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Crosby’s large hand cupped my cheeks, his dark eyes imploring me to get a fucking grip—but in a much kinder way. “Breathe, Firefly,” he coaxed me.
There was something incredibly steady and comforting in his eyes. I locked onto it and forced myself to forget everything else.
Like how we were moving incredibly fast after I spent so fucking long pushing him away and keeping distance between us. Like how I was already in so deep with him that the way he made me feel was like quicksand enveloping my waist and threatening my toros. Like how I knew I would already be ruined if this thing between us went South and all that time I spent trying to protect myself meant nothing.
“I’m right here, Sioux,” his voice was firm, but gentle, “I’m not going anywhere.”
I marveled at how it seemed like he could look into my eyes and see my greatest fears and weaknesses. But he didn’t use them against me. He wanted to allay them and make them strengths.
Suddenly, I could breathe again, and I had to fight the tears stinging the back of my eyes. “Sorry,” I rasped, “I don’t know what happened.”
The look he gave me was pure ‘you’re full of shit’. He whispered, so damn gentle with me, “You got scared and that’s okay.”
I wanted to deflect or, at least, tell him he was wrong, but I couldn’t. Because it would be a lie and I was done telling myself and him lies. I nodded slowly before burrowing my face into his chest because I needed the unrelenting support his broad chest offered without consequence or retribution.
I could have apologized. I could have tried to make an excuse. Both options felt too big. So I deflected.
“I need to pee,” I mumbled against his chest and felt the rumble of his chuckle more than I heard it.
His arms loosened around me slowly, like he was reluctant to let me go. I understood the feeling because I wasn’t exactly keen about climbing out of bed.
“After you’re done, you can come back and we can snuggle some more,” there was hope in his voice that had my heart clenching in my chest.
I had been pushing him away for so long, it had to leave some scars and uncertainty behind. Even for someone like Crosby who seemed larger than life and above being affected by the problems of mere mortals. But he’s still just a man.
“Then we can spend the weekend doing nothing and everything together,” he offered on a silver platter.
“Perfect,” I whispered against his skin, our nakedness only making the moment more intimate and intense.
His fingers ran though my hair with such gentleness that I knew I needed to take a moment to compose myself before the strength of my feelings forced their way past my lips and into the air around us. When he released me, I rolled away from him, unable to look at him because then he would see it in my eyes.
I escaped to the bathroom and got myself together as I did what needed to be done. I even brushed my teeth, cringing at the fact that I had fallen asleep the night before without doing any of my normal nighttime routine. Hell, I barely stopped a screech of surprise from escaping when I looked in the mirror and found my makeup still on and my hair a tangled mess, from the wicked orgasm he gave me and being on the back of my bike.
Then I remembered how he didn’t look at me like I was a horror show, even though I certainly felt like he should have. He looked at me with adoration and affection in his dark eyes. He looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Did I use his brush to straighten out my hair? Yup. Then I used what he had, which wasn’t much, to deal with as much of the leftover makeup as I could. I thought about slipping out of his bathroom to head to mine, but I also wanted to snuggle back in bed with him.
When I walked out of the bathroom, feeling only about fifty percent better about my appearance, his eyes lit up and my worries and insecurities vanished. He was propped up slightly against his massive, manly headboard. As his eyes roamed over my naked body, I found that I didn’t care if I looked like a hot mess. How could I when he looked at me as if he was in the presence of a goddess?
Once I was close enough, I didn’t give him the chance to pull me back into bed, I pounced. And then I snuggled into him like a cat who found the perfect spot where the sunlight bathed them in warmth and the space gave them immeasurable comfort.
As I walk down the hallway of the high school during my planning period, I stifle the grin that threatens to break free on my face. People would ask me questions if they found me grinning like a lovesick fool on a random Monday in the middle of the day. But it’s surprisingly difficult now that I’ve opened myself up to Crosby.
Could this really be my life? Could I float on a cloud more days than not? Could I find a way to chase away the loneliness I’ve been battling for a while now? Could I find a future that holds more than just satisfaction with my job?
Maybe. Just fucking maybe.
When I walk into the front office, I’m surprised to see the giant bouquet of native flowers that everyone from New Orleans knows. It’s a riot of gardenia and magnolia blooms with pops of color from Louisiana irises. I’ve barely entered the office and the scent from the bouquet has me wanting to step closer and bury my head between the petals.
The smile on Mrs. Bisby’s face is wide and filled with mischief when she notices me standing there and staring at the flowers. She chirps, “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“They are,” I agree, my voice soft as, for some strange reason, hope blooms in my chest.
My fingers itch to reach out and run along the petals to find out if they’re as soft as they look. I ball my hands into fists to stop myself. They might be gorgeous flowers, but they aren’t mine.
I shake my head and force myself to focus on the woman behind the reception desk. She’s been an angel since I was shot. She’s come down to my classroom to check on me at random times and always has a smile on her face and concern in her eyes whenever I talk to her.
Even though I’m friendly with quite a few teachers here, I would call Mrs. Bisby a friend. She’s been a huge support and cheerleader throughout my recovery. You could tell she was asking about it because she genuinely wanted to know instead of being polite.
