Page 37 of Rambler's Snow Bunny
“This needs to be washed,” Pinky says, pulling clothes from one of the bags.
I steal one of her fries and pop it in my mouth. “Laundry room’s through there,” I tell her, nodding toward a doorway off the kitchen.
She grabs a few of the bags and heads in that direction. I hear the washer lid open, then the sound of water starting to fill the drum.
While she’s busy with that, I open the fridge and start putting away the groceries. It’s a weird feeling, having food in my fridge that I didn’t get from a drive-thru or a pizza delivery guy. Even weirder is having a woman in my space.
I’ve been alone in this trailer for eight years, ever since my mother died. Oh, I’ve brought women back here for a quick fuck, but none of them ever stayed long enough to see the place in the light of day. None of them ever put their clothes in my washer or their food in my fridge, that’s for damn sure.
It feels... good. Like something that’s been missing has finally fallen into place.
“Where do you want the cereal?” Pinky asks, coming back to the kitchen.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost don’t hear her. “Huh? Oh, uh, that cabinet above the microwave.” I point.
She opens the cabinet and stands on her tiptoes, but she’s too short to reach the shelf. Without a word, I step up behind her, pressing my front to her back as I take the cereal box from her hand and easily set it on the shelf.
She leans back against me, her little body fitting perfectly against mine. “Thanks.”
I wrap my arm around her waist, holding her there. “You’re welcome, butterfly.”
We stay like that for a moment, just breathing together, and my cock starts to respond to her proximity. Reluctantly, I let her go and step back. There’ll be time for that later.
We continue putting the groceries away, working around each other in the small space. I catch her sneaking fries every time she passes the island, and it makes me smile. She’s got an appetite for such a tiny thing.
“So,” she says, opening a drawer to put away some utensils we bought. “This is where—” She stops abruptly, pulling something out of the drawer. “What’s this?”
She turns, holding up an old photograph. My chest tightens when I see what it is. I move closer, taking it from her hand.
“That’s me and Morpheus,” I say, looking down at the two young men in army fatigues, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, shit-eating grins on their faces.
Her jaw drops. “No shit? That’s you?” She leans in, studying the picture. “You were hot shit, honey!”
I smirk, feeling a strange mix of pride and nostalgia as I look at my younger self. “We served in the army together. Ten years. We were just kids when we joined up.”
“How old were you?” she asks, her eyes never leaving the photo.
“I was nineteen. Morpheus was eighteen.” I run my thumb over the edge of the picture, remembering. “We went through basic training together, got stationed together. Served in the same unit for a decade.”
She looks up at me with those big blue eyes. “What made you decide to join the army?”
I shrug. “Didn’t have many options. My old man split when I was a kid. Mom was working two jobs to keep a roof over our heads. I wasn’t exactly college material.”
“I think you’re smarter than you let on,” she says, a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
I grunt, not sure how to respond to that. I’ve never thought of myself as particularly smart. Street smart, yeah. Good with my hands, definitely. But book learning was never my thing.
She presses herself against my chest, her small hand coming to rest over my heart. “Thank you for your service.”
Something inside me falls a little harder at her words. I dip my head to kiss her, my hand coming up to cup the back of her neck?—
And then the power flickers, and the kitchen goes dark when it dies completely.
“Motherfucker,” I growl, stepping back and nearly tripping over a grocery bag I’d set on the floor.
“What happened?” Pinky’s voice sounds small and scared in the dark.
“Power’s out. Snow probably took down a line somewhere.” I feel my way to one of the kitchen drawers, pull out the flashlight I keep handy for times just like this, and stuff it in my back pocket. “There are some candles in that cabinet over the sink.”
