Page 14 of Life To My Flight

Sadly, it was the good, yummy, appealing food that had to take a hike.

“Interesting. A lot has changed with you over the last year,” he said as he took a look around my sparsely furnished kitchen.

I didn’t have much, but what I did have was enough.

I was renting a house in a shoddy part of town, but it was in my price range, and it didn’t leak when the rain came.

The heating could use a little work, but that was nothing a blanket and a nice fire couldn’t fix.

Which was what I’d done last night.

In Natchitoches, I’d lived in a very nice place. It had hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, and one hell of a heater. That was only because the owner, one of my grandmother’s best friends, had asked that we live there while Nonnie still needed it.

I ignored his comment and walked out of the room, grabbed my jacket off the couch, put it on, and then went out the front door.

I came to a stop beside his bike.

Dammit.

I’d done so well to avoid this very thing two days ago, and now here I was anyway.

Fuck. Me.

I climbed on without waiting for him, and sat back as far as I could so I didn’t touch him.

He laughed at me, and my attempt to keep my distance.

He didn’t try to move me forward.

Instead, he started the bike, pushed it into gear with his foot, and eased forward slowly.

I reluctantly let my body scoot forward until it was plastered up against his, and closed my eyes on the sheer rightness that coursed through me at being pressed against him again.

He felt so damn good.

As usual, he wasn’t wearing a jacket, even though it was nearing the end of February.

It was a cool forty degrees out, but you couldn’t tell by Cleo’s short sleeves that it was anything other than perfect riding weather.

He didn’t even have any goose bumps on his skin.

The back of his head was trimmed neatly, leaving a clean black line of hair that was military precise.

He turned his head, giving me an unencumbered view of his strong, square jaw and the unshaven bristles covering his cheeks.

He looked so sexy with a beard, and my heart only hurt all the more.

Instead of looking at anything else, I closed my eyes again, leaned my face against his t-shirt clad back, and tried my hardest not to cry.

I didn’t succeed.

I cried the entire way to the hospital, only managing to dry it up when he pulled into the entrance.

He stopped next to the ER entrance, barely getting both feet on the concrete before I bailed.

I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

It wasn’t until later that I realized that I left my salad.

---