Page 72 of Havoc
“Hopefully you’re hungry.” I reach into the basket, and when I pull the food out, her eyes widen.
A laugh bursts out of her. So strong and pure, tears spring to her eyes. “You brought ham sandwiches?”
“With an obscene amount of pickles. I seem to remember you declaring that if the pickles didn’t outweigh the ham, it was a crime against your tastebuds. Don’t tell me you don’t like them anymore. They used to be your favorite.”
“No, I—” She shakes her head, and her voice is clogged with emotion. “I do. I just can’t believe you remembered that.”
“There’s not a single thing I’ve forgotten about you, Aimee Landry.” I set a napkin between us. “And I’ve got some strawberry ice cream back at the clubhouse for later. But that sure as shit would have melted out here before we got to it.”
Handing her the sandwich, she stares at it for a second before taking a tentative bite.
“Wow.” She moans, swallowing it down. “You even selected the right mustard.”
“Reagan helped because, apparently, you’re not the only mustard snob.”
She rolls her eyes but takes another bite. So I dive in myself, and while there is ham and mustard, all I taste is pickle.
“This is the most ridiculous sandwich.”
She shrugs. “You packed the food. You could have brought yourself something different.”
I could have, and I considered it. But even if pickles aren’t my favorite, and this sandwich is borderline impossible to finish, it’s Aimee’s favorite, and I can’t get enough of her.
When I take another bite, my face must pucker because she sets her sandwich down in the basket and laughs.
“Stop it.” She grabs mine from my hand and puts it in the basket as well. “You look miserable. I’ll eat it, and you can skip straight to strawberry ice cream.”
“Is that so?” I tug Aimee’s hand and pull her onto my lap.
But even as she straddles me, my thoughts aren’t on fucking her. At least, not entirely. I wrap my arms around her waist and hold her like my hands are enough to keep her safe.
The fact that she’s here at all still feels like a dream I’ll wake up from at some point.
Reaching up, I tuck her brown hair behind her ear. The curled tips rest neatly at her shoulder.
She’s perfection, and I’m desperate for this moment to stretch forever as her honey-brown eyes watch me.
“It’s weird to think this could have been our life.” Her hands cup the sides of my neck; her thumbs teasing the scruff on my jaw. “That when you got out of the Marines, we could have been this if everything else hadn’t happened.”
My throat tightens, and I wish I had something comforting to say to her, but I know any words would be just shy of enough.
“Maybe I should have accepted it back then.” Her gaze drifts in the direction the clubhouse sits on the property. “Maybe I shouldn’t have cared so much what my father thought, and it would have saved us both a lot of trouble.”
“I thought you said there’s no point considering what-ifs?” I reach up to cup her face.
“There isn’t.”
Something about her tone makes my heart plummet to my stomach. Defeat snuffs out the light in her eyes, and when they return to me, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
Aimee quickly recovers. She shifts in my lap and clears her throat, readjusting the mask she’s so good at wearing.
“For the record, this was a wonderful date, Levi. Thank you.” Her smile is faint but genuine.
“I’m glad you liked it. Next time—”
“Next time?” she cuts me off. “Who said I’m giving you another one?”
“Why wouldn’t you when this one is perfect?”
