by Frankie Love
"What are you thinking?" she asks as we head toward the parking lot. I want to reach out and take her hand, draw her to me, kiss her hard, slow, soft; damn, every way, any way. She's like this piece of perfection I can't stop thinking about.
"I was thinking of taking your picture," I admit. "You look so beautiful with the sun setting behind you and the lake, and fuck—" I shake my head, running a hand over my forehead. "I don't know what I'm saying."
But she doesn't make fun of me or crack a joke. She's softer than that, sweeter. I've watched her over the last year. She’s always doing something kind. Bringing chew toys for River's beagle, or taking Nixie out for ice cream. The kids of the Heartlands members love her. And she’s always making sure their lives are a little bit easier. She's kind when people aren't watching.
She pulls out a camera. "Well, we could take some photos,” she says.
"I should really get you home," I tell her.
"I know, but look, the lighting is just right. And you said so yourself, it would be the perfect time for a photograph."
"I don't take pictures."
"Please, let me take a picture of you," she says. "And then you can take a picture of me."
"I don't know how to work a camera like that," I tell her. "It looks like a fancy piece of equipment."
"Ruby and Ranger got it for me for graduation," she says. "I want to be a photographer. I'm registered at the community college to take photography courses this fall.”
"That's really awesome," I tell her. "You've always liked to capture moments?"
She nods. "Yeah. I don't like to be in front of the camera so much. So when you said you wanted to take my photo, I admit my first thought was, 'No way.' But I don't know, maybe if you took the picture," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I wouldn't be so embarrassed."
I want to say something, but I'm scared to speak because anything I'm thinking right now I probably shouldn't say out loud. That I want her, that I want to take her picture, that I want to print out 100 copies and look at them every day, that her eyes make me feel safe in a way no one else's ever have. I want to tell her she's more than beautiful. She looks like a fairy tale princess, like Sleeping Beauty. But if she's dreaming, I don't want to wake her up because I want to stay here in this place with her forever.
"There you go thinking again," she says. She taps the side of my head. "What's with you?" she asks, but not in a threatening way; in a curious way. "I swear, I've come into the shop trying to talk to you a hundred times and you always put me off. And then tonight—" She twists her lips. "I don't know, something's different. What changed?"
I swallow. "I heard you might come out. I heard some people mentioning it at the bar and I didn't want you to be here alone, without someone keeping an eye on you."
She lifts an eyebrow. "You came to be my chaperone?"
I shrug. "Maybe. Would that be so bad?"
She smiles up at me. "It depends, Jackal, if you'll let me take your picture."
"You can take my picture," I say.
"Come on," she says, taking my hand. She does it easily, as if we've done it before. Her small hand slips inside of mine. And I know my skin is hard and calloused, just like my heart, but hers is soft and smooth. "Come on," she says again, tugging on me, and I follow.
I know I'm supposed to be taking her home. It's a promise I made to myself, but now we're walking around the lake to a quiet spot where no one else can see us. The trees cover the view and it's quiet here; we're alone and there's a big rock at the shore, the fading sunlight glittering over the lake.
In the distance we hear the raucous cries and laughter of everyone having a good time at the party. But we're in a small cove, sheltered, alone. And in this moment, I feel like I could stay here forever.
"Go stand on the rock," she says. "Take off your shoes, roll up your pants."
"Bossy," I say, kicking off my boots.
She laughs softly. "I don't think I'm bossy, I'm just direct."
"That means you'll be a good photographer," I say. “You know exactly where I'm supposed to go."
"You've never even seen my pictures," she says, hand on her hip. But unlike the way Peaches looked when she made the same motion, Lydia looks more innocent than she ever has before, and also more vulnerable. With her hand on her hip, I see the curves of her body in a way I haven't before. Her hips are full and her waist is small and her breasts, damn, they look good in that tight dress, her nipples poking through ever so slightly. And I grunt, not wanting my cock to get hard right now when she's about to take a picture of it, of me.
