Chapter 9
godzilla thumbs
Rowan - five years ago
“You gonna stand there like the Hulk the whole time?”
“Until you’re behind the closed door of the dressing room where no more pervs can linger awkwardly waiting for a peep show? Yes,” I reply, arms folded as I stand guard in front of Hannah pilfering through a rack of leggings.
She cocks her head. “So, only you, then?”
I’ll confess, I’ve looked. Hell, this woman had her legs straddling me on my bike. How could I not? But I’ll be damned if these baby daddies walking through Target try to sneak a peek at the hot girl wearing the wedding dress in the athleisure section showing leg nearly to her hip.
“Okay, I have the clothes. Now I just need shoes.”
We turn for the footwear section, but she stops before we get there. “Hang on.”
Hannah hands me the pants and shirt she picked out and tells me to wait before she disappears around the corner. I stand like a deer in headlights, motorcycle helmet in one hand, her clothes draped over my other arm. She returns a minute later with a scrappy lace bra thing.
“You planning a solo honeymoon there, runaway?”
“Sounds like a dream, but no. I can’t go commando boobs in that shirt.”
I swallow, eyes dipping to the low V of her cleavage in that goddamn dress. “Right,” I rasp.
Our eyes lock when I hold out my arm, inviting her to stack the unmentionables on top of everything else. She gives me a weak half-smile, ducks her head, and spins for the shoe aisle. I’m such a jerk.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “If I made you uncomfortable just now…That’s the last thing you need tonight, and I apologize.”
Hannah shakes her head, gaze vacant. She fidgets with her hands and tucks some hair behind her ear, all her snarky confidence from earlier gone.
She inhales a long breath through her nose. For a second, I think she might cry. “No, you didn’t,” she says, voice quiet. “At least someone’s looking.”
“Shit!”
That makes four. Four curses in as many minutes from Hannah’s dressing room.
She heaves out a sigh. “Rowan?” I’m on my feet, moving closer as the door creaks open. “I need your help.”
Hannah closes us inside the small space and turns the lock.
“What’s the matter?”
Hands on her hips, she meets my eyes in the mirror. “It’s the buttons.”
My gaze rakes down her mostly exposed spine until I see what she’s referring to—a trail of at least thirty tiny buttons running from her lower back down over the round globe of her ass.
“Can you help?” she asks, casually sweeping her long blonde waves over one shoulder as though I’m not dying inside.
Fist to my mouth, I clear my throat and step closer. “Yeah.”
After a couple of minutes, I manage to release one measly button with my Godzilla thumbs.
“Well,” she says, breaking the silence, “now that you’ve seen me on my worst day, I think you should tell me what’s made your week so terrible.”
I meet her gaze in the reflection for a beat, return my focus back to the next button. “My grandmother passed away, and I’m here to help my grandfather with…I don’t know…things, I guess.”
“Damn. I’m sorry, Rowan.”
A soft grin hitches one corner of my mouth. “Thanks.”
“Seriously, you don’t have to stay here with me. If you need to get back to your grandfather or—”
“No. It’s fine. Truly.” I roll my lips, distractedly going in for the forty-eighth attempt to release the next button. Fail. My gaze finds hers again. “You’re the breath of fresh air I needed.”
She blushes, drops her eyes to the fingers she’s wringing together across her stomach. The panic on her face when she found me on the sidewalk earlier flashes like a beacon in my mind.
“Hannah.” I wait the few moments it takes for her to look at me again. “Forgive me if I’m crossing a line here, but whatever he did to make you run…it’s his loss. And if he didn’t look at you the way you should be looked at on today of all days, then he’s blind and he doesn’t deserve you.”
A tear falls down her cheek. She brushes it away and shakes her head. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re not a mess. You’re…beautiful.” The last word comes out in a rush, my lungs forgetting how air works.
When she doesn’t reply right away, I take a breath and return to the buttons. I barely hear when she finally does respond, voice hushed. “Thank you.”
I give her a wink in the mirror. Her lips tip up.
“What do you do, Hannah?” I ask in an attempt to shift the conversation, hands still failing miserably at my task.
“I’m in Public Relations. You?”
“Army.” She huffs an amused sound. I give her a pointed look. “Is that funny?”
“Not at all. It’s just…not a surprise. Military suits you.”
“Well,” I sigh, glaring at the buttons, “unfortunately, my training has failed me.”
“Mmm, a travesty. I should write a letter to the President.”
“You can’t convince me this isn’t a chastity belt masquerading as a wedding dress.” I throw in the towel and drop my hands. “I’m getting nowhere back here.”
One cheek hitches on Hannah’s wicked grin. I tell my brain to ignore the way her hazel eyes sparkle at me.
“I could…” I ease back, creating space, my body on fire at the mere thought of what I’m about to suggest. “I could rip it.”
She smothers a smile. “It’s not how I imagined my wedding dress being ripped off at the end of the night, but it’ll have to do.”
I drag a hand over my mouth. This girl.
One step forward, then another, until I’m close enough to smell the floral waves of her shampoo. With the strongest grip I can muster, I fist the fabric on either side of the top two buttons I’ve managed to release. Our gazes lock.
