CHAPTER TWO
Shawn
I’m a sick, old man who should be put behind bars.
I shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near her, not the way I’m hard just from feeling her hand in mine.
Not the sweet scent of her milk and honey fragrance.
Not the way her soft, creamy tits stretched the front of her dress.
And that dress ... fuck me. That fucking dress needs to be outlawed, yet it was the tender, trusting way she settled in my palm that had my dick shred itself against the teeth of my jeans.
What sicko gets a boner just ’cuz a pretty girl touched his hand? Me, apparently. If Mark hadn’t butted in when he had, I would have had his little girl in the backseat of my truck.
Pervert.
She’s a kid.
“She’s twenty,” the sick voice at the back of my head corrects. “She’s an adult.”
Ahead, holding her father’s arm, Chrissy glances back over her shoulder. Our eyes meet for a brief second that does inappropriate things to my head.
The one between my legs.
I swear under my breath and pray for the night to end quickly. I just need to get through this. Need to restructure my walls and be a grown ass man.
But then we get inside the sultry heat of fried meat and spices, and Chrissy slips her coat off.
Every mother fucker with two eyes and a penis turns to watch her.
Eyebrows lift with interest. A group of men a few tables down nudge each other like we’re in fucking high school.
Their little shit brigade smirk and run their filthy eyes over my Chrissy.
I have to resist the urge to throw my coat over her.
But I’m an adult.
Chrissy is an adult. She’s allowed to wear whatever the hell she wants without having to worry about some schmuck making her uncomfortable.
At the same time, I don’t blame them. I’m staring. I can barely take my eyes off her.
The hostess walks us through the entire goddamn restaurant at the laziest pace, wandering around nearly every table.
I’m fairly certain this is the same spot Chrissy requests every time, but I don’t remember feeling this homicidal about it.
I certainly have never had to bare my teeth at every piece of shit who turns their heads in her direction.
Maybe Mark was right.
Maybe she should have changed.
But also, I really fucking love that dress.
Walking half a foot behind her, refusing to give these perverts a chance to see all that beautiful curve of skin, the delicate column of spine exposed all the way to her tailbone.
My fingers bunch at the mere thought of tracing each ridge until she’s covered in bumps and her nipples become hard knots I can sink my teeth into...
Mind lost in a red haze of need, I don’t see her stop until I’m right on top of her. My momentum collides with her back, propelling her forward into the chair in front of her. I fling out an arm and catch her around the middle, assaulting myself with the rush of warm honey coming off her skin.
But now she’s half bent over with her back curved down my front and her tight, round ass tucked right over the biggest erection in history.
There is no way she can miss it unless she thinks I carry a whole ass flashlight around. And it’s firmly wedged between her cheeks.
Beneath my splayed palm, her abdomen flexes with her unsteady inhale. Her entire body goes stiff and I quickly release her.
Her head tilts back over her shoulder, eyes dark with something she shouldn’t even know about.
Jaw gritted around the avalanche of things I definitely shouldn’t say in the middle of a restaurant ... in front of her dad, I reach around her, careful not to touch her, and tug her chair out.
Cheeks a pink that only make me all the more ravenous to taste her, Chrissy slips into the spot, and I have to tighten my fingers to keep from brushing the strip of skin where the strap of her dress doesn’t cover. But I manage to restrain myself and find my own seat.
Directly across from her.
Shit.
“Well, this is nice,” Mark remarks, damn fool, oblivious to the wolf he’s let into his home, near his precious daughter.
When he ambled into my shop, cradling an antique rocking chair, I never expected that he would become such a massive part of my life.
It didn’t even matter that he was older by two whole decades.
The guy is just easy to talk to. We like the same books and movies.
And since moving to Jefferson, he was the only one who made an effort to have a conversation.
Sure. Some of the other men started opening up, but only after Mark dragged me with him to different town events. He made me sit through some of the stupidest shit, but he's such a weirdo, I barely noticed.
“Do you think they’ll kick me out if I ask for a beer?”
Chrissy rolls her eyes, lips pulled in amusement. “You ask that every year and every year, you ask and they bring you a beer and no one gets kicked out.”
“This could be the year.”
He casts the room a conspiratorial once-over.
“I doubt it, but we’ll follow you out in solidarity if they do.”
Mark’s face lights up. “You’d do that for me?”
