Page 61 of His Last Shot
He’s always there.
For me.
“Thank you.” The two grateful words come out raspy and strained as I attempt to be cool. And I’m failing, obviously.
Without warning, we are inches apart. Neither of us say a word. We just stand in my kitchen, our bodies pulsing in each other’s presence. Every fiber of my being is reaching out to him. Begging to hold him.
His gaze lingers on my lips for a moment, igniting a spark inside me. A single bead of water trails my cheek as I stare into his piercing hazel eyes, trying to remember how to breathe. He swipes the droplet with his thumb and slowly grazes my neck as goosebumps erupt all over my body. And I mean everywhere. Who knew you could get goosebumps on your toes? Well, I’m here to tell you it’s possible.
He removes the towel draped over my shoulders and cocks his head toward the living room. “Why don’t you sit in front of that chair over there?” He points to my favorite huge, comfy chair that rests in the corner of the living room. “Are you able to do that?” I nod, still unable to form words. A virtual mute at this point. “I’ll clean this up. Where do you keep your hairbrush?”
My heart catches, surprise shooting through me. “You’re going to brush my hair, too?” He doesn’t answer. We stare. Our silent communication is loud and clear. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to, Rachel. Now, where’s your hairbrush?”
“It’s in the top drawer in the bathroom. Down the hall, first door on the left.”
He cups both sides of my face, gently pulls my head forward, and kisses my forehead. His round, plump lips rest there briefly before he pulls away. “Go relax. I’ll be right back.”
I watch his back recede down the hallway. He looks good at my house. He looks good, period.
But mostly, he’s just Johnny.
Before I know it, I’m sitting with my legs outstretched in front of me. My back is against the chair, and Johnny is sitting behind me. Both of his thick thighs rest on either side of my body, and I’m pretty sure this is the best almost-non-date of my life.
The brush glides through my wet hair even though I’m sure it’s completely tangle-free at this point, yet neither of us wants this to end.
He lets out a contented sigh. “I love your hair,” he confesses.
“My hair, huh? That’s what you love about me?”
Wait! What am I saying? Shut up, Rachel!
He chuckles, unfazed by basically telling him he’s in love with me, as the brush makes another pass along the side of my scalp. “Let me rephrase that. It’s one of my favorite things. I love everything about you. Everything. Even your flaws.”
Okay, wow.
Did he just admit to loving me? I can’t go there right now. Not yet.
He continues. “You’re perfect. And if people don’t know that about you, well, then they are missing out. Because I see it. Every time I see you.”
Those words, so raw and unexpected, resonate with a depth I’d never encountered. My skin prickles with excitement. Not even Drew said those things to me, and we were engaged to be married. He would only talk about my body as if it was an object. A possession. His attraction to me was always surface-level.
But Johnny? He sees me. All of me. Inside and out.
Johnny must be thinking about Drew as well because he has questions.
“Did Drew know about your RA?”
If there is one conversation I hate more than anything, it’s talking about Drew. Telling Johnny about him that day in the bar was necessary. Little by little, I was letting Johnny in, but now, he deserves to know all of it. Even if it brings up painful memories I want to forget.
The words catch on my tongue, but then somehow, they release. “He did,” I answer as another pass of the brush runs through my tresses.
“How did he handle it?” he volleys back.
Another swipe.
“I wouldn’t know. He never talked about it with me.”
