought I could do this with you, but I was wrong.”
She pushes off the wall, and I grab her wrist. “Whoa. Slow down. It’s alright.”
“It’s not. You asked me to go for a ride, and I flipped my shit. I’m not going to get over this in a day or two. My husband tried to kill me. That kind of damage is for life.”
I grit my teeth and drop her hand to keep from breaking her wrist as I ball my hands into fists. “Where is he?”
She blinks and takes a step back. “Your guess is as good as mine. If you figure it out, though, pass the info on to the police, they’d like to speak with him.”
“You mean he literally tried to kill you, don’t you?” It’s not easy to shock me, but I’m stunned.
“With his bare hands.”
“Jesus.”
“That was six months ago, so you’ll forgive me if I’m still jittery. I know you think we’d be good together, but I’m too—”
“No, you aren’t. You need us to go slower we will. Forget the bike ride, come on.” I take her hand and twine our fingers.
She blinks, clearly confused as I shift gears before she can shut down.
“You need food. We both have to eat right? Why not do it together? Come on, you like Mexican, right?”
“I. Yes, but—”
“Good, we’ll do The Cocina I saw.”
“Why aren’t you running away screaming?”
I stop and she bumps into my chest. I glance down at her. “We all have scars. Some of us have learned to hide them better, but it makes us no less wrecked. When I show you my brokenness will you turn from me?”
She shakes her head.
“And I won’t do that to you either.”
She squeezes my hand, and we continue our walk to the restaurant.
Full of food and a few drinks I walk her to her car.
“B?”
“Mmmhmm.” She turns to face me and moonlight bathes her, turning her into an otherworldly being.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“I don’t know—”
I bend down and capture her full lips. She grips my biceps, and hums, parting her lips. I slip my tongue inside and deepen the kiss. She’s salty and sweet like the margaritas she drank. Her warm weight fits against me like she was made to be there. I cup the back of her head and slant my mouth, plundering the depths of her sweetness.
Her tongue circles mine and I groan. This act of submission and acceptance has me straining against my pants. I want to press her body against the car and grind into her. I control my instinct and continue to explore her mouth. I slid my hands down her side, squeezing her full hips. She presses closer, and I grunt. My lungs burn, and I reluctantly part to renew my oxygen supply.
She peers up at me with glazed over brown eyes.