Page 74 of Walking Red Flag

“You have a tattoo,” I said, studying the small sun underneath her left breast, mostly on her ribcage.

She pressed her hand to her breast and lifted it up and out of the way, giving me a better view.

A sun.

“It was a reminder to myself that I’d find the sun again,” she said softly. “And I did, mostly. I just need him permanently gone to finish up the healing.”

If it was the last thing I did, I’d make sure that he was wiped free of this planet.

There wouldn’t be a single goddamn hint of him, not even a name on the internet, when I was through.

She let her breast go, and then leaned her head back so that she was mostly underneath the showerhead.

The water sluiced down her hair then her back, and I watched, transfixed.

For the next fifteen minutes I sat on the counter and talked with her about everything and nothing while she did what she called an ‘everything’ shower.

Her arms were shaved. Her legs were shaved.

She’d exfoliated with something.

She’d left a hair mask in her hair.

Then she was getting out, letting me get a full view of everything as she did.

My mouth watered, and the erection I’d barely been keeping in check popped from semi to full.

She dried everything, left her hair up in the towel, then went to the bedroom for a shirt before saying, “I’ll be right back.”

And she was, with a shirt on her back that clearly belonged to a man.

“I have a shirt in my bag.”

She blinked at me. “What?”

“A shirt. I have one in my bag. Wear it.”

I didn’t know why it bothered me so much that she was wearing another man’s shirt, but it was all of a sudden very important to me, so I didn’t question it.

She studied my face for a long second before she said, “Is this a husband thing? I only wear your shirts?”

I shrugged and gestured toward the papers on the counter. “It’s a Cutter Clayborne thing. And I guess it’s a now-husband thing.”

She hummed, then disappeared only to come back with the towel gone, and her wet hair trailing down my single-most favorite shirt I owned.

It was a Dallas Cowboys one that I’d bought when I was nineteen after seeing a game with Copper, Chevy and Keely the night before Copper was locked up permanently.

When Dorie had tried to wear that shirt weeks ago, I’d thrown a fuckin’ fit.

Now, there Milena was, wearing it.

And I felt nothing but excitement to see her in it.

She walked right up to the papers on the counter and I heard her gasp. “He already did it?”

“Guess so.” I shrugged. “But, just sayin’, we have to tell my family before they flip the fuck out.”

She brought both of her hands up to rub at her temples.

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