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Wanting to rile her up, that was when I told her that the licorice was shit, her intake of breath told me I would be getting a talking-to.
Looking down into her pale gray eyes that I was sure would bring men to their knees when she got older. And I would probably be wearing orange for the rest of my life if anyone dared lay their hands on her body.
Smirking down at her, knowing that would get a rise out of her, I said, “What? I’ve been gone for a year, and the only thing I get is a punch in the gut. Starting to rethink this best friend thing,”
She growled and then jumped.
Laughing, I caught her and wrapped my arms around her as she closed her arms around my neck while her legs wrapped around my waist.
Breathing in her scent, I was finally home.
She was fourteen years old now, her braces had come off four years ago, and she was still rocking her own look.
However, instead of some ratty tee, she had on the tee I had made and sent her.
It was distressed and said Biker Princess in bold white letters, and then underneath that in a smaller font it read, Don’t Touch This, and then right below that, it read You Have Been Warned.
In my ear, she whispered quietly, “I’m so glad your home. How long do I have you for?”
I grinned, then whispered back, “Two whole fucking weeks.”
I felt her body shudder, and then she sighed, pulled away from me, and then locked her eyes with my blue ones, and whispered one word, one single word, “Okay.”
And let me tell you something, those two weeks, were the best of my life. Bar none.
But I had a feeling, when she got older, as in legal, I would be eating those words.
Because I knew, every day with her for the rest of my life would be the best of my life.
It had been while I was gone that I made up my mind. About her. And about us.
I’d never find someone any more perfect for me… than her.
***
I was glad that when I came back from some more missions, she had grown up and was sixteen now.
And something that had me gritting my teeth, was that she was actually talking to this boy from her school.
However, the moment I saw him try to grab her ass at the open-to-public club party, I had gone ballistic.
Yes, she was my best friend.
Yes, she was also mine. The very second, she turned eighteen.
It wasn’t the fact that he had tried to grab her ass. No, it was the fact that she had told him no.
And the little fucker hadn’t listened.
I had him up by the back of his neck, hauled out of the clubhouse, and thrown into the street by the time everyone made it to me.
Everyone tried to get me to calm down, but I wasn’t having it, not until she placed her hand on my arm and asked me to stop.
She kissed me on the cheek and told me thanks, then she told the punk-ass little boy it was time he left. Oh, and that they were done.
Fucker was smart to not mouth off with the snarky comment I could see sitting on the lip of his lip.
Sadly, I had to report back that night for a high-profile target rescue operation.
