“You have no idea what kind of talents I possess, Mr. Mitchell.”
He winces at the same time a sound rumbles out of his mouth that has the effect of a magical incantation because my body floats to him on its waves.
When I reach him, he takes the bag from my hand, opens it, removes the blanket, and holds it in the air. “Your move, Madison. Show me what I’ve been missing.”
I press my lips together almost as tightly as my thighs.Stand down, vagina, he means the stars. He means the stars!
13
BRAXTON
“Did you see that one?”Madison shrieks with delight—it’s such a departure from the woman who tries so hard to be everything to everyone that she forgets to allow her own joy to shine through sometimes.
She’s pressed up against me, under my arm, and the hand she’s pointing to the sky with falls back to my chest when she shifts up to search my face.
“I saw it,” I fib. The truth is, I haven’t seen one damn shooting star because I can’t take my gaze off her.
Who could with a woman like her in their arms?
The line forms between her brows as she scans my face. “Did you really?”
I couldn’t wipe the grin she causes from my face if I tried, but I nod.
“Which way did it shoot?” That feisty side I’ve seen glimpses of is returning.
I lift my brow and feel the laughter bubbling in my chest. “Down?”
“Ugh,” she scoffs, and slaps my stomach playfully, but she also returns her head to my chest, and all feels right with the world when we’re connected.
I have no idea what time it is, if Pops will be waiting up for her to return home, or if we are actually in danger of a bear attack. At this moment, the only thing I care about is how good her body feels snuggled into mine.
This, with her, in the bed of this old Chevy truck on a blanket borrowed under questionable circumstances, is exactly where I’m meant to be.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Her voice is wispy with wonder. She’s probably been up here a hundred times and still manages to sound so in awe, it could very well be her first time.
“It is.”
“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”
Such a simple question, but it stumps me, and I shrug. “I’m not sure I was ever given a choice.”
Her shoulders droop under my arm. “What do you mean? That’s so…sad. Didn’t you have dreams as a kid? An astronaut or a firefighter? A ballerina clown in a circus?”
It’s so damn easy to laugh with this woman. “You have a very active imagination.”
“So, no ballerina clowns, I take it?”
“No,” I chuckle. “No ballerina clowns. I didn’t exactly have a normal childhood.”
“What is normal anyway? Did anyonereallyhave normal?” Her voice carries an edge of sadness to it that I feel deep in my bones.
“No, I guess not. We’re all weird in our own way.”
We’re quiet for a long moment, her watching the sky, me watching her. Very quickly, this woman has become my favorite obsession.
“I guess, at one time, I thought I’d play football with Greyson.” The admission twists something long forgotten in my chest.
She instantly rises onto an elbow, and I cover her other hand where it’s splayed on my chest so she can’t move it. I like it there—it fits.
