Page 59 of Petite Fleur

Next were the few men who attempted to talk to and touch my girl, something I would not allow.

If I had the time and the privacy, I would have done a lot worse than simply squeezing the pressure point in their neck until they collapsed.

Maybe I would have dipped their hands in acid and watched as the flesh and bones dissolved into goop.

That seems like a fitting punishment for even dreaming of touching what belongs to me, but I don't have time for that, not when I overhear my beautiful drunk girl telling her friend about her little fantasy.

I wish I could stay and focus on that little confession, but I don't have time, not when her roommate screams at her and kicks her out of her home.

I need to remember to pay them a little visit later; right now, I just need to make sure my girl is okay.

As quickly as possible, I close out Maeve's tab and grin at my handiwork on the bartender's hand.

I definitely broke it.

Good.

Either way, I still tip generously before rushing out the door and jumping in the car to chase my girl down.

She's speed walking down the sidewalk with her hair shielding her from letting anyone see her face, but I know she's upset.

I know she's just a few seconds away from breaking down.

I'm not going to leave her alone to feel this way.

Okay, act natural. It's not like she'd be able to tell. I know she's at least a few shots past drunk, but still.

I pull my car over and roll down my window to shout for her. “Maeve?” I ask in a fake, surprised voice.

She jumps and turns to look at me with a weak and fake smile plastered across her face, but I don't miss the water in her eyes or the little drops of her mascara that is just starting to streak down her face. “Oh, hi.” She says timidly.

I smile back at her and hope it's convincing, but my smile is just as fake as hers right now. “Need a ride?” I ask casually.

Maeve shakes her head and tucks her hair behind her ear, flashing me the same beautiful but fake smile. The same broken look that's only hidden from someone who doesn't know and love her as deeply as I do.

There's no feeling this woman can hide from me.

“That's okay, the air feels great!” She says cheerfully.

That's a fucking lie.

You'd think the girl who was born and raised in Louisiana would be good with the heat, she is not.

I've seen this woman sweat while sitting in the air conditioning.

I've been lowering my own air conditioning a little at a time in hopes of hitting a temperature that's comfortable for her without freezing myself to death.

It's like a damn igloo in there, and I'm still not sure it's cold enough, so I know she's not telling me that Texas in May feels good to her.

Does she think I'm stupid?

Wait, no. Idiot, she thinks you don't know her!

My girl keeps walking down the sidewalk at the same fast pace, which is thankfully pretty slow considering how many drinks she's had, so I'm able to easily keep up with her in my car and keep my eyes on her.

I pull over again while she waits for the signal to cross the street; however, this time, I jump out.

I rush to Maeve's side and grab onto her arm, feeling her warm and soft skin on my fingers and dreaming of the day that I never have to let her go again.

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