Page 14 of A Love So Hard

I had my degree now, and I wondered if I would end up being one of those people because I was dreading going to work in the medical field. I hadn’t been very passionate about the mechanical stuff my father had taught me, but I’d almost rather go be a mechanic than be the one stuck changing diapers, making beds, and well, those were excuses. I found out why those nurses seemed like they didn’t care. I’d grown attached to several of grandma’s friends and I’d lost three of them before I lost her. That was the part that bothered me.

I was afraid of growing attached to patients only to watch them wither away. I was also afraid of being the person who didn’t have to get attached because I was so detached from the realities of my job. It had kept me in turmoil since before I left Florida. The alternative was to find something else that I could do, but I had no clue what that was. I still hadn’t found my passion. Maybe some people never did find theirs and they were doomed to a life of mediocrity as a result. I shivered thinking that it may just end up my fate. Then I let my grandma’s words wash over me. “You’re young. The only certainty in life is death. You have to take life by the horns, girl. Only you decide what your life will be like.” I remember her sweet smile as she went on to compare a person’s joy and contentment to the water in a well. “The minute you let others make decisions for you, your heart withers inside and your happiness well dries up. Make the choices. Feed the well. Do those things and I will never have to worry about you.”

So, I was making at least one choice. It was one my grandma would probably be ecstatic about even though the rest of my family would hate it. It didn’t matter though. I was making the choice, and it was to wear the daring red dress on my date with Double-D and to hell with the fact that he might pick me up on his motorcycle. I’d just have to scandalize the southern belles when they saw my dress creep up my thighs as I straddled his bike, and his backside. I was 20-years-old now and tired of denying myself this part of life. I wanted to know what it felt like to let loose and have fun, but I also wanted to understand what it was like to be one of those couples I would see at the beach or on campus at school all the time. The reality of seeing those couples change over time hadn’t been lost on me. Just because they seemed happy in the moment didn’t mean it lasted, but knowing that I would see them happy again with someone else had actually eased my worries about dating a bit. People were capable of getting over a lost love. I would be too, and in the meantime I wanted to experience some of that happy.

By the time 4 pm rolled around my belly was a jumble of nerves. My mother was mysteriously missing from the house and I wondered if that was my father’s doing. I had put on the red dress that clung from the top of my breasts where a slight push of cleavage was attempting to overflow and it continued to cling all the way to my waistline where it flared out dramatically coming to a halt just above my knees. It was the perfect dress for dancing in and I could just imagine the old school dances where your partner would spin you out and pull you back in making the hemline flair. I grinned at the thought as I checked myself out in the mirror. I wore red lipstick to match the dress even though it was a look I had never attempted before. I always thought that with my light blond hair and nearly gray-blue eyes – a color my grandmother had often referred to as stormy blue – it would wash me out somehow. In combination with the smoky look lining my eyes it added a dramatic flair that made everything pop. I didn’t have to add to the blush on my cheeks. The Florida sun had kissed my skin leaving behind a golden tan and the slightest hint of a burn still lingered across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose.

The sun also meant my freckles had darkened, but I had always loved them so I didn’t care to hide them under a bunch of makeup. Instead I left the rest of my face bare. My breasts had grown a bit over the past couple years, but I was still just a full c-cup. However, the strapless push-up bra I was wearing under the dress probably made it seem I had moved up into the d-cup territory. I had a brief flash of guilt for that. What if the guy you were going out with was truly expecting those d-cup play toys and all he got were c-cups? Would he look at you and just shout, “nice try tiny tits, but I wanted breasts too big to cup in my hands!” I laughed at my own thoughts. I didn’t think so anyway. Men were men and they liked boobs. I didn’t think it much mattered what size they were unless they were trying to be vulgar buttholes with one another.

It also shocked me to think of my body that way. I was still a virgin, having decided against dating while in school and caring for my grandma. Sure, there was a part of me that was ready to finally get some experience and feel the things other women had spoken about around me. I wanted to know if the things I’d read in my grandma’s romance books were true. Would I scream his name? More importantly, why would I scream his name? I’d given myself orgasms before. I wasn’t a nun, after all. The thing was, I’d never uttered more than a quiet whimper as I did so I definitely couldn’t relate to the screamers in the books I’d read. I was probably jumping the gun anyway. There was no way Double-D was going to want to do anything with me tonight. It was our first official date.

I kept right on thinking that until I heard the knock on the door and went to answer it. The minute I swung the door open I heard two words that made me rethink exactly what Double-D might expect.

“Holy fuck!”

