by Dani Wyatt
Please, don’t ever let go.
I remember his hands, the veins on top, the strong fingers rough on my arms where he held me, and the way the muscle under the skin of his forearms flexed and moved.
I wanted so badly to pull his face to mine, to feel the scratch of his beard against my lips as we drew together.
When I finally found the strength to look into the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, the dirty thoughts that followed had my skin pink, and my embarrassment pole vaulting over the limit.
When he set me back up on my feet, it took every ounce of my fortitude to take their order. His scent lingered with me the rest of my shift...like some heavenly man scent and the forest after the rain. I can’t explain it. But even now, if I think about it, the swirling intoxication of having him close to me has my head in a fog and my belly twisted into ten kinds of knots.
So here I am. Day thirty-eight. And as much as my daytime and nighttime dreams are filled with him, he remains aloof and tight-lipped when he comes in, even though I swear I see his eyes dragging over my body when he thinks I’m not looking.
He shifts in the seat of the booth, one hand down in his lap, and it brings every fantasy of what he’s packing down below racing through my mind — wondering if under the tabletop he’s hard.
Because of me.
Of course he’s not.
But a girl can dream.
If he only knew how many times I’ve snapped his picture when he wasn’t looking.
How many times I’ve touched myself, scrolling through them on my phone as I lie in my bed at night. Thinking of what his body must look like under his clothes. Hard, cut, tight, and sculpted.
A pain shoots through my chest at the thought. I gather my courage, place my steps carefully, and come to the edge of the table. His eyes lock with mine as I see his chest rise with a deep breath and both his hands are back on the tabletop in fists.
“Hi there.” I clear my throat and look over to see Vin’s half smile. “What can I get you guys?”
Vin pushes the menu back into the holder at the center of the table.
“French dip. Steamed broccoli instead of fries, I’m watching my figure, so the pretty girls won’t forget about me. Coffee.” He rubs his chest down to his belly on a friendly chuckle, but when I glance over at Roan, he’s shooting daggers at him.
“I’m not watching mine,” Sheriff Bill replies, and I look back at him to see him rubbing his belly as well. “I’ll have the same as Vin, but lots of fries. In fact, I’ll have his. And a Guinness, tall.” He chuckles, and I force a smile and a polite giggle.
Swallowing hard, I strain to keep my smile as I look back at Roan, my panties falling to the power of those blue eyes and beard.
I take a breath, then add, “What is it I can get for you?”
I hear a rumble, or a growl come from Roan, and he clasps a hand over his mouth.
An uncomfortable silence follows as I shift my weight back and forth, scribbling nonsense on the notepad in my hand.
Vin and the sheriff stare at Roan, then at me, making the discomfort of the moment multiply exponentially.
Finally, after what feels like a year of silence, Roan coughs and sits up in his seat like he’s sitting on something unpleasant and answers.
“I’ll have the same, with broccoli and fries and a whiskey, neat.” He draws another long breath on a groan, then finishes in a hushed tone: “What I really want isn’t on the menu.”
Plop.
Chapter Two
Roan
FROM THE MOMENT I WALK in here, my cock is always raging hard.
It’s part of the bro code that Vin and Bill pretend not to notice.
Because it’s impossible to ignore.
Nothing about me is small, including my dick, and since I first set my eyes on Betty, I think it’s doubled in size.
I feel like I’m sixteen again with an uncontrollable body part hell-bent on its own agenda.
And that agenda is getting inside of her.
It’s been nearly impossible to work or sleep or do anything besides obsess about her for thirty-seven fucking days. I do my best to hold back, but I only ever used to eat out with Vin, and occasionally with the sheriff, maybe once a month at their insistence. Now I’m a three times a week regular here.
It would be every day if she worked every day. Instead, on her days off, I do what I can to tend to my business and not completely derail my life in my new obsession.
Betty.
Fuck, just the thought of her name has me on edge.
She’s a tiny thing, like a pixie I want to put in my pocket and carry with me everywhere. Her face is round and pink like a cherub with these giant green eyes that sparkle like dew on a green meadow. She works hard, balancing trays of food and drinks that weigh probably as much as she does.
When she works, her caramel-colored hair is in a ponytail that pops from the top of her head, and I can’t help thoughts of grabbing it and dragging her with me. The black skirt and white shirt, which is the uniform of the wait staff here, are just tight enough to show off her sexy-as-hell ass and perky tits, which have my mouth watering.
“Okay then. I’ll bring it out as soon as it’s ready.” She scribbles our order on her notepad, and when she shifts her hand, I see the white bandage.
“Wait,” I half bark and her eyes snap wide as I point toward her hand. She looks at me, then Vin, then the sheriff, then back at me.
“What happened?” I see the red seeping through the taped-on gauze, and I hate it. That something or someone hurt her.
She waves her hand in the air. “Dropped a glass. I’m accident prone. It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Did you tell your boss? Did you put peroxide on it?”
She narrows those taunting green eyes and shrugs, biting into her bottom lip and making my cock nearly seize.
“Yes, he saw. And no, no peroxide.”
“Make sure you put peroxide on it,” I snarl, and she squints an eye at me.
