Page 83 of Falcon

“I’ve heard horror stories about the traffic,” I tell him.

“I live in the Glendale area, so coming from LAX, with traffic, we’re looking at a solid ninety minutes in the car, with Joe growing increasingly more annoyed with each mile. It’s hilarious actually. You’ll enjoy it,” Falcon says with a chuckle.

“I look forward to it.”

We settle into the car. I tell Falcon he can sit in the front seat with Joe, but he insists he wants to sit in the back with me, and I don’t argue. I always want to be close to him.

I buckle my seat belt and settle in, leaning my head over on Falcon’s shoulder and he places a hand on my thigh.

“You good?” he asks.

“I’m perfect,” I tell him genuinely, because I am perfect. This feels perfect. Being here with him, like this, is calm for me. This man makes me feel safe. He makes me feel secure and he makes me feel special.

That’s not something I ever thought I would feel from a man in my entire life. Then again, men who have come and gone over the last five years have been flashes in the pan. Trysts so I could still feel like a functional human being. Flings so I could have some sense of normalcy, but those pale in comparison to the man sitting beside me.

He’s no tryst. He’s no fling. He’s no flash in the pan.

He’s a detonation that is all consuming. He’s bright flashing lights and sparkling fire. He’s an eruptive thunderclap in a summer storm and a sky full of fireworks.

He’s dangerous, but I’m in awe of him.

And when he curls those strong hands over my thigh in the simplest of ways, I nearly melt into a puddle and all that would be left behind are the butterflies making a permanent home in my stomach.

We ride is mostly silence as Joe veers his way up the 105, in and out of slow moving cars like he’s playing a game of Frogger.

I’ve never seen such a thing. I thought Atlanta traffic was bad, but this shit is a whole new level.

“You deal with this every day?” I ask out loud to both of them.

“Every day. To be honest, you get used to it,” Joe says.

“No, you don’t. It’s frustrating as hell no matter how long you’ve lived here,” Falcon says, as he leans his head back to rest on the seatback, then drops his eyes closed.

I can make out the smallest little flicker of pain on his face.

“Hey.” I reach over and touch his cheek. “You okay?”

He turns his head to face me and gives a small smile as his eyes open. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little bit of a headache is all.”

“I have some medicine in my bag. Do you want a couple? Maybe finish my bottle of water?”

He simply nods. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for caring about you, Falcon. That’s not how this works.” I lean down and dig through my purse, pulling out the bottle and popping out a couple tablets for him.

“I’m always going to say thank you, Faith. That’s how I’m wired.”

He downs the tablets with a few large drinks of water before twisting the cap back on.

“Then just know I’ll never say you’re welcome.” I stick my tongue out at him like a brat and he gets back at me by tickling my side. “Hey! Don’t you dare.”

“What? Don’t like to be tickled?” he asks, doing it again, and I laugh at the contact.

“Stop it!” I swat his hand away. “Who DOES like being tickled?”

“There’s a kink for that.” He smiles.

“There’s a kink for everything. Fair enough.”

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