But we’re not.
Each day we wake to a blank page, we pick up the pieces of our shattered souls and write our story. A story that portrays hope and the struggles of life.
I freeze in my tracks as I reach the kitchen and spot her dancing to the beat of the music, singing along to a tempo of her own. Girl can’t sing for shit but she can move.
Goddamn can she move.
Prancing around in nothing but one of my black t-shirts—fanning, she was fanning the charred something or other on top of the stove—she’s the most beautiful sight a man like me ever saw.
The girl can’t cook either but that doesn’t stop her from trying. I think that’s what I love most about her. No and can’t are two words that are not part of her vocabulary. It’s the resilience rooted deep in her veins that makes her who she is.
Lacey doesn’t need a hero.
She’s her own goddamn hero.
And if there is something she wants to conquer, step the fuck out of her way because she will leave her footprints on your back as she walks right over you to get what she wants.
It’s fucking incredible to watch.
Sneaking up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist and drag her body against mine, causing her to squeal happily.
“You’re home,” she says, turning in my arms as she wraps them around my neck.
“I’m home,” I murmur, bending my head to take her mouth. My lips skim hers back and forth before taking her lower lip between mine. Slowly, I coax her mouth open, slide my tongue over hers, getting high off her taste.
“Goddamn, girl, you make me never want to leave,” I growl against her mouth, pulling back slightly to cup her face with my hands.
I only let you leave because you promised you’d always come back,” she whispers, reminding me of the vow I made to her when I was released from prison.
I’ll always come back for you, girl.
I press another kiss to her lips before glancing over her shoulder, at what I assume is supposed to be dinner.
“You cooked.” I clear my throat, raising an eyebrow. “New recipe?”
“Yeah, but it’s the last time I use that website for anything. I swear I followed the directions perfectly.” She turns, frowning at the blackened meal.
What’s it supposed to be?”
She laughs before sinking her teeth into her lower lip and lifting her eyes.
“If I said blackened chicken would you believe me?”
Slapping her ass playfully, I smirk, unable to stop myself from squeezing he lace covered cheek.
“Babe, you know I love the way you look in my shirts but I’m running out of clothes,” I say, fingering the hem of my shirt before fisting the back of it. I pull her against my chest and grab a hold of her hips, pressing that sweet ass of hers against my strained cock.
“You love it,” she accuses.
I do,” I admit, brushing her hair over her shoulder and pressing my mouth to her neck. “But I can’t take you to dinner dressed in my shirt,” I add, reluctantly releasing her with a groan. “Go get dressed. I’ll take you to that Asian place in the mall you like.”
“But what about the blackened chicken?” She teases, throwing me a wink.
“Can’t even feed that shit to the hungry, Lace,” I say. “Go get dressed while I clean the latest disaster to strike the aqua kitchen.”
“One day I will make something that knocks your socks off and you will beg me to cook,” she says pointedly as she struts out of the kitchen.
I didn’t doubt it.
I know better than to underestimate her.
It took me a good half hour to clean the kitchen. I chucked the bird into the pail and squirted half a bottle of dish soap in the charred pan and let it soak. Lacey bounded down the stairs fifteen minutes later, dressed in clothes that hugged the body I worshipped and we took to my bike. She wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her body against my back as we hit the road.
She might be Jack Parrish’s daughter but the girl never took a ride on a bike until she took a gamble on me. She loves the road, almost as much as I do, and jumps at any chance to go for a ride.
When we arrive at the restaurant, we are quickly seated and don’t bother looking at the menu, ordering our usual. We share our day with one another. I tell her about the NA meeting I attended and she hangs onto my every word, finding it fascinating as any student majoring in social work would. She’s got a year or so left before she graduates college and that’s when I plan on putting a ring on her finger.
After dinner, I take her into the mall and we walk in circles because I didn’t want to let her in on where I planned on taking her. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve actually shopped in the mall so I had no fucking idea where Victoria’s Secret was located. After we walked the entire mall, I finally found the fucking place and dragged her inside.
“What’re we doing here?”