"Just look off into the distance," she says, holding up the camera, “and pretend I'm not here."
I laugh, unable to help it. She snaps pictures one after another and I try to compose myself, but it's hard.
"Okay. You've got to tell me," she says after she's taken a dozen or more photographs, "what had you laughing?"
"I don't know," I say. "Being here with you, it's just... Fuck, I like it. It made me smile."
"Well, thankfully you look good when you smile, Jackal. I honestly don't think I've ever seen you smile once before."
"Am I really so surly?" I ask her, getting off the rock, my feet wet, the cuffs of my jeans wet too.
"Kind of," she says. "Why is that? Why are you so reserved?"
I shrug. "I don't have a lot to say."
She smiles, licking her lips and handing me the camera. "I don't believe that, not for a minute."
"No?" I say.
She shakes her head no. "I think you have a lot to say, you're just scared to."
"What would I say right now, if I wasn't scared?"
“Actually, in this moment, I think you'd just bend down and kiss me. I think that's what you really want. And look," she says, "No words required."
I swallow, holding her camera, looking at her, knowing she's right, but I can't kiss her. She's Ranger's sister-in-law; Ruby's sister. She's the sweetheart of the Heartlands. She's way too good for me.
But she won't let me get away, not that easy. Before I can step back, she's on her tiptoes and her arms wrap around my neck and she kisses me.
The kiss has me lost, has me wondering what I did right to have a woman like her pressing her lips against mine.
I close my eyes and I kiss her, wanting to hold onto this moment. Our mouths open, her tongue against mine, and she tastes like strawberries and ice cream. She feels soft and sweet.
And I kiss her the way I've been dreaming of doing for the last damn year. I kiss her, forgetting about taking her picture, about getting her home. I kiss her in this moment, not wanting it to end.
Lydia
I pull back from the kiss, my heart racing and my body on fire. I want Jackal so badly, all of him, head to toe. I want him to wrap his arms around me. I want him to kiss me harder than he just did, so hard that I forget to breathe. I want him to do all sorts of things to me. I want him to undo me and put me back together. I want to give myself to him, all of myself. I want to do things I've never done before, never dreamed of doing before. Only doing them with him, to him, for him, against him, him inside of me.
I moan, with my eyes closed, my heart pounding, my pussy wet. I step back, scared and also hopeful. I want him to ravish me, to pin me to this grassy ground. I want him to rip off my dress and take me.
But Jackal is not that kind of man. I can see that when he looks at me. He won't do things to me that he can't take back. There's a battle inside of him that I don't understand, stories he hasn't told me, probably hasn't told anyone.
With the camera in his hand, he groans, pained. "Fuck. I shouldn't have done that," he says.
"You didn't want to?"
He laughs. "Didn't want to? Damn, Lydia. I wanted to. I want that and more, but I can't. I can't."
I don't press him for details. I understand that some stories are more complicated than confessions. So instead of pushing on him, I take a deep breath and I explain to him how to use the camera. "See, you
just point and shoot."
"Okay," he says, his breath ragged. "I think I can handle that. And then we’ve got to go. Okay, Lydia? I mean it."
"What are you so scared of?" I ask him.
"I'm scared of ruining you."
"That's not possible," I say.
"Why not?" he asks as I walk toward the rock.
I look over my shoulder. "My daddy broke my heart two years ago. I understand that the world is messed up and messy. You can't ruin me. I already understand how quickly things can go from bad to worse. And besides that, you wouldn’t ruin me, Jackal. Wherever you've been, and I know you've been places, I don't think you would ever hurt me. I don't think you could hurt me, even if you tried.” My words are probably shaky, but I stand my ground. “So you can push me away all you want, but I won't give up on you."
"You know all that after just one kiss?"
