Page 8 of Vigilante
“Uh, well...” she clears her throat, placing her hands into her jacket as we walk side by side. “My father died on his second tour to Afghanistan, and my mother was never the same after that.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as though talking about him hurts too much.
I know the feeling.
“It’s funny,” her lips tighten into a fine line.
“How so?” I press further.
As she looks up at me, her bright eyes bore into me like a drill, as though they see everything all at once.
“He spent years serving his country, spending time away from his family because the only thing that held a close second to us was fighting for the protection and safety of America.” She lets out a ragged breath, focusing back on the ground. “And when it happened, the government couldn’t give a flying fuck. And the sad thing is nobody will even know his name.”
“What is it?”
“Alberto Richard Contostavlos. Greek.”
“Even if nobody else does...I will.”
Julia’s eyes meet mine again, and something passes over her face that I can’t quite place. Affection, gratefulness...something. As the Christmas lights decorate her already stunning features, a slow smile creeps up her face. Warm and inviting. One that I can’t help but mimic because it’s just too beautiful to pass up.
“Thank you.” She responds, so quiet I almost miss it. Stopping, she turns to face me. Her hand lifts, and she points her index finger to her apartment. “Well, uh...this is me.”
I look up. The bright red silk bow decorating the entryway at the top of the stairs is exactly what I expect to see on the building she lives in. As I scope the outskirts of the place, looking up andover the brickwork, my eyes land on a window directly in the center covered with more festive decorations. It was almost as though Santa himself threw up over it.
I chuckle, “Let me guess.” I focus back on her and jut my chin to it. “That’s yours?”
“No,” a light blush creeps up her face, highlighting the apples of her cheeks as she purses both her lips to the right. Desperately trying not to be embarrassed. I watch her ascend three steps up the stone staircase before she turns around. “Okay, so it’s mine. I like Christmas. I know it’s weird, and it looks like Santa and his elves threw up over the framework, but I?—”
She’s babbling, and fuck me if it isn’t the cutest thing I’ve come to witness in my life thus far. I’ve wanted to kiss her from the moment I laid eyes on her, and if tonight is the last time I see her, I want to make it count.
“I just like the feel of Christmas, and since I live alone?—”
Before I even know what I’m doing, I close the space between us, hook my finger around the elastic covering my ear, and tug it off. She’s the perfect height for me now, and for some unknown fucking reason, I can’t stop myself from kissing her.
The moment my lips touch hers, she stills. And I wonder if I’ve made a grave mistake. I should’ve fucking asked her. What’s wrong with me? I might be about to do something that millions of people in the world would frown upon, but I never take from a woman without asking for consent.
I pull back slightly, “Shit,” I murmur. “Sorry, I?—”
Her hand wraps around the back of my neck and pulls me closer to her. The pillowy soft skin of her lips, the smell of her shower gel that still lingers on her body, the delicate hum of enjoyment that seeps from her mouth...it’s intoxicating. She’s intoxicating. Gathering her in my arms, I cup her jaw, and she arches her body into me.
Fuck.
Slipping my tongue out, I glide it along the seam of her mouth, and she willingly opens up to me, offering herself to me so sweetly. As I slide my tongue against hers, her manicured nails dig into the nape of my neck as she grips the black curls. The taste of peppermint tea still lingers on her tongue as I slide mine against it and taste her.
Both of us gently fight for control of the kiss. The breathlessness of her moan crashes over me, sending a bolt of electricity to my cock. I have to fight myself not to follow her up to her apartment and bend her over the nearest surface. Fucking the cuteness right out of her.
Reluctantly, I step back from her and glide my thumb over her swollen bottom lip, letting it pop free. My fingers move over her cheek, tucking the stray blonde hairs from her French plait neatly behind her ear.
“Thank you.”
“For?” She smiles as though that’s the first time she’s ever heard those words from another person.
“Tonight, it was great.” My voice is gruff and low. I manage to keep my composure as I speak.
“You’re welcome.” She chews her lip again.
I press another soft kiss to her mouth before moving mine to the shell of her ear. The words fall from my lips in a language she won’t understand.“Un’altra vita, forse.”
Before descending the steps, I watch the smile on her face grow, but confusion laces her eyes. I have to go. I can’t bring her into what I’m about to do. I won’t ruin her life, too. And with those thoughts in my head, I cover my face back up with the khaki fabric of the medical mask and leave her behind me.
