Page 36 of Closing on Lynx

“Where are we going for dinner?” I ask, putting the rest of the pepperette and hunk of cheese into my mouth.

“I am taking you to the steak place that allows you to cook your meal at your table. To start. Then we are going to get some ice cream and go for a walk on the dock,” Paul states, slowly walking closer to me.

“Am I dressed properly?” I ask, looking down my body. My teeth worrying my bottom lip. My mind wondering to the other outfits I have in my closet.

“Hey, Jess?” his voice catches my attention, making me lift my eyes from the ground to look into Paul’s eyes. “You could wear a brown paper bag with a feather hat and still be the most beautiful woman in the world. I think the outfit you have on is stunning.” He slowly moves his hand down his body. My eyes following his hand as he cups his crotch and adjusts. The bulge large and in charge in his pants. This man has given me fantasies I haven’t been able to shake since he walked into my office, sat his ass in the chair and demanded I take him on as a client.

“Why don’t you feed me and then take me for a walk?” I start to giggle. “I sound like a damn dog.”

“Far from it, beautiful. But let’s go before I decide to say screw it, and take you upstairs and have my way with you,” Paul mumbles, offering me his hand. Reaching for it, I grab my purse as Paul takes me through my living room to the front door. He stops, allowing me to lock it up and set the alarm.

He walks me to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door. He helps me into his truck and reaches across to pull my seatbelt across my body and buckles me in.

“Tonight, it goes as fast or as slow as you want it to go. I will promise that you are going to be kissed a lot and I am going to hold your hand. I want every man and woman watching to know you are mine and mine alone.” He smiles at me, bringing his hand up to my cheek. His lips press into my forehead, then my nose, before they land on my lips. A slight kiss that lingers on my lips, before he pulls away slightly. His eyes staring into mine, trying to gauge my state of mind.

“I’m okay,” I tell him. Smiling at him as he pulls back and grabs the door.

“No, baby. You are more than okay,” he whispers as he closes the door, his eyes watching me as he rounds the front of the vehicle and opens the door. This man is going to ruin me, in the best possible way, and I am one hundred percent okay with that outcome.

Watching him slowly slide his body behind the wheel, he places his key in the ignition and starts the truck with a deep rumble. His radio blasting,I Apologize by Five Finger Death Punch. He reaches over and turns down the radio. “Sorry.” He shrugs.

“Music is soothing to the soul. Any kind, especially one that has meaning.” I smile, singing along to the next song that started to play.

“Can I ask you a question?” Paul asks.

“You just did.” Smirking and giggling as he shakes his head.

“How did you meet your ex?” he asks.

“That conversation is one where we need copious amounts of alcohol, followed by multiple boxes of Kleenex, then an hour long scorching hot shower to remove the ick feeling from my skin. I will tell you one day, but not today,” I shiver at the memory of the last time that man graced my presence with his disgusting face and how it ended.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.” He reaches over and grabs my hand.

“When I met Tina, I was sure no person would make me feel comfortable again. I had resolved myself to being a hermit, living in my home with my dog and no human contact from the outside world, other than over the phone or via video chatting. Tina and her husband made me feel like I could be free and safe with the right people,” I say, tears springing to my eyes as I remember Tina’s husband and all the things he helped me to overcome when it came to men in general.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lynx

Watching her talk about her ex-husband makes me want to uncover the piece of shit and torture him a lot more than what we had. The urge to beat something was coursing through my body.

“When I first met him, he did everything right. He gave me something I was looking for. Understanding, support and love. He let me know that even though I felt invisible in a world that was so vibrant, I was still the neon sign I deserved to be,” she continues to talk about all the things he made her feel.

“You know you have all that, without having to feel the hand of an abuser,” I state, stepping up to the edge of the sand and rock and looking out over Lake Nipissing. The thoughts of how she lived, making the rage burn a lot deeper than anything I have ever felt.

“I started understanding that he was violent after the first time he broke my arm. I started to save money in an off shore account. The only person that knew about it was the nurse who set my bone. She gave me a card with a number on it. I had kept it in my wallet, until one day he was digging through my purse, because he thought I was hiding something. When he pulled that card out, he asked whose number it was. Every time I would say I didn’t know, he would dislocate my fingers each knuckle at a time. All eight fingers and two thumbs dislocated and broken, then my hands and wrists. He was working his way up my arms when one of his buds called him to do a run that would take him away for months,” she states, her eyes searching the shoreline as the seagulls fly in and out before diving to the water and scooping up an unsuspecting fish.

“When did you finally get out?” I asked. I didn’t want to know, but it was one thing I needed to know to figure out where her mind is at.

“The only thing that matters is I got out. Both times. My psychiatrist helped me to see that I am worth more than what was done to me. In order for me to rise above the hurt and heartache, I needed to let go and rise above the fear. I still have times when fear takes hold in my heart and I freeze what I am doing, waiting for the other bat holder to swing. But then I close my eyes and take a breath,” she whispers, before turning to me. “I never used to allow anyone in my house to discuss mortgages. I had it built into my business where everything was to be done via internet signature and the only way they knew me was by name, not by face. This helped me to stay visible and unnoticed at the same time. You crashed that by stepping up to me and forcing me to do business in the here and now.” She smiles at me, her hand rising to her blonde hair and brushing the stray strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face and pushing it behind her ear.

“If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?” I ask, changing the subject from the heavy to the light.

“I want to do a quiet, secluded beach tour of Australia. Starting in Southern Australia and ending in Tasmania. No time period, just seclusion and peace,” she states, her eyes dropping to the rocks under our feet.

“Why Australia? I mean they have things that are small but could kill you,” I mumble, thinking about all the animals in Australia.

“We have small things that could kill you here. Only here they can’t be stomped on or kicked at. I am tired of living in fear. So instead of running from things that go bump in the night, I want to rise above and move forward and live my best life,” she says, as her phone rings. She looks down, presses a button, sending the call to voicemail.

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