“Sure.” She flips her head around when one of the assholes at the round table behind us starts snapping his fingers. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
Before she can go, I snap a hand out and grab her wrist. Her eyes dart to mine.
“I mean it. Peroxide. Are you sure you don’t need stitches?”
“Okay,” she repeats, glancing around the table. “Sure, peroxide. But it’s not deep. It doesn’t need stitches.”
“Fine.” I finish as she turns, cheeks bright red, pulling her lips tight against her white teeth.
Vin chuckles and runs a hand over his head. He knows what’s up and gives me shit whenever he gets a chance because I can’t seem to form more than a few sentences around her let alone anything meaningful. With most other people I’m sharp, despite my caveman appearance.
I’ve seen the look of surprise I get from people when they find out that this Grizzly Adams looking guy can debate the energy of metaphysical properties. Or tell a compelling story about growing up off the grid with parents who believed aliens were running the country. And it was only a matter of time before we were all sucked up into some livestock farm in the sky.
But, thirty-seven days ago, when I saw her for the first time, I changed. Something as perfect and beautiful as Betty had me doubting a simple living man like me could ever be what would be best for her.
And that’s what I want. What is best for her.
Then, in my next breath, I know I would tear apart any other man that set eyes on her. If they set hands on her, I would chew out their windpipe with my teeth and leave them in the woods for the vultures to finish off.
The need she’s created in me tears at me day and night. I can’t get her out of my head. Honestly, I never understood the true meaning of obsession until her.
Day and night, I tell myself I’m not what she needs. This damaged soul who never understood love, living all alone in the woods, would never be what she deserves.
That is t
he center of my fear. I want what is best for her, and I can’t ignore that that may not be me.
“Hello?” Vin looks at me and raises his hands off the table. “You know, your conversational skills suck. Are you intentionally ignoring us?”
“Sorry.” I realize I’m so consumed watching her move around the restaurant, I forgot they were even sitting with me.
“Anyway, as I was saying,” Bill starts up, but I don’t hear any more words. He already gave us the rundown of what’s going on at the station, and I doubt the story is any more interesting this time around.
One of their guys is undercover, something about drugs and pimps. It might be a big story for him, but out here in the sticks, it’s more likely to amount to nothing. Probably just local wannabes mouthing off and bored police getting overexcited.
I’d bet my bottom dollar it turns out to be a bit of weed and a porn video, rather than cocaine and sex traffickers like Sheriff Bill would like us to believe.
The restaurant is usually crowded, especially for dinner. They serve good food, it draws some tourist traffic from the outlying areas, and so I go back to watching Betty scurry around, smiling at everyone.
It always puts me on alert.
I watch each customer, especially the men, eyeing her. It makes me want to stab their eyeballs out with a steak knife.
“You know,” Vin drums his fingers on the tabletop, “I have a thought.”
“Yeah? Good for you.” I glance over and see him shake his head and tighten his lips. “What is it?”
“Ask her the fuck out, idiot.”
“What?” I glare at my friend.
Bill chuckles and I shoot him a look that tells him to shut the fuck up before I shut him up.
“Jesus, Roan.” Vin shakes his head. “It’s so fucking obvious. How long have we been friends? You’ve never looked at a girl like you look at her. It’s almost obscene. You’re practically fucking her with your eyes, and I have to sit here and try to eat with that shit going on. What are you waiting for?”
“None of your fucking business.” I snap back before I realize my obsession with her is making me a jackass. “Sorry, man.” I shake my head. “I think I scare her.”
“You scare everyone. Look at you.”
“Exactly.”
“Seriously, she doesn’t look that scared. What’s your hold up?”
“I don’t know. She’s fucking young, man. Perfect.” I shake my head, running a hand down my beard. That’s not the entire truth. I’ve thought of how to get to her a million times.
Truth is, she is young. She is perfect. Innocent.
In a strange way, she also makes me think of my sister Sabrina before the accident. I’m not sure why, but the first time I set eyes on Betty, all that loss and grief and guilt surfaced again. Sabrina was six years younger than me, and from as far back as I can remember, I felt responsible for her. Loved her and took on the world for her.
Our parents weren’t bad. They were just lost in their own damaged, dysfunctional relationship, and their delirious paranoia. It became my purpose to make sure Sabrina had the best life possible given our circumstances. When she was just out of high school, I moved her in with me because our parents decided to retreat to the wilderness of Alaska to hide from what they were sure was the apocalypse.
Two months after, they were found dead of exposure. They obviously knew they weren’t going to make it because they left a note saying they wanted no funeral, saying their souls are eternal. They wanted to be cremated because they believed the aliens made deals with mortuaries to supply them with human bodies for experiments.
It was a tough year for Sabrina. Me too, but she took it hard.
Then, one Friday night Sabrina and I got into it. She wanted to go to a party, and I knew the group that was going to be there. I forbade her from going; she told me I wasn’t in charge of her and told me to stay out of her life. She called me some choice names and slammed the door to her room and turned her music up until it shook the windows in the small house we shared.
My gut told me to go check on her. But, another part of me said to leave her be. Let her calm down, and in the morning, clearer heads would prevail. She was a good kid, never in trouble, she was just pushing her limits.
