Page 51 of First Chance

He stands up from his favorite rocking chair and hands me the stick he was working away on and his pocket knife. “I’m sure you do, son. I’m sure you do.”

He stops just before he walks through the front door and turns back to me. “We don’t always get what we want in life, I hope you know that.”

* * *

Her sweet smell followed me onto the porch. I don’t know if it’s perfume or hairspray, but it lingers wherever she goes. I appreciate that it does, but it’s hard to pretend I’m not entranced.

“You said it takes over an hour to get there,” I yell back into the house. The event starts in 45 minutes.

“Well, it’s not acceptable to be right on time. Are the guys ready?” She yells back.

“They’re waiting on you.” She insisted everyone attend, so we’ll have to take multiple vehicles.

“If I were surrounded by women, this would not be an issue,” she grumbles as she walks out of the house, hooking big dangly earrings in her ears.

She looks like a damn movie star.

Her thick hair is in big, bouncy waves, she’s bronzed all over, and her dark purple dress contours the lines of her body distinctly. Lines I’ve studied from afar, thoroughly.

It’s hard to tear my eyes off of her.

The top is tight, pushing her chest out liberally but notindecently, and the thin fabric at the bottom is draped in layers, ending mid-thigh in my favorite place.

My eyes keep traveling down her legs because I can’t help but get a good look at every inch of her while she rambles on about the testosterone-filled hellscape she’s in. Her skin is shimmering from whatever lotion she used, and her shoes…

One of her shoes isn’t clasped.

The two pieces dangle loosely around her ankle.

“I can take a couple of people in my car, so you guys don’t have to cram into two trucks. You can follow me, and–”

I bend to one knee on the step below her, threading the loop to hook the strap and secure it properly before I realize she’s stopped speaking entirely.

Having my hands on her ankle and being this close is severely intimate, like zipping up the back of her dress.

Being close to her is a test in strength.

I’m her boss. I’m 12 years older than her.

Those facts remain the same no matter how badly I want her.

Or, how desperately I want her to run her fingers through my hair and pull me closer, burying my face between her sexy ass thighs and letting me breathe in her true scent…

Fucking hell.

“I didn’t want you to trip,” I explain, clearing my throat and standing back up, but not without letting my fingers linger on her ankle a second longer than necessary. “I’ll go grab the guys.”

I’m nearly sprinting to the bunkhouse to get away from her with my fists clenched at my sides, hoping her lotion stuck to my hands.

If I’m lucky, it will embed itself into my skin, that way Ican actually have a piece of her.

My fingers unclench, and I’m staring at the same rough skin I’ve always had. Hardened by years of not wearing gloves when I work.

The hands of a man who has beaten men nearly to death and cared for the dangerous animals we rescue.

Hands that aren’t worthy enough to touch her.

“Spock’s staying back to keep an eye on things,” Hayes says, snapping me from my thoughts.

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