Protect Me(29)

When we reach my car, I pull Lia against my body. She comes willingly and threads her arms around my waist. I feel her perky breasts flatten against my chest and her breathing has a slight hitch in it. Hell, my breathing practically becomes erratic. Lia strokes her hands up and down my back as we continue to hold each other.

“Where do you want to go?” I whisper into the evening air.

“Can we go to the creek?” she whispers back.

I smile against her head as I picture my spot with her in it. “Of course we can,” I say as I place a hard kiss on her forehead. Lia slides into my car, and we set out for my quiet creek bank spot about ten miles outside of town.

As I’m driving down the road – hell, before I even pull out of the parking lot next to El Toro – I link my fingers within hers. Touching her has quickly become a lifeline. It’s as necessary as eating, drinking, and breathing. I don’t think I’ve held hands since Jill and that was over a decade ago. I’ve never felt the need, the desire. But Lia makes me feel all of that, and if I’m being brutally honest, she makes me feel so much more. That terrifies the shit out of me.

When I pull the Mustang into the drive, I quickly hop out and unlock the chain restricting access. The moonlight shines through the windshield illuminating Lia in the front seat. The sight just about brings me to my knees. Her beautiful eyes are following my progress as I stroll back towards the car.

How is it possible to want this woman, need this woman, with such a ferocious intensity that it practically renders me speechless, stupid, and immobile all at the same time? I’ve known this woman for a matter of days. A week. But it feels like I’ve known her forever. I want to worship her body with my own. I want to hold her tight and show her that nothing will ever hurt her. I want to protect her. For the first time in more than a decade, I might want more.

Isn’t that a kicker? My life isn’t conducive to a wife, children, and white picket fences. I’ve made peace with that lifestyle or so I’ve thought. So, why the hell am I dreaming of more with Lia? Because the “more” that I’m envisioning is a hell of a lot more than just throwing her over my shoulder and pleasuring her body all night long. No, it’s so much more. Fuck.

Guys in my line of work do it all the time, I understand that. They have the family at home, the dog, the mortgage, and the baseball practices. But, I’ve seen what happens when the wife receives that knock on the door, telling her that her husband is never coming home again. I’ve held the hysterical woman while she screams for her husband and ignores the truth. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. If I love someone enough, I have to let them go to live their own life.

I slip back inside the car and drive along the path. I park next to the shack and walk around to help Lia out. With her hand securely inside of mine, I lead her towards the old building so we can get the chairs. It’s the perfect summer night to sit outside. Sure, a little on the humid side, but humidity has never really bothered me before. And apparently, it doesn’t bother Lia too much either.

Once the chairs are sitting in the dirt as close as possible along the creek bank, Lia and I both relax and enjoy the quiet. Crickets chirp and frogs croak. The occasional fish jumps in the shallow water of the creek.

“When you were little, what was your dream?” I ask, breaking the silence that has surrounded us for the past ten minutes or so.

Lia is quiet for several beats before responding. “When I was little, I wanted to be a teacher,” she says.

“A teacher? I can see that.”

“I wanted to teach early education like preschool or kindergarten. There was something magical about connecting with children and helping them learn to become better adults. When I was young, I used to sit in my little room and teach the few stuffed animals or dolls that I had. I’d set them on my bed and teach them everything I had just learned from my own teacher.”

Lia leans over and places her hand inside of mine. It’s like she finds comfort in my touch. Maybe even strength. I sense that she’s had a rough past, I can see it in the way she avoids talking about it. I sense that there is so much more to Lia than what meets the eye.

“What about you? What was your dream when you were younger?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a fireman for as far back as I can remember. I used to talk Jake into setting fire to small piles of brush in the backyard. Then, I’d swoop in with my bucket of water or the garden hose and put them out. I was all of ten years old, maybe.”

“I can definitely see you running around with that cute little hat on and pretending to be a firefighter,” Lia says with a smile.