Moreover, in those days, he’d done everything right, the way movies and magazines said a good boyfriend behaved—bought her flowers and small gifts, took her to nice restaurants, surprised her one birthday with a shopping spree to the art store because he knew she liked to draw and paint. He’d been attentive and gentle, calling at least once and texting often every single day they were together.
He’d also been extremely possessive and jealous, but at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, that had felt like love. Possibly, watching her parents’ marriage die gasping in the desert of her father’s emotional reserve, she’d overcompensated.
But in those first years, Tommy’s showy displays of affection, his hovering and ‘protectiveness,’ had felt good to Lyra, and a thing that feels good isn’t a problem.
It wasn’t a problem until around a year after she’d graduated high school, when she enrolled in a community college near Vegas, trying to decide if she wanted a degree. She’d taken only two semesters of gen-ed courses before deciding that no, she didn’t want a degree, at least not until she figured out what kind of degree she’d want. But that one year had torn a hole in her tiny world and shown her how much more world there was.
Nothing much had changed, except she’d met new people who, despite living in the same general area as she did, had a much wider range of identities, interests, experiences, and opinions. She’d joined a couple of clubs and organizations and made some new friends—lunch-buddy acquaintances, at least.
Vegas was about a hundred miles away, so on days she had classes, she was gone the whole day, and sometimes, if she had a meeting or classmates wanted to get dinner, she’d been back home quite late.
That was when Tommy changed—or, no. He was the same as ever.Lyrahad changed. She had things in her life that didn’t include him, and he hated it. All the things that had felt like love when she was a dumb high-schooler were exposed as control.
Their relationship began to seriously fishtail around midterm of her second semester. He never hit her or hurt her physically in any way. In fact, he never did anything to intentionally hurt her. The things—and, eventually, people—around her weren’t so lucky, however.
Their end came in the last weeks of her second, and final, semester. Her end, at least. Years later, he was still behaving as if he had claim on her.
But she didn’t want to think any more about Tommy. Thinking about Zach was much more appealing.
Not that her taste in men had such a great track record, but she thought Zach was, outlaw MC notwithstanding, a decent guy. Not showy or loud, just steady and attentive. A decent sense of humor, maybe.
And looks-wise? Holy crap. Yum.
Also, he kissed like a man who knew—and cared—what felt good to a woman. While she’d had only one real relationship, she’d dated often enough, stuck in the hell of that early stage with a few different guys. She’d had enough physical experiences with guys to know that a lot of them didn’t much care how the woman felt, so long as she stayed willing. The biggest incentive for them to care at all was bragging rights, honestly. They felt good aboutthemselveswhen a woman indicated any kind of enjoyment. Tommy was just such a guy, though she’d been too inexperienced then to know it.
Zach, however, had kissed her like he wanted to make her feel good. For her enjoyment. Anddayum, had she enjoyed it. The kiss at the end of the night, standing in her driveway beside his big Harley, was even better than their first one.
Better even than the wonderful kisses? The way he’d tangled their fingers together after the last one, like he wasn’t quite ready to let her go, but wasn’t trying to hold her in place, either. Desire without demand. Those light twists of his fingers around hers had made her nipples tighten so hard they’d ached.
Her taste in men was suspect, yes. But she thought Zach had potential.
Of course, he’d texted her this morning to say he was riding out—because he lived in Oklahoma, which was like a thousand miles away.
Sigh. Her romantic luck remained terrible. Still, the potentialous Zach from Tulsa had texted her this morning, and he did visit Laughlin regularly. Maybe they could have something casual and occasional.
At the least, she didn’t want to leave him hanging. So she opened the messaging app and replied:I had fun too. Ride safe.Then she scrolled through the emoji menu, looking for just the right one. Heart? No way. Heart eyes? Also no way.Fartoo soon. Kiss lips? Too forward. Smiley? Dull. Blushy smiley? Hmmm, no.
Yeesh. Why was this so hard? But an emoji was important; it added a little lightness to the tone. Finally, she went with the motorcycle. Total choke.
Still lying on her lap, Brutus made the high-pitched, quiet whine that seemed to come out his nose and was just about the most adorably pathetic sound a dog could make.
“You hungry, Brutie?” she asked as she swiped the message app away.
The dog’s head popped up, and his huge ears stood at full attention.
“You want breakfast?” she asked, grinning.
He chuffed his answer.
“Okay, bud. Let’s get this day going.”
––––––––
~oOo~
––––––––
Later that morning, Lyra parked her Cube on the street and climbed up the steep driveway, alongside her mother’s aged but perky Camaro. She pushed open the glass door in the middle of what used to be the overhead garage door and into what used to be a one-car garage. Now it was her mom’s little shop: Desert Song Boutique.