Page 19 of Chemistry: The Chemist

I’d lost order in my world. My limbs went against everything they’d ever been programmed for. My arm laid across her leg, hand caressing her calf. Our position was repulsive. Simultaneously, it was soothing. Satisfying. Soul-stirring.

Her head lowered, slowly, until it met the fabric of my coat. And suddenly, makeup stains didn’t worry me. Her comfort became the priority.

“No time for sleep.”

My lips were moving before I was able to think about what was coming from them.

“How do you compete with peace?”

Her question sat with me, silencing me, again. We shared sentiments. Whatever was transpiring couldn’t be compared to anything else. It was unlike anything else. Competing was pointless.

To appease her desire, I, absentmindedly, traced the letters in my head on her calf. My intention was to bring her more comfort. More peace.

The fact that I was considering anyone’s desires other than my own had me stumped. She’d become my responsibility so very quickly. Instantly, her needs were leveled with mine.

“She’ll be yours. And you’ll know it the second you see her.”

It wasn’t until the final letter had been traced and light snores tickled my eardrums that I realized what had been written.

Eden Childers.

A light tap on the leg, many minutes later, awakened the sleeping beauty. Prime House lights were lowered, but, undoubtedly, they were still open. Not publicly, but specifically to accommodate our needs and fill our hungry bellies to the brim.

I slid out of the truck, staring at my hand as if it was a foreign object. Its extension resulted in a strained neck and squinted eyes.

So naturally, I began to expand making room for Eden in my head as if there wasn’t enough going on in that motherfucker already.

She grabbed a hold, shifting her weight to make sure she didn’t fall while exiting. When she was finally on her feet, I calculated her height. An estimate of six feet with heels would put her at approximately five-nine on bare feet.

Imagining her long legs wrapped around my neck wasn’t enough. I needed to feel them motherfuckers and home was too far of a drive. I wouldn’t make it.

Within a few steps, we were out of the cold and inside the dimly lit establishment. Our table was ready when we arrived. In the center of the private room was a thick cream-colored cloth covering a table made for four but set for two.

“Menus are on the table, waiting. The kitchen is open and at your disposal. Should there be anything you want that isn’t available, please let us know. We’ll make sure it becomes available.”

A few steps ahead of me, the host motioned for the chair designated for Eden, pressing every button I was in possession of.

His decapitation flashed before my eyes.

“Don’t,” I advised, wanting him to make it home safely so his family wouldn’t miss him.

“Yes, sir.”

With a nod, he stepped aside. I slid the chair back so Eden could sit. When she settled, I slid it up with her help.

“Thank you,” she said to me before turning toward the host. “And thank you, handsome.”

Angling my head leftward, I fought the urge to unleash my thoughts. Her defiance wasn’t accidental. She was fully aware, fully conscious. Yet, and still, she was fucking with me.

On the ledge, I noted. Wrong fucking ledge, though, baby.

“He wants to make it home, Eden. Don’t end his life tonight because you’re fascinated with the thrill.”

It explained the occupation she’d chosen. Stripper. It explained her lack of hesitancy to leave with a fucking stranger. On the first night. It explained why sleep was possible in the arms of a man she didn’t know the first thing about. Risky girl.

Nervously, she chuckled, looking toward the host. “I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m not and neither are you, so take it back.”

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