“Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say I agree.”
I’m not arguing. No fucking way, no argument here.
Beckett
There is a tightness that starts in my neck and reaches down through every muscle fiber until it’s cramping my toes. It’s reaching the unbearable point, so I cock back and slam fists into the heavy bag that hangs next to the weight bench. The chains are rattling, and I’m puffing when I finally hear the soft knock on the thick, metal door of the loft.
If I had my way, I’d open that door, drag her to the nearest wall, tangle my fingers in hers and spend the next five hours tasting her.
Instead, I do my best to shake off the erection that seems to be ever-present lately and open the door. I fail completely as the sight of her translucent, china doll face turns me to fucking oak below the belt. I shift my lower half behind the door hoping I can get my anarchist dick under control before she notices.
“Thank God. Are you here to save me?” I try to keep my voice low as I open the door wide for her to come in as fast as humanly possible.
Her eyes are around my heart in an instant. This is an unconventional way to get her to come to my place, but with her, I’d do a lot crazier shit if necessary. It’s certainly not the game I would normally use on a girl, but Promise is not a part of my normal world. For her, I'd do everything different.
For her, I’ll take my time.
I’ve waited this long, and I’m not fucking this up. She's worth everything I have to give, even when that means not giving her anything . . . not a touch, a lick, nothing.
I can see the look in her questioning eyes, trying to figure out whether or not I’m flirting with her or pathetically desperate. Either way, her look is guarded, and I take a deep breath and try to give off a less manic vibe.
“Do you need saving?” She’s eying me as the massive industrial door swings shut and echoes a loud crunch like the doors closing in a prison movie. “You look fairly capable.”
She’s wearing a tangerine colored peacoat. Her fingers are bright red, and her cheeks match. The wind is screaming through the tall ceiling of the loft, and I can hear the soft tinkling sound of icy rain hitting the walls of the metal framed windows
“You look cold.”
I’m happy because it’s unusually warm in here for such a large space. But, it has an industrial furnace big enough to heat the whole damn building, so getting this loft up to eighty degrees was easy.
“It’s March, and it’s hailing.” She looks at me like I’m an idiot because I am. But, I also see her right eye squint shut, pushing away a smile. “I have to say, I’m confused.” She’s looking around.
At least I’ve got her eyes off the damn floor, and I can’t wait to hear what she has to say next.
“So you are a SEAL, right? I don’t know a lot about that but, from what I gather, you are supposed to be the uber elite of badasses, right?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “So, why does someone like you need saving? From an old guy in a wheelchair?”
I bite down on the inside of my lip, trying to push away the stupid smile that’s ready to explode. She’s somewhere between annoyed and interested, and either one is fine with me because it means she is thinking about me on some level, and I’ll take whatever I can get.
“From where I’m standing, you’re the badass.” I see her eyes follow mine as I look over at where my father is sitting inside the separate apartment watching TV. The door between the open space of the loft and his living room is wide open, but he can’t hear us over the old-man volume on Jeopardy. “You are a badass when it comes to him, and that is a hill I can’t even begin to climb.”
She stuffs her hands down inside the pockets of her coat. I think of offering to take it from her, but she looks like she still needs it.
“So, what’s the story here?” She looks and points at the two, nearly twenty-foot long, metal tables that I have centered in the five thousand square foot space. They are covered in neat piles of paper. Letters. Some typed, some handwritten.
Then there are the notebooks—probably a hundred of them stacked by fives, ordered by date, and sitting at perfect right angles to each other.
Off to one side of the massive open space under the windows, I have my bed. I set up three tall bookcases around it, giving it near complete privacy. There’s a decent galley kitchen on the opposite wall, and Louis, true to his word, had some decent furniture delivered to create a living space with two sofas, a couple of chairs, a giant TV and pretty much anything I needed in the kitchen.
I catch her eyes looking over toward my makeshift bedroom. I decide to ignore her question for the moment and deflect with my own.