Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Simbel
I woke up embarrassingly early on Saturday, just to check my phone for texts. I was disappointed, but not entirely surprised, not to see anything.
Still, I kept the phone’s volume turned up during my morning run, and I put it on the bathroom counter during the long shower I took afterwards. It was an…involved shower.
Maybe it was because I was thinking about Rissa—and the way she’d looked when she’d laughed last night. Maybe it was because my Kteer had been howling for attention for the last twenty-four hours. Whatever the reason, my cock spent the whole time at attention, and it seemed easier to just take care of it.
I planted one hand against the tile while I stroked myself with my other, remembering the shy way her lips had curled. Remembering how delicate her hand had looked, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. It was like Rissa did her best not to be noticed, but once I started noticing her, I hadn’t been able to stop.
There was something so damn compelling about her.
Thinking of her laughter made me wonder what kind of sound she’d make when I kissed her, or when I licked her nipples. When I made her come.
I shouldn’t be fantasizing about her like this, but that didn’t stop me from groaning her name as I painted the tiles with pale green cum, the spicy-sweet scent spiking the air.
What an asshole .
And jerking off didn’t even curb my anxiousness; I checked my phone constantly. The more hours that passed, the more I felt like an asshole; it was clear she wasn’t interested in me. My Kteer throbbed, my chest ached, and my skin felt strangely itchy. I told myself it was anticipation, then disappointment.
Except…
Memnon and I were eating take-out burgers and watching one of the Mission Impossible movies—don’t ask me which one, they’re all the same—when my phone binged, and I lunged for it.
“Thank fuck,” my twin sighed. “Is it her?”
I grinned, the band around my chest loosening when I saw the text from the unknown number that began Hey, it’s Rissa . “It’s her,” I confirmed .
Memnon had already grabbed the remote to pause the movie. “Thank fuck,” he repeated. “Now you can quit moping and get on with the Mating and leave me alone.”
My heart was pounding against my ribs, and I could barely process what he was saying. I stood, my finger already swiping her message open. “Don’t wait for me.”
I heard the movie begin again as I stumbled toward my room, my attention on the phone.
Hey, it’s Rissa. I had a good time last night, really. A walk would be nice too .
I wanted to shout, to punch the air, but my brother would make fun of me more than usual for that. My fingers shook as I typed my reply.
Just name the time and place. I’m really looking forward to it .
She immediately began to reply, and I liked the thought of her staring at her phone too, waiting to hear from me .
Patrick’s big plan for tomorrow is sitting in front of his gaming computer for hours on end. Want to meet in the park? 11ish?
My fingers flew as my grin made my cheeks ache. 11am in the park is perfect. Did you have a good day today?
There was a pause, and I told myself not to read into it. Was she uncomfortable with me asking? Was she surprised I asked?
Most Saturdays, I go to the mainland for groceries and errands. Patrick came with me today so we could check out a few drum sets he was interested in.
I settled on my bed, my ankles crossed, my back against the headboard. Oh yeah? Did you get anything?
No, they were all too expensive. He wants to start a band with his friends, but I hadn’t budgeted for a drum set this month, even with him pitching in his money.
I never did make it back to the movie.
We texted back and forth all evening, and I felt like a teenager, with the way I was basically floating on air.
Well, I mean, the way I assumed a teenager would respond to his first crush, based on all the after-school specials I’d seen in the last decade. When Memnon and I were teenagers, we were busy learning how to hunt the mighty bkarn and tie our own pordkamps , and the four females we knew were twice our age and Mated.
But the way I felt now was absolutely the way a young male would feel being around the female he loved.
Loved ? No, that was stupid. Memnon’s words had just gotten to me. But I’ll admit; I was crushing hard on Rissa Gray, and over the moon that she’d agreed to take a fucking walk with me.
Sunday morning, I left our apartment by ten and was at the park by ten-oh-seven. One of the benefits of living on Main Street, I guess. So I turned around, and I strolled back, stopping in Meli’s Bake Shoppe for a chocolate muffin and to say hello to Cairo, who was nearly as grumpy as Memnon. Then I stuck my head in Giza’s tattoo parlor, but he was bent over Karnak, etching something into the other male’s green skin, so I just waved and moved on.
I stopped to chat with all the human storekeepers too, like Maya in the floral shop and Mr. Wilson at the hardware store. This was something I was used to doing as a cop, and in New York, I’d become good at getting the community to trust me and open up, despite looking so different from them. Or maybe because of it.
But in Eastshore, I didn’t have to work too hard, because the people were friendly and accepting, and genuinely seemed to care for one another. A bit of a culture shock after New York, let me tell you.
That, and sweet tea.
I was waiting for Rissa at the park at eleven, and didn’t bother hiding the way my smile bloomed when she strolled up. I guess she lived in one of the neighborhoods close by, then. “Hi,” I blurted, still sounding ridiculously young. “Are you ready?”
