Falling Fast

“Dimples, I think you’re fighting a losing battle,” I inform her when Loki runs off into the woods, and her eyes come to where I’m standing and she smiles huge. God, I’m so fucking done for when it comes to her, and I don’t even care.

“He’ll get it eventually,” she tells me, coming toward the deck. “I still don’t get why you didn’t teach him how to play fetch when he was a puppy.”

“He wasn’t a puppy when I got him. I picked him up at the pound after I moved out here.”

“I didn’t know that,” she says after coming up the steps and taking the coffee cup from my hands to take a sip.

Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her closer to me then kiss the side of her head, saying, “Now you know.”

“Now I know,” she agrees, tipping her head back toward me. Seeing her offer, I take her up on it and touch my lips to hers. “What time are we supposed to head to your parents’ place?”

“Dinner’s at six, but mom usually wants everyone there at four to help get set up.”

Pulling her cell phone out of her back pocket, she hits the button to light up the screen and checks the time. “I should go shower and get ready,” she murmurs, putting her phone away when she sees it’s already 2:30 p.m.

“I could help you out with that.”

“I’m sure you could, or you could distract me from actually getting ready. Which would mean we would be late to your parents’.”

“Would I do that?” I ask innocently, while sliding my hand up the back of her sweatshirt then down into her jeans, grabbing a handful of her ass in the process.

“Did you not make me late for work yesterday because of the same reason?” she prompts, sounding slightly breathless, and I smile remembering taking her in the kitchen after she ate a bowl of cereal. Then again in the shower, against the wall.

“You weren’t even fifteen minutes late,” I remind her, and her eyes drop to my mouth.

“The answer is no. I don’t want to make a bad first impression on your family,” she says, sounding like she wishes we had more time.

“My family already loves you.”

“I haven’t met your brothers yet,” she reminds me of something I know. She’s nervous about something she shouldn’t be. My brothers will see in her exactly what she is—a sweet and kind woman who is just as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.

“If we were late, my brothers would understand why once they saw you.”

“Seriously, you didn’t just say that.”

“Dimples, you’re beautiful and you have a body that takes time and dedication. Believe me, I’m dedicated to the job I was given when you gave yourself to me.”

“I can’t even deal with you right now,” she laughs, rolling her eyes and taking another sip from my coffee before handing it back to me. “It shouldn’t take me long to get ready. Maybe while I’m doing that, you can try to teach Loki how to play fetch.”

“Not likely.” I transfer the coffee mug so I can wrap my hand around her ponytail and tip her head back. “Let me know if you need help.”

“I’ll let you know.” She smiles before I kiss her. Reluctantly letting her go, I watch her head into the house before I walk around to the garage. Punching in the code for the door, I look at the mess on the side of the garage where my Suburban had been parked. The space is now filled with boxes and some furniture from her grandmother’s place, things she needs to go through, and donate. We took some clothes to her grandmother, but there is a lot that still needs to be washed before she can wear it, since it still smells like smoke.

Walking past the stacks of boxes, I go to the back wall where my gun vault is and punch in the code for the door, wanting to get some cash so I don’t have to use my card to get gas. Opening it up, I frown when I don’t see my gun where I put it after the last time I had it out. “What the fuck?” Looking though my stuff, I notice that nothing else is missing, not even the stack of money lying on top of a box of bullets. Pulling out my cell phone, I dial my dad’s number and wait.

“What’s up?” he asks as soon as he answers, and I look down at my boots, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Did you or did Mom by chance take my nine from my vault in my garage?”

“What?” he asks, sounding confused.

“My gun is missing. My nine-millimeter. The one you got me for Christmas four years ago.”

“It’s missing? I didn’t take it. Hold on. Let me ask your mom,” he says, and I hear him move around then shout to wherever my mom is, asking her the same question I asked him. “She said she didn’t take it.”