Creed
I drinkin Melody’s floral scent. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman in my car, and I’m trying to contain my excitement that it turned out to be Melody. As I drive, I sneak glances in her direction. The sunlight streams through her golden hair, bringing out bright streaks of blonde that frame her face.
God, she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I try my hardest not to glance down at her full chest, but what I wouldn’t give to get my hands on those gorgeous breasts of hers. I lick my lips and try to center my thoughts on the tasks at hand.
“So, how’s the writing going?” I ask.
“Fine.” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. I can tell by the tone of her voice that I may have opened a can of worms she’d like to close back up. “I’ve made progress, so that’s something.” She shifts in her seat, peering in my direction. “What about you? Being a tattoo artist must be so exciting.”
“Well, it can be.” I turn right on Main Street, heading into downtown Thunder. “I actually work right there.” I point to the shop, grateful for the day off.
“Cool,” she says, and I can tell she means it.
“Honestly, sometimes it feels like more of a customer service job.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I’m an artist first and foremost, but at the end of the day, I work for my clients. I meet their demands, listen to their ideas, implement them, and then have long sessions hearing about their lives.”
“That sounds exhausting.” Her hand flies to her lips. “I didn’t mean—”
I have to laugh at her honesty. “It can be, definitely. But there isn’t anything I’d rather do. I’m sure you feel that way about writing.”
“Well, I feel that way once the book is done or I’m on a roll. I’m just having such a hard time with this one.” She crosses her legs, and I get a glimpse of her thick thighs under that skirt of hers. Damn, she’s built like a brick house, but her skin looks soft as silk. I clear my throat, again focusing on anything but what it would feel like to run my hands up the seam of her skirt.
I pull in front of the office supply store. Since I need some things for the shop, I offer to head in with her. The smile on her face nearly takes my breath away when she agrees. I wasn’t sure if she’d actually want my company or just wanted to run her errands alone.
We stroll down the paper aisle. Muzak plays overhead. The store’s empty except for us and the clerk up front with a mohawk, gnawing on a piece of gum.
“So you live alone?” She asks.
“Sure do,” I say. “For now.”
“Oh.” Disappointment lines her tone.
“No.” I quickly correct myself. “I’m working hard to get my son back.”
“You have a son?” Her eyes light up, and it’s like a weight is lifted from my chest. I’m pretty sure that not all women like kids, let alone ones from previous relationships. “Yeah, he’s three.”
“That’s so great.” Her shoulders melt down her back, and she clasps her hands in front of her chest. “Is he from a…previous marriage?” She speaks slowly, cautiously.
“We were never married.”
“Gotcha.” Melody reaches for a ream of paper, pressing her lips into a thin line. I don’t mean to be curt, but talking about Isaac’s mom is the last conversation I want to be having. Mainly because the woman is a monster for keeping my son from me like this, and I don’t want to come off sounding like a total asshole.
“What about you?”
“Kids? No.”
“Exes?”
“Well, ex-boyfriends, but I’ve never been married.”
I don’t know why this feels like a relief. Maybe because the thought of Melody with anyone else has me balling my fists at my sides. Even though we haven’t gotten that far yet, it’s set in my head that this woman is meant to be mine.
“Single and loving it?” I brave the question.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder, showcasing the tiniest sliver of cleavage at the top of her t-shirt. I can barely tear my eyes away.