I was this excited about a fucking walk .
“I am.” The spring weather was unpredictable; she wore sandals, jeans, and a vest over a long-sleeved sweater, and now did that thing where she tucked some hair behind her ear and ducked her chin shyly. “If you are.”
I had to resist the urge to take her chin in my fingers and tip her head toward mine and claim those lips. Maybe thinking about her while I jerked off yesterday was a bad idea?
“Rissa, I was born ready,” I announced ridiculously. Then, leaning into it, I bowed gallantly and offered her my arm. “My lady, where shall we stroll? ”
She was blushing when she slipped her arm through mine, but I liked that she didn’t shy away. “The beach should be nice this morning, if you’re up for it. A stroll in the sand, I mean.”
Grinning, I waggled my eyebrows at her as we began to walk. “That’s what they called me at the academy.”
I could see her fighting a smile. “Up for it?”
“No, sand stroll ,” I joked. “Or sometimes nice in the morning.”
She snorted, and I loved how responsive she was being. Made me wonder what it would be like to touch her skin, to make her moan…
Whoa, slow the fuck down .
And when I did manage not to obsess over future possibilities, I had a really nice time right here in the present. Suggesting the walk was a good plan, because it gave us something to do , something to look at, while we talked, just like Friday night.
We strolled from one end of the public beach to the other, and I got just as many steps—according to my watch—as I did on yesterday’s run. And the whole time, we talked about all sorts of things.
She already knew a lot of my past, thanks to her questions at the game, but now Rissa began to open up to me . She spoke a lot about Trick— Patrick —and I could hear the pride in her voice. It was obvious the kid was her whole world, and she joked about that too, about how she no longer knew how to have fun, because she’d become such an old…what had she called it? An old fuddy-duddy .
When I pointed out that calling someone an old fuddy-duddy was something only an old fuddy-duddy would do, she laughed. So then I pointed out that going out with me was fun , and I could tell how far she was stepping outside her comfort zone.
Smiling softly, she squeezed my arm. “Yeah, I guess I am.” Blue eyes flicked to my face, then back to the shells on the sand in front of us. “Thanks for making me laugh.”
“Thanks for giving me a second try.”
She was silent for a few minutes, then spoke hesitantly. “What you said to Patrick, that afternoon in the office? I really appreciated that. Of course I’m a vocal feminist and raised him to recognize a lot about privilege and equality—God willing—but some things need to come from a male in order to make them more memorable.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I was glad I’d done something right. “You know, when I joined the EIPD, I did it because I’d been a cop for the last ten years. I hadn’t expected to be made the school’s resource officer, but Chief Ortiz thought it was the best place for me. The hours are awesome, that’s for sure. But I’ve never been around kids this much. Trick…he’s a smart guy, I can tell. I think he’s going to be okay.”
“I hope so,” she sighed. “Lord knows how many nights I’ve spent lying awake, worrying about him.”
I was beginning to get the picture. Rissa had devoted her life to her son, and now, as he was growing up, she wasn’t sure where she stood in her own life. “What’s there to worry about? ”
And so she told me about how Trick was spending more time with a group of boys who were on the cusp of life. I could tell these kids were bored and acting out, but if they went any farther in the petty crimes, they’d fall headlong into my world, the world of not-so-petty crimes and violence.
I offered what suggestions and reassurances I could, and before long, we were comparing notes on some mutual experiences. Rissa had clearly lived a much wilder youth than she was living now. She told me all about her relationship with a loser named David, and how he’d taken off as soon as he’d found out she planned to raise Patrick, leaving her to manage it alone.
This woman was the strongest, bravest, most determined female I’d met, and I was falling for her.
Before we knew it, we were back at the park, having talked and walked for almost two hours. I didn’t want this to end, so a little desperately, I blurted, “Are you hungry?”
Rissa was so much more at ease with me now and shot me a smirk. “The taco truck is right over there.”
“And I’ve been meaning to try it.” I offered her my arm again, trying for over-the-top gallantry. “Someone recently told me the taco truck is delicious, you know.”
Smiling at my reference to our earlier conversation, she slid her arm back through mine, and my Kteer crowed at the way her warmth and curves felt pressed against me.
“That used to be my nickname in college,” she quipped .
And I, without thinking, blurted, “Taco truck? Me too.” But then I leaned closer to waggle my brows and murmur, “Or d elicious ? I can see why.”
The sweet scent of her arousal suddenly spiked. Rissa’s lips parted, her pupils contracting as she stared up at me. I could see—or maybe sense—her pulse beating at the base of her throat. I wanted to lean down and lick that spot, knowing I’d find it—find her —to be as sweet, as salty, as delicious , as I’d imagined.
But we were in public, and although she’d agreed to a walk and an informal lunch, I wasn’t going to give into my Kteer’s demands here. Despite the sweet perfume of her arousal making the air thick between us, I turned us toward the taco truck.
And the possibilities.