A motor-mouth southern belle tries playing detective only to collide with a dangerously sexy biker.
Ellie Robinson takes it upon herself to secretly vacay to Sunny Valley, Alabama, on her best friend's behalf. There, Ellie uncovers a shocking truth...
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This time I don't have to rub my forefinger and thumb together, or count the pens, instead I get the luxury and divine calmness of squeezing my girl's hand. Phones, ring just like last time, cops walk around, and Ellie sits with me at the department as we wait.
My leg still bounces though.
Ellie doesn't say a word and simply keeps squeezing my hand with everything she has. She may end up getting carpal tunnel if we have to sit here any longer.
It's one of those things where I want it to happen, quick and fast, but I'm also not ready. The ticking wall clock bugs me, causing my skin to bubble up at my shoulder and for me to want to scratch the anxiety off.
As if knowing, Ellie lays her head right at the source and I automatically relax, my muscles uncoiling, the anxiety disintegrating off my flesh, replaced by the soft feel of her cheek. My lips press against her hair, kissing her head. When I pull away static makes some of her golden-blonde strands cling to my beard. They tickle my jaw and lips, but instead of using my hand to get them out, I burry my face deeper, indulging myself a little bit.
God!
I love her hair, her succulent scent of fresh flowers with a hint of vanilla spice. And I'm not talking about the fake over-powering flowery scent, I'm talking fresh and real.
Freesia.
Her second favorite flower, right under tulips. Every time she works with them, afterwards she smells like a sweet summer fruit.
I love it.
My mind calms and Ellie's lips press against my thick shoulder. I love her so much it hurts. But I never want this kind of pain to go away. I want it to always overwhelm me, devour me.
"Lee." My bliss shatters and my face pulls away, taking some of Ellie's hair with me.
This time I do brush my hand over my beard, her strands running through until there's nothing left but my thick coarse hair. I awkwardly clear my throat and stand, Ellie follows but leaves a polite, respectful distance between us. The cool AC air invades that small amount of space and it now is as if I'm standing before the Carter's on my own.
I know Ellie is there, but staring into the face of a grieving mother makes loneliness creepy in me. Her chin wobbles, her lips parting, shaking for all the muscles working in her mouth to control her grief. Guilt slashes through me and it's so hard to be face to face with her, to not look away.
She takes a step toward me then her hand rises. I blink and my face is cocked to the side, cheek burning.
I was slapped.
Ellie's fingers touch mine, combatting the pain I've just experienced. Not of being slapped but being touched without consent. I deserved it though.
She burst out crying, her body concaving into itself as her husband grabs her, supporting her, glaring at me as he does. My face lifts, my fingers stretching out, the beating of my heart in my throat. I swallow it, pushing it down. My voice comes out groggy, sounding like a veil of mucus is compacting my airway. "I'm so sorry."
