I blink at her several times, stunned by her admission. Other than Jillian, who I'm not sure I even quite believe, I've not had anyone compliment my physical appearance in years. Not since before I was deployed. I'm sure Maria may have said something or other, but coming from Jillian, it flows through me like molten steel, fortifying me and making me feel like a real man.
"So now would be a good time to kiss me," she says with a lazy smile.
"You're weird," I tell her with a smile back, now actually enjoying the pinch of my scar because it indicates I have something to be happy about.
But despite how weird she may be, as well as completely out of her mind to be attracted to man like me, I go ahead and kiss her like she asked.
And it's even better than the previous two times we kissed.
Chapter 20
I made everyone get up super early today as I wanted to take Connor fishing at the break of dawn. I'd secured the necessary fishing licenses, put prepackaged sandwiches and lots of water and soda in the cooler, and packed everyone up in my SUV so we could head toward Yellowstone. The dude who sold us the licenses told me about a small stream that feeds off Yellowstone Lake that we'll hit about three miles before the park's entrance. He assured me the fishing would be good, which is what I'm counting on. I want Connor to catch something as there's no sense in knocking off a bucket-list item half-assed.
We locate the stream easily even though it's off the main highway and down a very narrow dirt and gravel road. After I park, Connor and Jillian get out. Barb stays in the vehicle, muttering she wants to sleep some more. At the back of the SUV, I open the tailgate and reach into a gear bag I'd packed before the trip.
Before I knew Connor wanted to learn how to fish.
I packed it for myself since we'd be driving through areas with good waters, and I intended to do some fun stuff for myself.
Now I pull my fishing vest out of the bag and hand it to Connor. Every pocket and carbine is loaded down with flies, tweezers, clippers, and everything else but the rod needed to catch a trout. I even have my net attached to a hook at the back with a bungee string.
"Put that on," I tell him as he takes the vest.
He does so without question as I retrieve my fly rod. Before closing the door, I grab one of the small folding chairs so Jillian will have something to sit on while she watches us. Connor heads toward the stream, which is across a large ditch and twenty yards on the other side, but I turn back to Jillian.
She smiles at me knowingly, somewhat shyly, and yet there's boldness there too. I don't hesitate. Connor's back is to me, and Barb is probably asleep already. My hands are full, but it doesn't stop me from leaning toward her. Her hands come up to slide around my neck. Our mouths touch, our heads angle, and our mouths connect.
The kiss is sweet and deep, but brief as I'm not ready to share this with the others.
When I pull away, Jillian's eyes are closed. She opens them slowly with a sigh. "That was nice."
Yes, it was.
It lasted all of three seconds, whereas last night, Jillian and I made out for what seemed like hours. We never moved from our sitting positions beside each other, but we did turn face to face and kiss like teenagers discovering each other for the first time. My hands had roamed, but not very far, only skimming her ribs or tracing the skin at her lower back under her t-shirt. Jillian had run her fingers through my hair, gripping and releasing it as our kisses turned urgent and our breathing labored. Her taste and touch excited me beyond reason. I would have loved nothing more than to push her down on that sleeping bag and take things further.
But I didn't.
I kept things tame because I'm scared shitless I'll ultimately disappoint her things are too new between us. I'm in a world I don't understand or recognize, and I'm moving forward with trepidation.
Jillian admitted she's attracted to me, and I sure as hell have been attracted to her from day one. But this isn't a hook up where I can walk away after I get my rocks off. I'm hesitant, solely for the fact I'm a pussy and afraid of getting hurt again. What if they were just words to Jillian? What if she were to look at my leg close up and get grossed out? What if I'm nothing but a social experiment to her?
I don't want a repeat of the rejection I'd faced from Maria. I've lost enough in this life.
Shaking my head, I dispel those thoughts as I smile down at Jillian.
She may be many things, but she's not a people user. I'm pretty confident about that, but it doesn't make me any less skeptical about where this may all head.
