Page 68 of Shockproof

Her.

She’s been so engulfed in combing through the accountant’s data that she’s barely said anything to me outside of expressing gratitude for food, liquids, and reminding her to take a piss. Being nearby just in case I’m needed – however, I can’t actually be of any help because I can’t calculate complicated equations or clump together behavior patterns that might be of some use – is isolating as fuck.

It’s fucked up that this is the closest we’ve ever been together but simultaneously the furthest. We’re somehow in the same room yet millions of miles apart. She’s constantly in her own head, swept away in the sounds of music or baking or clicking of a pen while I’m left to gaze from afar. Get lost in the melancholy notes because they make me feel like she’s next to me versus on the other side of the room bouncing around laptops and tablets and notepads and mixing bowls needing me to keep my distance, so she has room to work.

Focus.

Fuck, I don’t even miss sex as much as I simply miss being able to just touch her.

We even had that shit when we were just friends.

Not having it merely because she’s too busy is dredging up shit I didn’t even know was fucking buried.

I didn’t realize how lonely the life I once lived really was.

How I still fear – even now as a grown ass man – that that’s how it’ll always be, like I did when I was kid.

After placing the finished object to my left, I retrieve another item from the white basket. “What do you want me to make for dinner tonight?” My old gray squadron shirt she wears at least once a week is treated to the same folding treatment the towel received. “And please don’t say somethin’ in the Tex Mex family. I’ve texted Ma so many times in the past two days about old recipes that she called me cockblock.” I let my mirth-filled stare lift up to meet hers. “Which is the last shit I ever expected my ma – ofall people– to call me.”

“You sure youweren’tbeing a cockblock,” the love of my life teases at the same time she wiggles her mismatched fuzzy sock covered feet. “Maybe on a subconscious level?”

“You mean ‘cause I’m pretendin’ I’m not uncomfortable with her havin’ a boyfriend when I really am?”

“No, I meant because you weren’t getting your cock touched, no one else should, either.”

Her snarky snickers pull a crooked smirk to my face. “Is that right?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t soundwrong.”

Arley chuckles again prompting me to abandon the half-folded clothing back in the basket, grab her ankle, and tug her frame off the couch until she’s straddling me. “You’re actin’ like you’ve got time to fuck around.” I allow my fingertips to trace the curve of her ass. “If we’re gonna fuck around, Angel Cake, let’s fuck around.”

Additional girlish giggles precede her winding her arms around my neck. “I’m actuallyfinished, Cowboy.”

Surprise immediately shoots my eyebrows up. “Completely?”

“Yup.”

“Crossed all the Ts? Dotted all the Is?”

“You’re terrible at that.”

“But you’re not.” Brushing loose strands of hair off her Artic Monkey’s t-shirt is attached to a warm smile. “Which is why we’re perfect for each other.”

“You know if I didn’t know any better, I would say youpurposelyhalf ass paperwork so that you have anextraexcuse to come by my office.”

“I don’t need an excuse to come see you.”

“You meannow.”

My eyes bore into hers. “I meanever.”

Redness tints her cheeks encouraging me to investigate the so-called finished project.

“What’ve you got for us?”

“A location.”

There’s no stopping my body from sitting all the way up. “You know where he is?”

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