What If

Gerald and I came up with a plan and put together the funds to buy this place. I sold my house and began working on the upstairs. I’m not a big spender, have saved almost everything I’ve ever earned, made some wise investments, but from outward appearances you wouldn’t know I’m as flush with cash as I am. But what other people think has never been of much interest to me.

By the time we reach the top of the stairs, my throat is tight. I don’t even know this girl, but I know there’s something about her that tells me to keep her close.

To find a way to weave her into my life.

“Right here.” I hold my hand out to her and she puts her tiny fingers into my palm as I open the door to the top floor. “Close your eyes.”

“Okay, but just so you know, the audience is screaming… ‘Don’t do it! Don’t close your eyes! Don’t follow him!’” She raises her eyebrows and does as I ask.

I step inside, leading her by the hand and bringing her to a good spot before I stop. The lights are already on and I turn because I need to see her face when she takes in the scene.

“Okay. Open.” With some reluctance, I let go of her hand and watch.

Her blue eyes snap open as far as they can, and her mouth drops wide.

“Oh my God.” She spins in a slow circle, as she does, her fingers glide upward to cover her nose and mouth and I notice they are painted each a different shade of pink. She’s the perfect mixture of tomboy and princess and I want to get to know all of those and everything in between.

I close the door behind us and take her in. She moves slowly forward, her head swiveling back and forth as she spins on the toe of her black boot.

She drops her hands and turns to look back at me. My cock is pounding, my balls tight and ready to deliver part of me into her. My fingertips twitch, thinking of all the places I want to touch her. Feel her wetness drench my palm, my face, my balls. I imagine what she smells like. How sweet she must taste.

“The smell.” She closes her eyes and draws a deep breath through her nose, letting her head fall back slightly on her neck. “It’s unreal.”

“It’s something, for sure.” I reply, taking a deep breath knowing the magical scent of nearly a thousand blooming orchids could not compete with what I know the scent of her cunt must be.

“This is amazing. You do this? You grow all these or is this someone else’s business?”

The wide-open loft space has glass skylights, and an array of old industrial tables, carts, crates, and a few old pieces of machinery, which I’ve converted into display stands for all my orchids.

“Nope. It’s mine. A hobby that’s grown out of control.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. You are an interesting guy. What did you say you do?”

“I’m a detective.” My voice is thick, thinking of the darkness of my job compared to the lightness that graces my eyes right now.

Watching her here, surrounded by the color and scent of the flowers is the most stunning sight of my life. Her hair shimmers and the way her cheeks glow with pink reminds me of the very flowers that fill the space.

“A Detroit city detective who also grows orchids and sits in a dive bar reading Fitzgerald. You have to admit, it’s a juxtaposition.”

I chuckle as she tugs her lips to the side, giving me a suspicious look.

“That it is.” I agree doing my best to keep my voice steady and my hands to myself when all I want to do is kiss her. “When I was a kid, my dad brought potted orchids home to my mom because they were her favorite flower. Only, she wasn’t very good at keeping them alive and she would be so sad when they would die. They were crazy expensive, and my dad was a beat cop, so money wasn’t in abundance.” I run a hand through my hair as the story I’ve never told anyone pours out of me. “He would buy them for her and, try as she would, she couldn’t keep them alive. So, one day I came home from school and she was crying, throwing another yellow, dried out orchid in the trash. I rode my bike to the library, took out every book I could find on growing orchids and from there, not one of hers ever died again. It’s sort of became my obsession. Only, I don’t have anyone to give them to anymore. Mom passed a few years ago and my dad before her. But I’ve never been able to shake the itch for them. So, here we are.”