I sit down on the rock, lifting up my hair and letting it fall down my back. "No, Jackal," I say, looking straight into the camera. "I've known all that for the last year, have been thinking all that ever since you showed up here at the Heartlands so intent on keeping your head down. I've known that since the first time we met and you could hardly look at me. You're scared."
“You trying to make this harder than it already is?” he asks.
"It's not ruining me you're scared of. It's being loved by me."
"Love? We already got there?" he asks. He takes a picture, then another.
I don't smile or laugh. I just lick my lips and I lift up my dress, tossing it to the shore. I'm in nothing but a pair of panties. My skin is exposed and I'm sitting on a rock. Anyone could come and see me, see us, but they won't. We're alone. They're busy getting drunk and causing trouble. But not me. I'm intent on making sure Jackal knows exactly where I stand. I want him. I want him so, so bad.
"Yes. We're already at the love part," I tell him.
He steps forward and picks up my dress. "Put this on," he says.
"Why?" I ask. "You don't like this? I thought it would be a perfect photograph. Take my picture," I tell him.
"Please."
"Lydia," he says, his breath ragged.
"Please," I ask. "I want to see what I look like through your eyes."
He doesn’t take the photo. Instead, he sets the camera down. He hands me my dress. "You want to know how you look through my eyes?” he asks. “You look like every good thing that's never happened. You look like promises that are too good to be true. You look like a future that's too bright for a man like me."
I clench the fabric of my dress in my hands and I walk toward him. "You're only 23 years old, Jackal. Your life hasn't been thrown away before it's begun. Why won't you give yourself a chance to feel good, to feel me? "
He grunts, but it's more like a growl, and he kisses me.
This time it's hard. And his hands run over my back, my ass, my skin. He kisses me and I feel his cock against my belly. And I feel his need for me because it matches mine. I understand him.
I understand he's scared, but I want him to believe that he doesn't need to fear this, fear us. I believe enough for the both of us.
"Fuck," he groans as he kisses me, his hands on my breasts, my pussy, so wet and ready, his fingers running between my thighs. He hitches up my leg and he feels my center, his fingers brushing over me, pressing inside of me. I moan in pleasure and desire.
"Oh, Jackal don't stop," I whisper, wanting to feel him, all of him, wanting him to be naked too.
But instead, we hear sirens, a bullhorn across the clearing where the party is. We pull apart, eyes wide.
"Everyone needs to be off of these premises immediately. Every bike and car and truck needs to be out of this parking lot. Do you understand? This is the Seneca Police Department and this party is over."
Jackal looks at me. "Fuck," he groans, handing me my dress. "We got to go."
And even though this is not how I wanted the night to end, I'm smiling because I know Jackal wants me, and now he knows just how much I want him too.
Jackal
The cops are swarming the lake and the last thing I want to do is be caught and cuffed. I've been there before. I'm sure as fuck not doing it again. This is why I keep my head down. This is why I stay home. This is why I don't do people, friends, relationships. I keep to myself because I want to stay under the radar, because I know what happens when you stand up, when you fight.
You end up hurt and I'm sure as hell not going to hurt Lydia.
"We've got to go," I say, and she nods, fear in her eyes. She may have been through some shit, but the police still scare her and rightfully so. "Come on. It's going to be okay." I pull her close and kiss her head. Her hair smells like her strawberry kisses and I wish we could just ride away into the sunset. But the sun has already faded. The sky is dark and the stars are out and it's time to go.
I take her hand and we run toward the parking lot. We don't make eye contact with anyone. And when I see Maddox and Peaches in the distance shouting at the cops, I grunt, pulling Lydia to my bike. I see the guys that gave me a bad feeling earlier, and one of them lays their eyes on me. I clench my jaw as he turns, and I see the logo on his leather jacker — he is a Blue Devil.
Motherfucker. I need to go. Now.