When her music was still blasting at midnight, I was done waiting. I knocked. No answer. I tried the knob. Locked.
I knocked again.
I kicked the door down.
No Sabrina.
Bedroom window open.
I went on a rampage to find her. But by the time I got to the party, it was too late. The cops were already there, luckily for the fuckers throwing the party—because I would have killed them on the spot.
There was drinking. Clothes started coming off. Skinny dipping started. Bad choices were made. Sabrina took a dive off the edge of the pool into the shallow end. Some of the kids said she was messing around, others said she slipped and fell. I didn’t care about the details; all I knew was loss and guilt.
I didn’t keep her safe.
That guilt ate me up, made me hate the house, hate my life, hate the world.
A week later, I packed my shit and started driving. When I stopped, I was here in Roanoke, and that’s where I’ve stayed. Bought some land and a cabin and withdrew.
Got a job with the lumber company, met Vin that first day. Turns out, I’ve got quite a knack for felling a tree. Axes and chainsaws my tools of the trade. The hard work cleared my head and gave me something on which to focus that didn’t require any human attachment.
It wasn’t until I’d been here a month that I heard from the police back home. The investigation and autopsy they’d done before I left gave details of Sabrina’s death. Their findings only made what was already hard, so much harder.
She had an inner ear issue going on which threw off her sense of balance.
Sabrina had always been clumsy, and I didn’t see the signs. Something that could have been fixed, treated or managed, and I just let her wander out in the world and face all its dangers. All that time, she’d had this thing going on. Nobody pushed her that night. She didn’t jump. She hadn’t even been drinking with the other kids. She fell because she lost her balance.
And it was all my fault.
When Betty walked to our table that first day, tripped and almost fell, all I could see was Sabrina.
Now, acknowledging my obsession with her as I sit here with Vin and Bill, a switch has flipped inside me. Seeing that bandage on her hand. That obsession of mine is spinning out of control. Yes, she’s young. She’s fucking beautiful. Pure and sweet.
Seeing her hurt, my need to protect her is ripping me apart.
There’s a new voice in my head.
Take her. Stop wasting time. Tomorrow isn’t promised. Keep her safe.
My fists, already balled on the table, clench harder. I feel like Bruce Banner trying to hold back the Hulk, but I’m quickly losing the fight.
I will take care of her like no one else. I will cherish her. I’ll give her everything she needs. And in turn, she will give herself to me. Mind, body, spirit, and soul. Because I can accept nothing less.
I even drive by her apartment at all hours just to make sure she’s safe. I follow her when she goes out with her friend that works here. I’ve looked into the guy she lives with, and lucky for him, it’s her brother, because if he was something else that shit would be over.
I hear Vin’s voice in the background as I watch her move toward the table that’s been ordering drinks since I arrived. She leans in to clear some empty glasses from the table when I see her wobble.
Her tray starts to tip, and her eyes go wide. The glasses full of ice topple over, and before she can right herself, they’re in the lap of the guy wearing overalls.
“Oh God—” She gasps, wild embarrassment in her eyes.
“What the fuck!” He shoves back his chair, throwing his arms in the air. “Jesus Christ, you need to find a new job.” The big fuck wipes the liquid and ice from
his lap, acting like she spilled hot tar on him.
Red clouds my vision, and I’m out of the booth in a heartbeat stomping in their direction. My heart is slamming in my chest and adrenaline surges through my veins.
I hear the sheriff’s voice, “Hey, where are you—"
Before I reach her, the guy flips her tray away, and it rattles to the floor, more glasses and ice spilling everywhere. Then, he shoves the heel of his hand into her hip, pushing her back.
Such a bad move.
Rage sears through me as I slam into the fuck who dared touch her. Grabbing the straps of his overalls, slamming my foot behind the back of one knee and put him to the floor in one swift motion.
“What the—” The pile of hillbilly stupid glares at me and attempts to get to his feet.
“Stay the fuck down if you want to keep breathing.”
The other five guys at the table come up on me fast, but I spin around and stop that shit by slamming my fist into the closest face, watching as blood streams down from his nose over his lips.
“He put his hands on her.” I nod toward the lump on the floor. “This shit is between him and me. If the rest of you want a piece of this, no problem, but it’s not your fight. And if you’re thinking you might want to complain, don’t bother. This guy right here is the sheriff, and he’s had a front-row view.”
“Back off, gentlemen.” Sheriff Bill takes a step toward forward, and they settle back. The guy with the busted nose wiping blood away with the back of his hand and the two girls at the table scurry around to give him their napkins.
Vin’s voice comes from my right. “Let’s all be sensible.” He stands behind the guy on the floor, who is trying to struggle to his knees.
“Nope,” I grunt and shove his head back down. “Stay.”
“All of you, out.” The manager comes up behind Betty as the tension thickens. He points to the guys standing, the one on the floor and then to me. “All of you. Sorry, Sheriff, but this is my restaurant, and they’re disrupting business.”
“I’m not leaving without her.” My words shock me as they come out, and I see Betty step back, her mouth falling open. “You’re not safe here.”