“Do it, “ she says, one hand braced over her chest to hold the dress and the other flat against the mirror.
I haul in a breath, hold it, and pull. The sound of fabric tearing fills the changing room as the dress splits in half under my grip. Buttons snap, bouncing off the wall. Hannah’s soft little gasp—my God.
She slaps a hand over her mouth to cover her laugh, completely oblivious to the string of deity-laden curses lodged in the back of my throat. The seam splits over the curve of her ass. Two perfect dimples on her lower back. White lace thong. And skin.
So. Much. Skin.
Drawing back, I release the dress, swipe up my helmet, tell her I’ll meet her on the other side, and get the hell out of there.
Once I have some room to breathe, I fire off a text to Pops.
Me
Long story but I ran into somebody that needed help. I’ll be back later tonight.
P.S. I got the money.
Pops
Okay.
-Norman
Me
You don’t need to sign your texts, Pops. I know it’s you.
Pops
Smartass
Me
You sure you’re good? I can be home earlier if you need me.
Pops
I don’t need a babysitter.
I chuckle to myself as Hannah finds me.
“Ready,” she says, too distracted with the destroyed dress she’s folding over in her hands to notice how my gaze blazes up and down her body.
Foolish of me to think a few deep breaths and a lap around the men’s section would help block out the memory of what I saw back there. I was wrong.
Dressed in a pair of high-waisted leggings and a cropped long-sleeve shirt, I’ll never get this image out of my head either.
A sliver of midriff peeks out above the waistband of her pants.
Her shirt drapes off one shoulder to reveal a lacy black bra strap.
I’ve seen too much lace on too much skin of someone who’s too much not mine to look at.
My phone buzzes in my hand and I’ve never been more thankful for a distraction from a beautiful woman.
Pops
- Norman
Sighing, I shake my head and stuff the phone in my pocket. “We need to grab one more thing.”
“How come I don’t get a cool helmet like you?”
I give her a side-eyed smirk. “If Target were the place to find ‘cool’ motorcycle helmets, I’d get you one.” As it stands, we’ve got a wall of bicycle helmets in front of us, so that’ll have to do.
She scrunches her nose. “Maybe I don’t need one at all.”
“Not an option.”
“God, you’re bossy.” The backpack we grabbed to store her dress and high heels lands at her feet as she pulls a helmet off the rack. “I guess you can be Ducati Batman with your muscles and all black get up.”
Hannah waves a hand over me. Black Henley, dark jeans, matte black helmet with a tinted visor—okay, she’s not wrong. I offer a shrug.
“Meanwhile, playing the supporting role of goofy sidekick is me,” she declares with a dainty smile, setting a red foam helmet on her head.
I snatch it away. “This won’t protect you against shit.” I grab a hard-shell black helmet off the highest rack. “Try this one.”
“Oh, look. More black.”
“Color of my soul.”
“The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. I’m proud of you, soldier.”
I grin and set the helmet on her head, thumping it down with my fist. Her head wobbles. “Cute.”
She cocks her head, props her hands under her chin. Her lashes flutter and something inexplicable aches inside my chest at the sight. If I ever see Tuxedo McDouche again, I’ll break his neck for whatever he did to hurt her.
In the parking lot, warm dusk sun settles around Hannah like a halo, her blonde hair glowing. It takes everything in me not to stare. I hike a leg over the saddle of the motorcycle while she puts her helmet on. Her fingers fiddle with the chin strap for several seconds.
Against all my better judgment, I grab the hem of her shirt and tug her close. “Let me help.”
Her throat bobs as I click the strap in place. My eyes lift to hers and, for a moment, there’s a flash of…something. An electric current—foreign and exhilarating all at once.
I drop her gaze only to see a wave of goosebumps break out around her belly button. “You cold?”
“A little.”
Her long sleeves aren’t enough to ward off the night chill once the bike gets moving. I take my jacket off and pass it over.
Once my jacket is on her, she hauls the backpack on. Her silence is so heavy I clear my throat to fill the void.
She moves to climb on behind me but stops herself. “Rowan, I—” Her eyes pinch shut. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say about what?”
“You just spent a crap ton of money on me in there.”
I fight a smile. She already thanked me at the checkout. “Well, how about I let you off the hook and tell you to let it go.”
“I promise I’ll pay you back.”
“So you’ve said. And I keep telling you not to worry about it.”
“Rowan.”
“Hannah.”
Her tongue slides over her teeth behind tight lips, smothering a smile so big my heart grows two sizes in my chest.
“Hannah,” I repeat, quieter this time. “Get on the bike.”
She rolls her eyes but obliges.
The engine rumbles beneath us. Her arms snake around my waist and I turn over my shoulder. “Don’t worry about the money.”
“I’m ruining your entire night.”
My hand finds hers on my stomach. “No, you’re not.”
Her thumb curls under my touch, the pad of her finger running so slightly over my skin maybe she doesn’t mean to do it. But I don’t retreat. My thumb grazes her knuckles and she shifts in her seat. Settling. Relaxing. Leaning into me.
“Let me buy you a drink.”