No Complaints - Page 23

“Me and Autumn, sometimes it’s like we’re two sides of the same coin. Similar in so many ways but different in others. I guess swearing is part of that. She swears, so I never did. It’s like I have to make up for her shortcomings – if you can call swearing that – the way she makes up for mine.”

“How so?” I ask, eager to learn everything about her I possibly can.

“You really care?”

I reach over and tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. She sucks in a breath and tilts her head toward the movement, flashing a look at me under her eyelashes.

“I care,” I tell her firmly. “You don’t have to keep asking me.”

She swallows as I turn back to the road.

“She’s tougher than me,” my woman goes on. “She can stand up for herself better. Sometimes it gets us into trouble, like in the park. If you weren’t there….”

I’ll always be there.

“I was,” I tell her. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But it can be good too. It means she doesn’t let people walk all over her.”

“Do you?” I ask, the thought making my hands clench on the steering wheel.

“I try not to,” she whispers. “I know I shouldn’t. But it’s difficult. Sometimes, standing up for myself… it’s hard to judge when the right time is or when it’s worth it, or what’s worth fighting for. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I don’t talk about myself a lot.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I growl.

You never do, not with me, not for being yourself.

“I’ve always been insecure, I guess if you want to put a label on it.”

“You’re an amazing person,” I tell her. “You never need to feel insecure. You’re beautiful. Just by listening to you, I can tell how kind you are. You’re funny. You’re cute as hell. You’re….”

Everything I want in a woman, the only person I’ll ever need.

“What about your parents?” I ask.

She turns to the window, a small gasp escaping her. “That’s complicated.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I mutter, thinking of my own parents, Uncle Aaron, and then the pit, blood, and the pain.

“It’s not this huge thing or whatever,” she says. “It happened years ago. But it’s a little depressing, and I don’t want to ruin our date.”

Another red light, it’s another chance to turn and take in the full magnitude of her beauty.

She’s squeezing onto her legs, her pale hands sinking into the darkness of the fabric of her jeans. There’s something so captivating about her small hands clutching harder, causing her rippling juicy flesh to shift around her.

Dueling emotions clash within me. The demon part of me wants to sink my hand into her leg the same way she is, to indulge shamelessly. The other wants to softly touch her hand, to hold her until the insecurity melts away.

“You couldn’t ruin it,” I say. “But I won’t force you.”

She sighs. “They were killed in a home invasion. Autumn found them. She was only fourteen. I was… let’s see, yeah, that’s right. I was six. I hardly remember any of it. I was at the park with my friends. It was just at the end of our street, so it was safe, and other parents were there. I went there quite a lot.”

She’s talking in a disjointed way, as though struggling to hold onto the memory… or maybe she wants to run from it.

I stay quiet, familiar with the feeling, the dichotomy of reliving and wanting to flee.

I’ve felt it.

“I came home, and Autumn walked out of the bedroom. There was blood on her, my parents’ blood, and she was just staring at me. I learned later that the lowlife left his gun behind. Autumn was paralyzed for almost an hour, she told me later, staring at the gun with Mom and Dad right there. She thought the gun was going to somehow hurt her by itself.”

As gently as I can, I pull off to the side of the road, bringing the car to a stop. “Jesus, Rachel, I’m so sorry.”

She turns to me, seeming shocked I’ve stopped the car. “You don’t have to be sorry. It happened a long time ago.”

“I’m still sorry,” I snarl. “No kid deserves to go through that. It must’ve been awful.”

“At least I didn’t have to see them.” She bites down, folding her arms across her middle. “Autumn did. Poor Autumn… she won’t tell me what they looked like. She never would.”

“Good,” I say in a low tone. “I’m glad you’ve got such a protective older sister.”

She blinks up at me, seeming to find it difficult to hold my gaze. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that.”

“What did I say about apologizing?” I growl, leaning forward, inhaling her scent, perfume, and just-Rachel beauty. “You can unload anything you want. I like hearing you talk.”

Tags: Flora Ferrari Romance
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