Page 50 of First Chance

Jo:Do you have a big mirror?

Lochlan: Give me five minutes.

We haven’t spoken since the other night. Other than floating around each other, and a few surface-level words exchanged.

There have been subtle attempts to check on the scrape under my ear, but other than that, we’ve both pretended nothing happened.

Lochlan: Ready.

As soon as I walk into his house, I see a standing full-length mirror in the living room that wasn’t there before. Its intricate oak frame matches most of the other furniture, but this is definitely not something I’ve seen here.

“Did you carry that down the steps?”

“Yes.” He’s wearing dark jeans and the same black shirt as last time.

“I could have gone up.” He always said the upstairs was off limits but carrying a heavy ass mirror down here seems a bit dramatic.

“Are you almost ready?” He asks, ignoring my statement.

“I just need my dress zipped the rest of the way.” I back towards him and flip my hair over my shoulder to expose my zipper, then wait.

And, wait.

“Lochlan? Can you zip my dress?”

He doesn’t respond, but I feel a tug on my zipper. He pulls the tab as far as it will go, then hesitates.

“Clasp the piece at the very top, and then it should zip the rest of the way,” I explain breathlessly after feeling the faintest touch of his fingers against my spine.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a man do this, but I don’t have many options. Unless we stop at the carryout at the bottom of the mountain, I won’t see another woman until we get to the event.

The smell of his shaving cream lingers in the air and fills my senses. Even though he’s behind me, I feel him all around me.

My eyes find his furrowed brow of concentration in the mirror’s reflection as he pulls the zipper to the clasp. He holds it there briefly, squeezing his eyes shut before taking a step back and walking out the front door without another word.

Chapter Seventeen

Lochlan

18 years old…

“Pops, can I borrow your Bronco?” I smooth out my white dress shirt again, even though I spent an hour ironing it.

“Hell no, why do you need my truck?” He doesn’t look up from where he’s whittling a stick with his favorite pocket knife.

“It’s my anniversary. I want to take Bethany to a nice restaurant.”

“I thought you guys were keeping your relationship a secret?”

“I’m 18, she turns 18 in a few months. Her daddy can’t stop us forever.”

“So you’re going to drive up to her daddy’s house in my vintage Bronco and tell him to fuck off with his rules and hope he doesn’t smash my hood in with a golf club? No way in hell. Drive one of the work trucks.”

“Pop.”

“No. I’m your elder and I know better than you. This night is going to end in disaster. You never should have gotten involved with a girl who comes from such a strict family.”

“But, I love her.”

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