"Come on," I say as I jerk my head toward the stream.
Eyes alight with mischief, Jillian shakes her head. "I'm not coming down there with you. I only wanted to get a kiss from you."
The corners of my mouth pull upward, my scar pinches, and I grin back at her. She sought me out for a kiss. My man card is starting to get some redemption.
"We'll probably be about an hour," I tell her. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to call my parents first and talk to them," she says as her brows line with worry. "I want to make sure they're okay."
"Don't let them talk you into flying back," I tell her gruffly, leaning my face down to hers to level a pointed stare at her. "Make sure they know you're safe and we all have your back."
Jillian nods, her eyes shining with gratitude. "I'll tell them. I'm not going to let them guilt me into going back, but I feel bad about hanging up on them yesterday. I just want to reach out."
"That's cool," I assure her.
"Alright," she says with a firm nod of her head. "After I talk to them, I'm probably just going to sit in the Suburban and read for a bit. It's too hard at night by the fire, so I'm going to take advantage of the light."
"Your art book?" I ask.
"Yeah," she says with a bright smile. There's no doubt that art is a passion for her. I wonder if we should go to a museum or something when we get back to Raleigh. I think that's something she'd like, and fuck … I think I'd like it too. Hell, I'd probably enjoy watching mold grow if Jillian was beside me.
"Okay, have fun," I tell her as I head toward the stream. Another thought strikes me and I turn back to her. "You still have a lot of damn eyesight left in you. You got those fucking thick-ass glasses that totally make you look like a professorial-type nerd. Why can't you get a job using your art history degree? Or any job for that matter?"
Jillian tilts her head, her eyes narrowing for just a second as if she were about to deny the possibility of my suggestion, but then her face immediately smooths out as she processes and accepts my suggestion. The blue in her eyes lightens when her entire face breaks into a wondrous smile. "You know … I think you're right. I've broken my hold on my parents … or so it seems … so why not?"
"You can do whatever you want," I assure her.
Her eyes get even larger with awe and a bit of disbelief. "Christopher!" Jillian exclaims with excitement as if she's just learned something very important.
"What?" I ask, almost jerking backward from her enthusiasm.
"You just gave me hope," she says, and my heart constricts tightly over the pride and elation in her voice. "You just told me I could do something I've been told I couldn't. You gave me the recipe for lemonade. You."
She's over the moon that I would encourage her that way. It embarrasses the fuck out of me, so I say, "Shut the hell up."
But I say it with a great deal of affection, and she just laughs at me. Nodding toward the stream, she says, "Go catch your fish with Connor."
My steps are light and buoyant, even with the slight gait lurch I have over the uneven ground. The stream sparkles bluish green in the sunlight, there's not a cloud in the sky, and for the first time in ages, I feel almost free. I have no clue what's happened to me in the last three days, but without a doubt, it's all Jillian's fault.
When I reach Connor, I take a few minutes to give him some basic instructions. I teach him how to cast, making sure he locks his wrist as he moves the rod back and forth from the ten o'clock to the two o'clock position over his shoulder, and that he's able to pull line out at the same time to extend the cast.
"We're using dry flies today," I tell him. "That means once you cast, it will float on top of the water. The trout will have to come to the surface to take it."
I take another few minutes to show him false casting-which is the whipping of the line back and forth-so he can dry off the fly to help it float better on the water. When I show him a few sample casts, I make sure he notes how I cast to my left against the current before letting the fly float downstream until I need to reel it back in after it can't go any further.
When I turn the rod over to Connor, I give him one last piece of advice. "Keep your eyes on the fly. You see a trout come out of the water for it, you snap the tip of your rod up so it will get hooked, and then you keep it straight up while you reel. If you don't, the line will go slack and it will be able to jump off."
"Got it," Connor says, stepping up to the edge of the stream with excitement in his eyes. I wish I'd brought waders so he could actually get in the water, but they weren't essential so I left them behind to make room for the camping equipment.