I gulped down a glass of water at the sink, the sweat pouring off my face and running down to my chest as I soaked in the cool liquid. A cold shower would be good. It was quiet in the house, which meant I finally had the place to myself. I must not have seen Dani run down to the lake. The thought of having a little space, being away from the tension between us, made me happy, and I whistled to myself as I headed back to the back bedroom to hop in the shower.
I opened the door and Dani shrieked. “What the hell are you doing?” She was standing there buck naked, hair dripping down her shoulders, little rivers of water running down her breasts to her nipples, down her stomach to her...I had to force myself to turn away.
“Sorry!” I wasn’t sorry. Shit, no. Seeing her naked like that brought back the memory of her in bed and all I could think about was how it would feel to be inside her, to taste her. Damn it. I could feel myself start to get hard, and I tried to focus on something else, anything else to take my mind off her.
Dani pinched her towel closed around her breasts, but it didn’t help. Her naked body was etched in my brain.
“What are you doing, coming in here like that?”
“I thought you were down by the lake. I was just going to use the shower. Didn’t you hear me come into the house?” Stop thinking about her naked.
“No, I was in the shower.”
“I mean, I have already seen you naked. I’m just saying.” I gave her my best sheepish grin.
Dani glared at me. “Go. It’s all yours.”
I lingered, and she swatted at me. “Get out! And don’t even think about peeping.”
I was pretty sure I was grinning from ear to ear as I walked into the bathroom.
And now, here I was, sitting at the creek, teaching her to fish. I didn't know what the hell was getting in to me, but I was starting to feel content here with her. That was a problem.
“So what’s the deal with all the books in your house?” Dani asked. “Are you a biker philosopher, or what?” I smiled. Her brash attitude was growing on me.
“One of my foster mothers pushed me to start reading stuff - philosophy, history, things like that.”
“How old were you when you went into foster care?”
“Twelve. Mom was a junkie, and after my grandma died and couldn’t help out, things got real bad with her for a while.” Real bad was an understatement, of course. But by ten years old, at least I was an expert at fending for myself.
“I’m sorry.” She was quiet, focusing on her line in the water even though nothing was biting.
“Not your fault,” I said. “It was bad with my mom, but foster care was worse for a few years. Creepy ass foster parents, you know? Then I got placed with Althea. She was this older woman. She had thirty-something foster kids before I came along.”
I don’t know why, but I just kept telling her about myself. “I got sent to her when I was fifteen. I was running with a bad crowd, trying to get jumped by this gang.” I shrugged. “I was trying to get away from my life, you know?”
Dani nodded, murmured something I didn't quite hear.
“Anyway, she never lost hope, even when I went to juvie.” I laughed. “Juvie is where I got the Blaze nickname.”
“What for?”
“I did some arsons. It’s what got me sent there. It just stuck after that. Then I got out, got hooked up with the MC. Never looked back.”
“What about Althea?” she asked, and I remembered my first day at Althea's house, when I discovered her library.
"Oh, you like history, do you?"
I slammed the book shut, weirdly ashamed of being caught reading. It didn't seem like something a wannabe thug would be doing. "I was just looking."
"Anything you find interesting in here is yours," Althea said. No one had ever offered me anything before. Everyone else had been all about taking from me, taking anything I had. It made me deeply uncomfortable that she was offering me something without asking for anything in return.
I watched as she walked to a shelf across the room, traced her finger along it as she looked for a book. "You know," she said. "My children have used this library for years. It's yours now. You're welcome in here anytime. My eyes are getting old now-it's too hard for me to see the print on these books." She peered close, examining the spines on the shelf. "Ah, there it is," she said, handing the volume to me.
"The Art of War," I said slowly, turning it over in my hands.
"Sun Tzu," she said. "He was a Chinese military general, oh, ages ago. I think you might find this useful in your present situation."
I took it, skeptical. What did this old woman know about my present situation?