Tegan

I ran to the door, fully expecting it to be Marcus. Without peering through the peep-hole, I pulled it open.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I took every inch of him in, one inch at a time. I stole one more quick look at his face, just to make sure it was him. I opened my mouth slightly.

And then, it hit me. Why he was in front of me looking the way he did. It was clear.

My hands shot up and covered my mouth. My tongue had gone completely dry, but somehow, I swallowed. And then, again.

“Is everything okay?” I asked softly, trying to stay calm. My voice was barely audible. Deep inside, I was furious.

It could only be one thing.

He nodded nervously. “Uh. Yeah. Everything okay with you?”

My heart had risen into my tightening throat. I swallowed against the dry lump, and looked back at him, confused.

“Everything’s okay?”

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and nodded, grinning the entire time. “Yep.”

I wouldn’t have guessed shaving would have made such a difference, but it did.

A huge one.

I reached for my pockets, and then realized I was wearing pajamas. As I twisted my hips back and forth, I admired him. He looked remarkable. His hands were clasped together at his waist, and as my eyes became fixated on them, I noticed something else, too.

I felt every ounce of available blood rushed between my legs. The surge of emotion hit me like a freight train.

“Come in,” I said. “Please.”

I needed to sit, before I fell.

I walked soft-footed into the living room and sat in the chair across from the couch. I crossed my legs and pointed to the other side of the room. “Have a seat.”

I felt my nipples hardening against the inside of my shirt, the fabric feeling like sandpaper against them. Self-conscious, but incapable of changing it, I folded my arms and fought to remain straight-faced. “What possessed you to do that?”

“A lot of things,” he said.

“Like?”

He smiled until dimples showed, and at that moment, I was even more pleased that he’d cut his hair. I melted into the seat a little.

He shrugged. The smile stayed plastered on his face. “Just wanted to make a change.”

He reached into his vest, and winced when he did. When he pulled his hand out, he was holding a blue envelope. “Can you give this to Marcus?”

As I took the envelope from his grasp, I noticed his hand was covered in lacerations and puncture wounds.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Dumped my bike.”

“Oh my God! You just got it fixed.”

“I was on the Sporty. My bike’s okay.” He looked at his knuckles. “It’s no biggie. They’ll heal.”

I looked at the envelope. Marcus was hand-written on the outside.

“What is it?” I asked.

Again. The smile. “Nothing. Just. I got him a get well card.”

“You got Marcus a get well card?”

He nodded.

I melted a little more. A lot more, really.

I needed him to leave. In fact, I needed him to grow his hair and the beard back. I was beside myself, and needed all my former thoughts and feelings to return.

Immediately.

They protected me.

“Tried to pick out a funny one. There ain’t that many to pick from, though. Not good ones.”

I wanted to cry.

Marcus was an important part of my life, and I wondered what Pee Bee’s thoughts would be about him if they met. Upon seeing them interact, I was pleased. Now?

I was astonished.

“I’ll uhhm.” I clutched the card. “I’ll give it to him. So, that’s why you stopped by?”

His smile returned, as did his dimples. “No. Not exactly.”

Gorgeous.

You are gorgeous.

And dangerous.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. He lifted his chin slightly and met my gaze.

Naturally, I, too, leaned forward. My hardened nipples ripped at the thin material of my shirt. A tingling ran through me, causing me to shiver.

“This is weird,” he said.

Mood killer alert.

With the card clenched in my fingertips, and my eyes locked on his, I gawked at him. His full lips – which was something I had never really noticed when he had his beard – came together, and then parted slightly.

Don’t talk. Just sit there.

“I uhhm…I was wondering if you…if you’d want to…” he stammered.

He sat up straight, stood, and then folded his arms in front of his chest. “Will you go out on a date with me?”

Date? What?

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. My dry mouth returned. My heart raced. The blood rushed to my lower regions.

Somehow, despite his handsome new look – and my desire to jump his bones – the sensible side of me prevailed. At least for the moment.

“I uhhm. I’m flattered.” I uncrossed my legs, and then crossed them again. It wasn’t going to be easy to tell him no. “But, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

I set the card on the end table and tried not to look at him. It didn’t work. Not completely, anyway. “If I agreed, we’d go on a date. We’d have sex. And, at some point, I’d fall in love with you. And then, you’d leave. In that order. That’s what happens.”

“I won’t leave.”

“You will, after the sex. And, it hurts,” I said. “Each time a man leaves a woman, he takes a piece of her heart with him when he goes. The next man comes along, and takes another piece, this time a big one. And then, she meets another. And he takes a piece. One day we look up and we’ve got this shriveled little sliver of a heart left, and that’s all we’ve got to offer. After that, the men we meet call us bitches and cunts, and man haters. They think we’re hardened, but we’re not. It’s just that we’re heartless. And we’re heartless because of you. Because of men.”

With his face covered in disbelief, he stared back at me.

“And.” I shrugged. “You’re a man.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You can’t say that.”

“I just did.”

“But you can’t.”

“It’s just a date. You might not even--”

“To you? To you, it’s just a date. To me it’s another chance. You’ll pull on your jeans, lace up your boots, and put on a clean tee shirt. Five minutes, tops. Me? I’ll spend three hours getting ready, and I’ll try on every article of clothing I own until I find one that I’m convinced is the one. And while we’re on the date, you’ll be wanting it to end, so we can come back here and have sex. Me? I’ll be wishing it could somehow last forever, because being on that date with you convinces me that I’m special.”

He flopped onto the couch and looked at me with convincing eyes. Convincing brown eyes with irresistible specks of green woven throughout.

“Don’t let yourself fall in love until you’re sure,” he said, his tone as convincing as his eyes. “Until then, no sex.”

He was persistent, which I liked. I melted some more, but just a little. It was nothing to worry about. Yet.

“No sex.” A laugh burst from my lips. “I love sex. Love it. So, it’s not that simple. And, guys like you are way too easy to fall in love with. Girls like me do it all the time.”

A crease formed on his brow. “What’s a guy like me?”

I watched as I used my toe to scribe letters into in the rug’s fibers. “You know you’re good-looking, and you use it to your advantage. You step into our lives all handsome and charming, and you screw girls like me – the loyal servants that’ll do anything to please their man – then you disappear.” I wiped away my design with my bare foot, and then looked up. “And we’re left to wonder what we did wrong.”

“I used to be like that, but I’m not anymore.”

“I don’t think I can take that chance. I can’t lose another man from my life. Or another piece of my heart. I think it’d kill me.”

“If I’ve got to live the rest of my life wondering what could have been, I think it’d kill me.”

“I just…”

He stood. My eyes followed him.

He crossed his massive tattooed arms. I read the inscriptions on his forearms and decided I liked them.

He inhaled a deep breath, and then let out an audible sigh. “When we met? I’m not going to lie. All I could think about was fucking you. I wanted to fuck you out of spite. Out of anger. I wanted to do bad things to you because I was mad about what you did to my bike. In the past, that was my answer. I never did one thing with a woman that I was proud of. Now? Now I can’t imagine doing anything to you but treating you with respect.”

He shrugged. “Give me a chance?”

I stood up. “Let’s give it a try.”

God, I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He lifted me from my feet no differently than a parent would lift a child. Then, he held me.

What little of me hadn’t already, melted into a puddle beneath my feet.