Page 90 of Loving at 40

“I want to know who you are,” she says, and I slowly smile.

“Okay.” I nod once. “Okay. I was kind of a hell-raiser as a kid. Nothing extreme but still trouble, as my grandmother liked to call me. A little underage drinking. Definitely some pot along the way. Driving too fast. One night, I was pulled over going to a party. I’d been smoking pot and had some in the car. It was reckless. Irresponsible. It was also the 90s. The officer took my license and registration. I was freaking out. He could have taken my ID and called my dad, who would have been pissed.” I pause. “But he didn’t. He came back to the car and told me he’d follow me home. I didn’t have a choice. I was going home. He turned on his lights to further drive the point. So he follows me, and before I enter the house, he says, ‘I’d say don’t do drugs, but it’s gonna happen, I suppose. Just be smart. Don’t get hooked on that shit.’ Then he stays outside for a while, and it hits me. I was damn lucky. I could have hit someone. I could have harmed myself. And it just clicked. I wanted to be a police officer.”

Retelling the story reminds me of a guy when I first earned my badge. One I arrested on the west side of the city. He was stealing hubcaps. It was a thing then. I had to take him in, but on the way to the station, something prompted me to ask him a question.

“How’d you get in?” I’d seen the gang tattoo sticking out the back of his white tank top.

“My brother was shot by Hector Ortego right in front of me.” It hit me hard. This guy, roughly my age, was so angry, so vengeful. I saw it in his eyes. “He was only sixteen.”

I pulled over and turned to face him in the back seat.

“If I let you go, you gonna keep stealing caps?”

“Won’t matter what I do, I’ll be in there at some point.” He nodded to the station, and it just made me sad. He’d given up hope of ever being anything but a gangbanger.

My kindness wouldn’t make a difference, but I didn’t have the heart to haul him in for a couple of hubcaps.

“Get out,” I muttered to him. His head turned back to me. “I’m pretending I don’t see ya.” I turned forward, unlocked the door, and stepped out to uncuff him. He didn’t glance back, and I knew I’d had no effect on him. He’d be in the slammer eventually.

Suddenly, I realize why Leon Ramirez looked a little familiar.

“Huh.” I huff.

“What?” She smiles, still watching me, and I retell the memory, wondering if that guy was Leon. It doesn’t matter.

“I’d decided around that time I wanted into the local DEA. Gangs were wreaking havoc, but drugs were the driving force behind them. I didn’t like the idea that some sixteen-year-old kid was shot in front of his brother.”

Jenna soaks up the details of my stories between bites of dinner, and I marinate in her presence. She listens to me and asks questions. She learns things I haven’t spoken about in years.

“I’m boring you,” I finally say when I notice we are the only two people who remain in the restaurant. The waitstaff has gathered near the kitchen entrance, waiting on us to leave.

“No.” She exhales. “Not at all. I’m more concerned you’ll be bored if you stay here.”

“I want to be bored,” I tease but notice the hard lines of her face. Her brows pinch, and her forehead furrows.

“’Locks, I want to be where you are. It’s not going to be boring. You and me. We cannot be boring.” I lean in for a quick kiss but want more from her and decide it’s time to let the waitstaff head home. After paying our bill, I help Jenna into her coat, hating to cover up that sexy dress of hers, but she’s going to look even sexier out of it.

Once we’re back in my truck, I reach over for her hand, holding hers as I have throughout the night. I wanted this evening to be a makeup for that lost date, and with dinner finished, my thoughts race to what else I wanted that night. A second chance to make love to this woman. My desire to fuck her has subsided to a deep need to enter her over and over again, taking my time to fill her up, and never let her go.

“You look stunning tonight,” I tell her again. “But as much as I love that dress on you, I want it off.”

Her breath hitches.

“I’m not saying it has to be tonight or tomorrow or even next week, but it’s gonna happen again between us, ’Locks. You’re the lake, and I’m the shore, and I want to feel you crashing over me again and again. I want to fill you up, but not just your body. Your heart. Your soul. I want you to know me, and I want to know you.”

I talked too much tonight, but it felt so good to share memories, to remember who I was.

“And I’m hoping you can help me figure out who to be next. Not a police officer. Not a DEA agent. Just a man. Who wants to spend time with you and our girls. Who wants to be here for you.”

I pause, and Jenna’s head turns toward me, but my eyes stay on the road. I’m messing up again. I should have said all this at dinner. I should be looking her in the eye.

“You told me last summer Ryan was your person, but you believed in second chances.” I lick my lips. “I want to be your person. Let me be your second chance. Be my first time at love.”

Maybe it’s too much. Last summer, I asked her to be my home to fulfill Ben’s directive. Jenna didn’t get a chance to answer me because we’d been interrupted.

But when I pull into her driveway, I hardly have the ignition off before Jenna has crossed the seat. Her hands land on my face, and her mouth seeks mine, and it’s exactly where I want her to be, but I am not taking her in the driveway. At least, not tonight with a sitter inside waiting on us or the fact there’s a warm bed in that house.

“Damn, ’Locks. Kissing you. There is nothing like it.” Sex with her is amazing, but her mouth on mine, taking my tongue, melting against my lips, even an occasional nip—I love it. I love her, but is she ready to hear such a thing? Will she believe me?