She doesn’t see me. Not yet. She sees what she wants to see.
“Need a hand?”
“Nope. You’d just get your pretty gloves greasy. I got this covered.”
“Okay. Mind if I watch?”
“Knock yourself out…”
She sees me fixing my bike and comes by. And I’m sure she doesn’t want to hang out with me because of my pleasant personality. Nope. Simple fact of life. Watching a man struggling with some damned machine, shirtless, sweaty and up to his elbows in grease and muck makes her hot. She watches Scott as well, but not as often as she watches me.
She never watches Bobby. Not the way she keeps watching at me. Not like she’s ten seconds away from jumping on him and tearing off each and every stitch of clothing the poor boy has on. That look is reserved just for me. Lucky me.
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Yet she doesn’t see me. Not yet. She’s not ready to see me.
“What’s up?”
“Same old, same old… Hand me that wrench, would you?”
“This?”
“Yeah. Thanks, darling.”
Another bike, another day. Same look on her face as she drinks in my every move. I bet I could make her come just by battling with these bolts and screws for few seconds more. Would she scream? Or gasp? Or stay silent and just blush?
She’s probably silent. She’d close those pretty eyes and turn away, run away because she wouldn’t want me to know. She’s shy. Shouldn’t tease her like this. Really shouldn’t. Not fair to dangle a rare steak in front of a starving man. Or a starving girl, for that matter.
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She doesn’t see me. Not yet. Not the way I see her.
“Still on that bike?”
“Rather under it, kid. Scott really did a number on this.”
“Scott? It wasn’t you this time?”
“This time? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Blushing. Cute. Suits her. Wonder how low that coloring goes? Under collar, but how low? Does it reach those nipples that strain against the cloth of her shirt? I bet it does. Makes them tingling. I wonder what she’d do if I got up from here and…
No. Not yet. She’s hot. She’s wet. I have heard her moan my name in the night when she thinks that nobody can hear what she’s doing. When she thinks that nobody can hear those silent gasps and whimpers. When she thinks that nobody can catch her scent or hear those slick sounds her fingers make.
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She doesn’t see me. Not yet. But I think she’s starting to suspect something.
“A truck?”
“Yeah. Thought I should fix this now.”
“Are you going to leave?”
“What? And leave my girl behind? Hell, no!”
I stood at her door last night. Door was open. She probably forgot to shut it. I was just walking by and reached to close it. Then I couldn’t do that. I stood there for God knows how long and just stared at her.
I think I have never seen anything as beautiful before. She slept on her side, covers bunched under her jaw. All curled up, just the tip of her nose and few strands of hair visible. So fucking small and beautiful. I wanted to go in and sit in front of her bed for the rest of the night. Just watching. Closed the door instead when I heard Scott and Jean coming upstairs.
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She doesn’t see me. Not yet. But I can tell she’s trying to open her eyes.
“It’s Jean, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Then who is it? Who’s keeping you from leaving? I know your feet are itching back to road.”
“You. It’s you. You’re my girl.”
She still doesn’t see me the way I see her, but I ran out of time. She’s hiding. Hiding because I was an arrogant bastard and kissed her in the garage, pushed her over the hood of my truck and kissed her, nibbled her swollen lips and told her how beautiful she was. How long I had wanted her. How much I love her. How much I want her every waking hour.
She’s hiding in her room. I can hear her breathing. I can smell her scent, and it’s driving me nuts because it isn’t want and need and craving like it should be, but bitter fear and tears instead.
She doesn’t see me.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Angst-bunny bit me. It was a small one. Just a short breather between chappies to the next part of "The Kingdom".