Rhett
I wake as the first rays of sunlight slip through the blinds, making it hard to open my eyes. My body feels rested, the pain in my shoulder not as pronounced as it has been, and I wonder if maybe it has something to do with Mo and her bubble bath, or the full body massage she returned after we made love.
With a lazy smile on my face, I look over to see her asleep next to me. Dark hair fans the pillow beneath her head, a few pieces sticking to my beard when I roll over to get a better look at her. She looks so peaceful with her hands tucked under head, her lips parted as though they’re just waiting for mine.
Last night was the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. After I lifted her from the tub, we made love. She lay in my arms for several long minutes afterward, and about the time I was ready to doze off, she rolled me onto my stomach, straddled my hips, and gave me the best damn massage I’ve ever had. Her hands rivaled any masseuse I’ve ever paid for. Or maybe it’s just that it was her.
It was well after two in the morning before we finally pulled the covers over our naked bodies and succumbed to sleep. I lift my head, glancing over Mo to get a look at the alarm clock. Unable to resist her perfect lips, I kiss her gently as I lay my head back on the pillow. She smiles before she opens her eyes, and it’s the sexiest thing in the world. Her lashes flutter open as she blinks up at me.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
“Good morning.” Shifting her body closer to mine, she tangles our legs together.
I nearly sigh in contentment when she lifts a hand, threading her fingers through my hair.
“Why did you wake me up?” she rasps, letting her eyes drift shut.
“I wanted to see those beautiful eyes before I leave. And maybe steal a kiss or two.”
Her eyes pop open. “Why are you leaving?”
Resting my hand over her hip, I squeeze. “I wasn’t sure what time your dad gets up, and I figured you might not want me here when he does.”
Her sleepy eyes watch me. “I want you here.”
If that doesn’t about kill me, I don’t know what will. “You do?”
She yawns. “Always. I don’t want to hide us.”
“I don’t want that either.”
“Good.” She smiles and presses her face in the pillow.
“I’m going to go make breakfast. What does your dad like?”
“No,” she whines, peeking at me with one eye. “Don’t leave. You’re nice and warm.”
“I’m also a growing boy who’s starved.”
She threads my fingers with hers under the covers and draws my hand to her thigh, positioning it between her legs. She’s soaking wet.
“I’ve got something you can eat,” she says in a raspy voice.
“No.” I pull my hand away and kiss her bare shoulder. “First I feed you; then I eat you.”
I hop off the mattress before she can use her seductress ways on me. I pull my jeans on. “You didn’t tell me what your dad likes for breakfast.”
“Don’t worry about him. He usually doesn’t get up until ten, and it’s only—” She cranes her neck to look at the alarm clock. “Five,” she moans, flopping her head back down on the pillow. “Sharon will make him breakfast when she gets here.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Just hurry back; it’s cold in here without you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mo is sitting up in bed waiting for me twenty minutes later when I return with a bowl of scrambled eggs and a plate of jellied toast. The sheet is tucked around her, but I can see the outline of her breasts and the tight peaks of her nipples.
“Gimme.” She holds out her hands, taking the bowl and plate.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Milk would be good.”
I head back to the kitchen and pour each of us a glass of milk, taking the time to add chocolate syrup to hers because I remember how much she loves chocolate milk.
“Your milk, madam.”
She takes the glass and looks down at it, her eyes smiling when they find me. “You remembered.”
I can barely understand her words with the food in her mouth, and we both laugh. She covers her mouth and swallows before taking a drink.
“I told you before,” I remind her, “I remember everything.”
“Thank you.” She takes another sip, sets her milk on the nightstand, and digs back into her eggs. “These are delicious. I can’t remember the last time I had scrambled eggs.”
I frown. “What do you normally eat for breakfast?”
She shrugs. “If I eat breakfast, it’s usually a Pop-Tart or a bag of chips in the truck on the way to work. I’m not about to get up earlier just to cook myself a meal.”
I manage to work my fork into the bowl and steal a bite. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. You need to take care of yourself, Mo.”
“I know.” She sighs. “I just don’t always have the time.”
“We’re going to work on that.”
“We, huh?”
“Yes.”
Her smile is thoughtful. “I like the sound of that.”
We each take another bite, and then Mo hands me the bowl and grabs her milk. “Will you tell me more about the PBR and your life away from here? I feel like we’re always talking about me.”
My life seems to have shifted quite a bit over the last few weeks—to the point that I hardly remember what it was like before my accident.
“There isn’t much to tell. I wake up, train, and spend time with my buddies. Most of the time I’m on the road, traveling from city to city for events. It’s not very appealing.”
“Do any of your friends have an old lady?”
I lift a brow. “And old lady? What are we, a motorcycle club?”
She laughs. “You know what I mean. Are any of them married?”
“A few are, but most are single. Why?”
“I’m just curious. I feel like nothing in my life has changed and everything in yours has.”
“Does that bother you?” I ask, taking a bite of eggs.
She picks at a piece of toast, eventually tearing off a chunk and putting it in her mouth. I want to say something, get into her head and get her talking, but I decide to wait her out.
“It bothers me that I don’t know anything about you anymore. I used to know everything.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
She rolls her eyes. “Red.”
“My favorite meal?”
“Sirloin, garlic potatoes, and fried okra.”
“What did I do on my eighteenth birthday?”
“You went skydiving.”
“And what happened when I got in the air?”
Monroe snorts with laughter. “You chickened out. Realized you were scared of heights.”
“It’s not funny.” I give her a pointed look.
“It was at the time.”
“I’ve cried twice in my life.”
The smile falls from her face. “I miss your Grandma Allen.”
“I do too,” I reply.
“I also miss Mugsy,” she says, referring to my beloved dog.
I take her hand, running my thumb over her wrist. “You know the important things. You know what makes me smile, what makes me mad. You know my soap boxes—those haven’t changed. You know I’m a stickler for punctuality.”
“It’s a virtue,” she whispers.
“It is a virtue.”
She smiles. Turning her hand over, she links our fingers together, pulling them to rest on her thigh.
“You know how hard I worked to get where I am today. You were with me through all of my amateur rides. I could go on and on, Mo, but it all boils down to the same thing. You know me better than anyone else. Yes, there are things in my life that have changed. There are things you don’t know, but you’ll learn them over time.”
“You’re right. I guess I just want to know other things—like who your best friend is, where you hang out after an event. Who’s there with you, watching out for you when you get on a bull? What do you do on a lazy Sunday when you don’t have to train?”
“Lincoln Bennett. He’s a surly son of a bitch, but you’ll love him, and he’ll think the world of you. The Broken Boot is about the best bar in town. My dad is always with me, and if he can’t make it, I’ve got Linc there to watch out for me. On Sundays, I do what I’ve always done…”
“Watch movies,” we both say.
“See? Not much has changed. I’ve spent the last six years passing time.”
“Passing time, huh? What were you waiting on?”
“Didn’t realize it at the time, but I was waiting on you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“For what?”
Monroe leans across the bed and kisses me. “For being the guy I fell in love with all those years ago. For giving me a second chance. Should I keep going?”
“You should probably kiss me again.”
“I can do that.”