Quickly, his hands were wrapped around my arm and he was using his body to push me back into the house. “Sweetheart, I can’t take you out like that.”

“What?” I cried out, affronted. “Why the heck not?” My initial shock was turning toward anger as he closed the door behind himself and then leaned back on it taking me in from head to toe.

“Lucy, I cannot be responsible for how many men I have to kill tonight if I take you out looking like that. Jesus.” He scrubbed his hands down his face, closing his eyes as he did, as if he could wash away what he’d seen. When he reopened them he shook his head. “Please, for me, could you think about changing into something else?”

I stomped my foot as my hands flew to my hips and my scowl let him know I was anything but pleased with that request. “I went out and spent money on this dress and this lipstick this morning. Now, you want me to change, because you don’t like it?” My voice had gone up even though I tried to keep the harpy-shrill tone my mother was known for out of it.

“Sweetheart, it’s not that I don’t like it,” he explained as he launched himself off the door and put his hands in between my arms to grab my waistline just above where my hands were still perched on my hips. “I fuckin’ love it. You look amazing. Exquisite. You look like something I should never, in a million years, be allowed to touch. The problem isn’t me or what I think. The problem is going to be the line of men you’re going to leave waiting and hoping that I fuck shit up with you, because they’re all going to want their turn.”

I was stunned stupid. Seriously, I had no clue how to respond to that. I thought he was exaggerating, first of all, because I looked good, but not lines of men waiting for him to screw up good. I found myself rolling my eyes at the thought.

“Nope. You’re not going to do that,” he muttered. “Fine. You can be responsible for what happens when I take you out looking like that. It’s a good thing I brought my car though. No way would I put you on the back of my bike in that. Your dress would be nothing more than a trail behind us and you’d have everything on display in the wind.” I could have sworn he groaned as his eyes closed for a moment. I wondered if he was thinking about what that would look like.

I glanced down and remembered my fanciful musings about dancing in it. He was probably right. The damn thing would be blown back so far everyone would know what color panties I was wearing. “Yeah, I didn’t think about that,” I admitted.

“It’s fine, sweetheart.” He pulled me close and it was the first time I realized that he had definitely been affected by what I was wearing tonight. Obviously, he’d said he was, but the proof was definitely there in his pants and ready to attack. Suddenly, I was back to being nervous. I may have been ready to get over being a virgin and having no experiences, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to do it with the weapon he was hiding behind his zipper. Luckily we were moving back out of the house and towards his car as those thoughts assailed me and I didn’t think he would be any wiser about the fact that I had just visually molested his obvious package. I chuckled as he opened my door and I sat inside his Camaro with the red and black paint job. He couldn’t really be that large, right? I’d heard girlfriends tell me about how men always over-exaggerated their sizes. Maybe men’s briefs were like women’s bras and there was a little extra there to help size them up.

“What’s so funny, pretty girl?” He asked, and it hadn’t been lost on me that he needed to adjust himself as he sat.

“Nothing, just something I was thinking about earlier,” I mumbled.

“So that means you’re not going to tell me?” He glanced over at me then, hands paused where he had been about to turn over the ignition. A fiery blush made it’s way up my neck and settled into my cheeks causing his grin to grow wider. “Ah, no need to tell me. You were just checking out the merchandise, huh?” I dipped my head so that my hair would cover my flaming embarrassment while he continued talking. “It’s a ’78 Z28. I know she’s pretty, though she has nothing on you. All the girls want to ride in her, but sweetheart, you’re the only person with tits that’s ever sat in that seat.”

At first I was completely confused, but then I turned just in time to see him laugh and wink at me. He was attempting to change the subject so I wouldn’t have to feel bad for checking out his package – and not the one we were sitting in – though it was beautiful. “I don’t blame you for ogling her. She packs a lot of muscle.

“You’re impossible,” I tossed back. His plan had worked though. I was smiling instead of trying to hide behind my hair.

“I meant it though. No one outside of Merc has ever ridden in this car before. I got it three years ago. Figured I’d need a project to keep me busy. She was a heap when I got her, but I’ve been fixing her up ever since.”

That perked up my interest. “Merc?” I asked.

“Friend. Brother,” was his answer as he tapped his chest over where his name would be if he had been wearing his kutte. Then I asked, “You did all the work yourself?”

“Not all of it,” he explained looking slightly sheepish. “I don’t know shit about transmissions, so I had to get help with that.”

“My dad?”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“How did that go since you thought he sent me away?”

“Not well at first, but we agreed to not mention you. I couldn’t ask questions and he wouldn’t answer them. Once we figured out neither one of us was going to disrespect those lines, he helped me get it fixed up.”

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