Losing the love of my life taught me that inactions have consequences. My new bookkeeping job teaches me that numbers don't lie, but people do.
Sharing yoga with others is my refuge from the darkness pulling me to stay home. A ginormous pro footbal...
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Full confession: the dog was a gamble. I was getting the architectural plans from Rick's office when I got a text from Paws for Cause and picked up the puppy on my way out here. I wouldn't have used any other architect, but I gave him the planning job of building a rehabilitation and therapy center for Ashley covering my ass this year.
The happiness that brightened Mia's face? Worth the gamble. Michael's pissed-off reaction? Even better. I hadn't mentioned my full plan, which included a yoga and fitness studio, and the separate job audition I scheduled for her on Monday. Those reminders evaporated when she gasped at the back of my truck all decked out. "Too much?" I cringed at the layers of blankets and lights that looked like a high schooler trying to score with his prom date. "I didn't know how long you'd want to hang out here."
The corners of her lips, which mine needed to be against sooner than later, curved up. "Looks like how I imagined losing my V-card... but with effort."
I scratched at the back of my neck and took in the puppy, passed out in Mia's arms. We walked the bumpy dirt road inside the eyesore fence until we all panted. A round of water from the cooler of food I brought was all she needed before her eyes rolled closed. "Any name in mind?" I held up her small crate.
"Indigo," she whispered, shooting me a smile that warmed my skin.
"As long as you don't paint her that color," I teased as Mia put the puppy in her crate.
Her smile widened as she peered into the food cooler I brought. "How long were you planning on staying?"
"I'll stay all night if you want."
Her eyebrows lifted as she stood upright, catching my innuendo. The heat in her eyes broiled my skin hotter than the setting sun. It painted a golden glow around her as she stepped close and curled her fingers into my shirt at my sides. "Thank you." She lifted on her toes and pressed the words into my lips.
She didn't need to spell out the details or how she meant being patient and respecting her space without giving up on her. Our relationship, as loosely as we defined it, reminded me I needed to change that ambiguity. But her fingers threading up my shirt, stroking the outline of my jeans, and drawing the blood flow there distracted me the more she teased. I cupped my hands around her waist and squeezed her against the effect she had on me. She hummed and rubbed her hips until my eyes wanted to roll out of their sockets from the friction. Too many sweaty clothes were between us as my lips found hers, kissing her with less patience and more urgency than the previous reintroduction.
With rough tugs from her hands, my jeans puddled around my knees. In tandem, I tore her pants and shirt off. The pile we created in the corner of my truck grew until I hoisted her onto the blankets, climbed up, and knelt between her legs. The sight of her, flushed pink, spread open, and glistening wet made me embarrassingly hard.