“Get on. Hold on tight,” I tell Lydia, handing her my helmet. She nods obediently, keeping her mouth shut. She understands that I'm not messing around, that this isn't a time to start some fight. Now's the time to keep our heads down and get home. On the back of my hog, Lydia wraps her arms around me and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't the best damn feeling in my life, better even than her naked body pressed against my skin, than her sweet hips rocking against my hard cock. But this is better because being on my bike is the only place I feel free and right now I feel like anything is possible even though the world is caving in.
We ride off into the night, away from the cop cars and the sirens and the bullhorns still blasting. Their decree forced us to go, but I never planned to stick around anyway. It's time to get Lydia home. It's time to let this night end, close the book, lock it up, push it out of my mind because Lydia has no place in my heart, even if it's what I want, even if it's what I crave.
She’s much too good for me.
When we get to Ranger and Ruby's place, I kill the engine, figuring the least I can do is walk her to the door. She has her backpack on with her camera in it, and her hair has been whipped by the wind. She hands me the helmet and I set it on my seat. Walking her to the door feels like the end of the first date we never had.
I'd give her a kiss, but I already took way more than I should have.
"Thank you," she says, "for keeping my secret."
I nod. "You shouldn't have been there in the first place."
She licks her lips. "Maybe so, but I'm glad I was."
"You mean that, Lydia?" I ask her.
She lowers her chin but raises her eyes. And in them I see a truth that I'm going to hold onto. She doesn't regret kissing me. And that makes me wish everything were different, that I were different, that I were the kind of man that wasn't chased by demons, that I were the kind of man who could be loved by a girl as pure as her.
"You should go to bed," I tell her. She smiles softly.
"Yeah, probably should." Swallowing, she opens her mouth, but I press my finger to it before she can say another word.
"Don't," I say, "we had this night. Let that be enough."
Tears fill her eyes and she blinks them away. "Why are you pushing me away? What if we could be something good, something great?"
I smile softly, wishing I could have given her that kind of love, that kind of life. But the truth is I don't know anything about that. I've only seen love that hurts, not love that heals. "If things were different, maybe," I say. "But you're only 18, Lydia. I don't want you to get tied up with a man like me."
Her eyes search mine. "A man like you? You mean a man who I can make smile? How many other girls make you laugh? I feel like that ought to count
for something."
My cock twitches. "Damn, Lydia. It counts for more than something. But not everything."
"Then why am I not enough for you?"
I close my eyes, running a hand across my jaw. "Sweetheart, it's not you, I promise. As cliché as it sounds, it's all me."
I walk away knowing I'm breaking her heart, hurting her bad. And I curse myself the whole ride home, wishing I weren't a goddamn ex-convict. But I am.
In my apartment, I drop my keys and my jacket and I turn on the shower — cold, ice cold. I need to wash away the night. My body is still hot when I think about Lydia's naked form, how sweet she looked, how full those tits were, those nipples. Damn, she looked good. She looked like mine. I wish I could tell her, really tell her why I'm too fucked up for a girl like her. Maybe if the timing's right, I will. But the cops showing up was the reality check I needed. Truth be told, I'm glad they came and ended it before it could really begin. Before it could turn into something that I couldn’t take back.
The shower is cold and it burns away the heat from the evening.
I go to bed all torn up. And when I wake, it's like I haven't slept at all. When I get to the shop, Maddox is already there whistling a damn tune.
"Why the fuck are you so happy?" I ask.
Maddox chuckles. "I had a good night last night. That's all. What about you? Let me guess. You went home alone like always."
"Fuck you," I say, growling.
"Okay," Maddox says, laughing as he picks up the tablet that has a listing of all the appointments we have today. "I guess I'll get to work and let you deal with your shitty attitude on your own."
Before I can head farther back into the shop, Conley comes in. He's the president of the club and he looks pissed. "Were you guys out at the lake last night?"
Maddox and I share a glance. "Yes, sir," I tell him. "We were there."
"How many times do I have to tell you fuckheads to stop getting yourselves into trouble?"
