Page 6 of The Weight of Love

“I’m sure you can. That doesn’t mean I still shouldn’t do it.”

I meet her irritated glare with a wink and reach around her to pull the door open, waiting for her to accept it and just get in the damn car.

She may actually be the death of me.

Is she really pouting over me, opening a door for her? Actual pouting. With her bottom lip slightly stuck out and everything. It is unbelievable that in such a short amount of time, she is making me want to simultaneously prove she can be an actual woman while giving up some control and also maybe screwing the ornery out of her.

I shut her door, taking the time to walk around the car to try and get some rational thinking started back up, but I am pretty sure all the blood in my body is pooled well below the belt right now.

The parking lot is a terrible idea. People are in and out of here all night. As much fun as that risk may be, I don’t want to get in trouble like that. She’s trouble enough as it is.

The distractions are working; the cold night air is working. Slowly, my sanity is returning. I sink down into her car, expecting the usual cramped legs that come with my height, but I am surprised that there’s actually a lot of legroom in her SUV.

“Nice car. I drive a truck.”

“I know,” she laughs with a shrug, “You haven’t exactly escaped my notice the last few months, Cowboy.”

“What’s up with the nickname?”

“The accent mainly, you sound like a Cowboy, but you also look like you’d know how to ride.”

There it is again. That feeling. A strong pull as I look in her eyes. She looks at me like she can strip me naked with just a look, and it undoes me.

A low groan escapes my lips as I lean forward and pull her roughly into a kiss. She’s matching me, running her hands up my back and digging her nails in a little.

She tastes like salt and the faintest bit of mint, and I want more of her. I slide a hand around the curve of her ass and have every intention of pulling her over into my lap when headlights flash out of the corner of my eye.

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she sighs.

We both sit there staring at each other, breathing ragged.

I rake a hand through my hair. This is such a bad place to do this. Not that we should even be doing this, but I can’t help it. Just being in this closed space with her, I have to use every last ounce of willpower not to take her right here regardless of who sees us.

What the heck is this?

She takes a steadying breath, and I try to follow her example. Turning my body so that there’s as much physical space between us as possible.

We both look over and see the old man who usually comes for fifteen minutes around this time each night. He’s also a regular on the night crew and, apparently, the only thing saving us at that moment from acting like a couple of teens.

“The parking lot can’t work.” She seemed to be thinking out loud, but it echoed my thoughts far too closely.

“Not really ideal, no. I would love to say my place, but it would sound creepy as hell right now. I’m finishing some orders before my next deployment. I’m actually staying in a hotel in Texarkana for another couple of months.”

“Isn’t that like an hour away from here?”

“Yeah,” I laugh, “But I had to come down and see my grandmother. I come down on holidays to hang out with her and my brother when possible. I either crash on the couch at my brother’s place or drive back up.”

“Makes sense.”

Her total lack of surprise over me dropping that I’m living in a hotel was a bit bizarre. Most people think I must be some kind of serial killer; they just don’t understand that the military puts us wherever it makes the most sense.

“Really? Most civilians think I sound insane.”

“Aw, Cowboy,” she leans over and pats my thigh, “I’m a Navy brat. No worries here; I’m all too familiar with the hurry-up-and-wait plan.”

Her hand lingers on the inside of my thigh, and she runs a finger in just the right spot to make my breath hitch.

---