“Ok, and who said I would even allow you to kiss me? How do you even know I’ve been hurt? Because I live alone, don't socialize and prefer it that way."
“You do sweet fuck-all, babe, but arrange your flowers and pull at your hair to make sure it’s covering that scar over your face, which I may add is beautiful.”
I feel heat creep from the depths of my stomach and up my chest to my neck before hitting my cheeks.
“We all have scars, little bird. We all have them; some you can see and some you can’t.”
I don't move. I don’t breathe. All I do was stare at him. That was a lot to take in at any one moment. In one freaking lifetime. Especially mine. I've never-ever had a guy truly tell me I’m beautiful and well, mean it. Ok fine, he didn’t say I am, he said my scars are , which is shit. I don’t know, he makes my mind mushy and my body all jelly like, and that’s dangerous for me. Love equals pain, a lot of pain, and it’s one ride I don’t wanna get back on ever. The sexy biker in my bed had best move outta my bed, mind, way and life.
“Little bird, do you hear me or are we playing deaf and mute all at once in a bid I’ll get bored and leave?” His lips are so close to mine, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can handle it for too much longer. It’s suffocating. He’s suffocating.
“I’m fighting back a panic attack and the heart palpitations are making it hard to breathe,” I say to him in a shaky voice. It is nowhere near as strong as I need it to be.
“And I’m screaming at my shadows, and they ain’t saying nothing at all to me, little bird.” Taking in a large breath and blowing it out, away from his face coz well morning breath, shit actual all-day breath and well Jameson.
“I don’t know what that means,” I say pushing my hand up out of the blankets and into his chest. Whoa! His chest is definitely something else even through the t-shirt, I can feel and see just how toned it is. It must have taken hours upon hours to condition something like this. You can see the lines and patterns of colorful ink under his white tee. He is definitely a masterpiece that I have no intention of knowing. It would be dangerous.
“Can you please back up and maybe off me? Better yet, move outta my space and possibly my apartment?” I raise my eyebrow at him as he licks his lips. His eyes flicker with a devouring look that has goosebumps rising on my arms.
“I can do two of those three things.” He pushes himself back off me and lays down next to me on his back. He’s so big his feet hang off the edge of my bed. His eyes flicker closed, and he just lays there. Silent and still.
After what felt like forever, I decide if he wasn’t going to move, I was. Just as I got one leg off the bed, his hand reached out grabbing my arm taking me by surprise and I let out a small scream.
“I won’t hurt you, little bird,” he says as my heartbeat speeds up and I see tiny white dots. He scares me and his touch burns my skin.
“Last night at the club you said something about games and pain ends in pain, or something like that. I kinda wanna know what ya mean.” He takes me by surprise, and I don’t know how to answer him.
“I-I-I well it’s the same old story isn’t it. Man- girl, you’re mine. I own you. Play by the rules, I won’t hurt you. Then you do play by the rules and it’s not fun anymore. It’s just a sordid game of pain and hurt, webbed in lies and deceit.”
I take myself by surprise by that statement. 81 takes offence or it pains him to hear what I said. As his whole body pushes deep into my mattress, his toes curl, his fists clench and all that can be heard in my room, bar my heartbeat, is the grinding of his teeth.
“Men hurt. It’s just the way it is,” I say breaking the silence as it was damn near deafening.
“Women hurt men just as much too, little bird. Believe me, I know.” With that he pulls himself from the bed, leans over my body and it hums. He leans down and his lips brush mine, so lightly, so softly. If I wasn’t watching him, I would not have even know a man like him could be so gentle.
“Shut the window at night.” With that he gets dressed and walks out. I watch him as he climbs out of my window and a short time later hear the roar of his bike head down the street.
I get up and shower. Read. Spend time in my shop Timberly came over and I didn’t say much to her. She saw I wasn’t up for talking, so she left after telling me, he’s not as bad as he seems. I go upstairs grab a green apple and the hazelnuts from the fridge and settle in to watch something on television.
I’m still annoyed at his comment that I do sweet fuck-all, like how would he know? I do a lot really for someone who is as scared of her own shadow as I am.
I take myself out for dinner now and again, I order takeout when I don’t want to cook, and let’s face it, my fridge is bare eighty percent of the time. I’ve to the yoga class a few times at the little studio four doors down for a couple of Sundays but realized that people stare at me and my ass and then my scar, so that stopped. Now I do it at home, via online yoga classes. So much easier. I have coffee at the shop next door to me a lot, as it’s there and safe. I can see all around me. Every Sunday I clean the house. Do a face mask. Exfoliate. Pamper myself. And then it’s Monday, and the routine started all over again. No surprises. Just the same old beige colored life that suited me. It keeps me safe and I like it that way.
Flicking off the TV, I grab my current read from the coffee table. I walk past the open window that the burly biker climbed in and out of with grace. Looking down at the street below, lights were on at the tattoo parlor and home to Ghost and Timberly. The diner has its lights on also, as the lovely, but large, lady cleaned tables and a solo man sat in the corner with a baseball cap pulled low over his head. I couldn’t see his face, but a chill ran up my spine as he was positioned where he could see into my place. On the table he had a coffee in front of him and an untouched slice of pie. It gave me the creeps making me lock the window. I grabbed my pistol from the bookshelf and a kitchen knife before I climb into bed, placing both under my pillow. Then I settle down to read.
Chapter Eleven
Jade
I don’t see him for two days. Forty-six hours, to be a little more exact. And yes, I have counted. Timberly came to the shop once and bought flowers from me, a bunch of purple iris and baby’s breath. She did not say anything about 81 and I didn’t ask. I worked through the thought of him throughout the day, keeping my brain busy. I even went to the supermarket and bought some food and did a few flower deliveries.
At home at night, I wondered what he was doing, where he was, and if he had a girl hanging off him at that club. It killed my brain cells thinking of it and him. I did not know why I was spending so much time on it. As I climbed into bed at night, shit even during the day, I could smell him, and I liked it. I knew I should wash my bedding as my OCD is screaming at me to do so but I am not ready to lose his smell just yet.
Slipping into an oversized grey tee I slip on a pair of pink fluffy bunny socks and wait for the takeout order to arrive. Debating if I should watch a movie or just read, thinking my life is so glamorous and full of so many decisions. I scoff at myself as I pour Jameson over ice.
As I squeeze in the lime the door buzzes and I know before checking the camera that it will be the delivery guy as they said Twenty minutes and it has been about that. Oh god, how wrong am I.
I lost the ability to breathe the second I opened my door forty-six hours after he’d stormed out of my room. Forty-six hours since he left my house through the window and now, he’s standing there. At my door. Taking up every inch of it. My eyes roam up his body. Taking in his faded jeans, his long white tee that molded against the abs underneath it. His ink is colorful and bright peeking through the cotton. The worn leather of his jacket, that I have noticed he always wears, it is the same as all the other men and well, their ladies at that club wear.