Chrissy smirks. “Of course ... right after we finish eating.”
I smother my laugh under the pretense of rubbing my nose.
Mark’s smile falls. He glowers at her with no heat.
“Rotten child. Should have swallowed you like Cronus.”
The imp across from me raises an eyebrow. “How did that turn out for him again? Oh, right, he got chopped up and tossed across the globe.”
Mark huffs. “Definitely don’t want my junk tossed into the ocean. Although, it did create Aphrodite...”
“I don’t think yours would.”
“I don’t know about that,” I mutter without thinking.
Both heads turn in my direction, but it’s too late to take it back and my brain isn’t quick enough to pretend I meant something else.
Thankfully, Mark doesn’t get it.
“Well, I’m not about to test that theory,” he mumbles and scoops his water glass up.
Chrissy is still watching me, eyes soft over the tiny, dancing candle between us. The warm glow illuminates the contours of her face, outlines the full curves of her lips.
It's honestly not fair that anyone can be this beautiful, funny, smart, sweet in a single package. I’ve been on this earth and had multiple partners in my life, but Chrissy has something none of them ever had ...
the ability to sucker punch me with just a smile.
There’s something magical about it. Just seeing it makes my insides soft no matter the kind of day I’m having.
She gives me one now, and I would give her my soul if she asks.
“What are you working on?” she asks, and it takes me a second to realize she means at the shop.
“A cradle for the Weavers.”
The conversation rolls on from there to the new blades Mark had to get Elijah Virelli’s tractor, adding, “Don’t know why he has one. He doesn’t even have a farm.”
“He has very nice teeth though,” Chrissy pipes in. “Comes in every six months for his checkup and cleaning and his teeth are always perfect.”
I’m not sure I like the idea of Chrissy looking at other guys, even if it’s their teeth and it’s her job. I’ve seen Elijah Virelli around town. He’s a good looking guy, even if I’m ninety percent certain he’s a shady fucker.
“You should stay away from him,” I mutter, not caring how it sounds.
Chrissy chuckles. “I don’t think I can. It’s my job to service him.”
While I highly doubt Dr. Kent is running that type of business out of her dental practice, the implication behind those words has my fingers tightening around the edges of the table.
“What do you mean—?”
My question is delayed by the waitress popping over to take our order. Even after she leaves, the talk turns to mushrooms. I tuck it away for later.
Like every year before, we talk and eat, and I secretly watch Chrissy cut her noodles because she can’t twirl her fork the right way, but loves the pasta. Time slips too quickly and we’re back in the truck with Chrissy in the seat next to me, thighs naked and plump under the passing lights.
She sits with her head back on the rest, eyes on the flurry sweeping across the glass. In the backseat, Mark snores softly. I can see him in the rear view. Head against the window. Mouth open.
It’s the same scene every year. The drive back is me and Chrissy sitting in silence down a four hour long highway while her father slept in the back. I think this year should be the same.
“Would you like to go somewhere else next year?”
I blink at the question. At the unexpected murmur next to me. My head follows the voice and I steal a peek at Chrissy.
“What do you mean?”
Her shoulders move out of the corner of my eye. “For dinner. We can pick somewhere else if—”
“I’ll go wherever you go,” my head thinks and my mouth blurts. “I mean, if you want to keep coming here...”
“You seemed ... angry all night,” she remarks.
I bottle back my grimace. “I had no problem with the restaurant.”
The seat squeaks beneath her with the shifting of her weight.
“What was wrong?”
My grip tightens around the wheel like that might make it easier to say. “I didn’t like how they were watching ... you.”
There’s silence that stretches for several minutes that extend.
Those dark eyes blink. I catch them in the fleeting glance I shoot her.
“Like who was watching me?” she asks, genuine confusion in her soft voice.
I glower hard at the windshield. “Every man in that place.”
The silence encompasses us. It stretches across the cabin broken only by Mark’s noises.
“I didn’t notice,” she whispers at long last.
“I did.” Even I hear the sulk in my voice. “How could I not?”
“I wasn’t interested in their reaction,” she adds, even softer.
Despite the irritation, the comment hits my stomach with a fist, knocking the wind from my lungs.
“I’ll pick a different place...”
“That’s not going to help,” I cut in. “Men will notice you anywhere we go. I don’t blame them. I just don’t like it. I don’t like them looking at you.”