Page 43 of The Biker and the Loner
“Yeah.” I wave him off. “I don’t even remember what it was about.”
“I’m so sorry you had to wake up from one nightmare and jump right into another.”
“It’s fine, Scratch, I promise.”
He sighs and shifts down to rest his head on my stomach, trailing his finger along the edge of my underwear. “You’re so damn hot and I’m hard as a rock right now, but…”
But the moment is too tense for romance. He knows it and I do, too. The only thing we can do right now is breathe andbe.
So that’s what we do. We justbewith each other. Until sleep overtakes us once again.
~
I’m an early riser and a passionate breakfast lover, so I’m up before the sun and in the kitchen preparing breakfast with my earphones in, listening to a thriller audiobook.
This is my thing. What calms me and brings me inner peace. There’s something about getting up while it’s still dark and cooking up a storm. The funny thing is, I don’t enjoy cooking on a whole.Only breakfast. It doesn’t make sense, I know, but I don’t bother trying to make sense of it, I just do it because it makes me happy.
While the quiches are in the oven, I wander out to the patio with a cup of chai spice tea and watch as the sky slowly lightens from the glow of the rising sun. The view here is obscured and limited, blocked by the roofs of neighboring houses, a far cry from the vast and glorious morning view of the rising sun from my bedroom balcony.
Not that I’m complaining, considering that beautiful view also comes with defeating unhappiness. There, I would curse the sun for ascending too quickly, dreadingherinevitable rise. Here, with my limited, obstructed view, I’m mentally begging the sun to hasten its ascent and burst through the windows, sohewould rise and kiss me again, touch me again, telling me in no uncertain terms that I’m his woman…
Nope, I’m not complaining at all.
I’m hoping.
The sun hasbeen up and shining in the sky for roughly two hours before I hear Scratch’s footfalls on the stairs. So far, I’ve already showered, washed my hair, dressed in a casual butterfly dress, prepared a big breakfast, watched the sunrise, drank two cups of tea, took a walk around the neighborhood, penned a list of minor essentials still needed for the house, watched an episode ofUnbreakable Kimmy Schmidtwhile I snacked on a bowl of strawberries, and am now on my third cup of tea while reading The Denver Post.
He shuffles into the kitchen, scratching his chest and sniffing the air. “Why does the entire house smell like a diner?”
He’s shirtless, but still in his jeans and socks from yesterday, and I can see a peek of his red boxers. Both of his arms are inked, across his chest and along his left side. I’m familiar with the tattoos he had before he left, but some of them are new. Like the red lip print on his left pectorals. Or the compass on his inner arm.
I know he’d gotten short breaks, at least four different times, but never came to Denver. Even when Grunt and Kendra didn’t know, I did. Because he would text or call me and ask me to come visit him here or there, but I never went. I didn’t think it was fair to Kendra or Grunt that I would get to see him all while they didn’t even know he was in the country. Additionally, Kendra and I were slowly building a bond, and I didn’t want the weight of that secret between us. So I’d encouraged him to come see his family instead. He never did. That’s how much he believed he was going to die.
“Good morning,” I mumble over my cup of tea, checking him out.
Please come over here and touch me. Please come over here and touch me.
His bleary eyes bounce from the platter of croissants and crepes to me, a frown wrinkling the space between his brows. He rounds the island to where I’m sitting at the breakfast bar and chucks me under my chin. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I echo.
“Where’d all this food come from? You went out?”
I laugh. “No. I made it.”
His brows shoot high, and he scans the breakfast bar again which is laden with food before looking back to me. “Seriously?”
I shrug. “I’m big on breakfast. What can I say?”
“Yep. I’m def gonna marry you.”
Taking my chin, he leans down and kisses me. He tastes like mint and fluoride. At least he brushed before he came down. He pulls back and touches the damp knot on top of my head. “Where’d you get clean clothes?”
“From the runaway bag I keep in my trunk.”
“You got a runaway bag? Why?” Then his eyes narrow as he adds, “Yeah, don’t bother answering that. It’s just gonna piss me off and it’s too early for that shit.”
“It’s also too early to say ‘shit’,” I admonish as I slide off the stool. “Ready for breakfast? I had to put the hot stuff in the oven to keep warm since you were taking forever to wake up.”
