Until June (Until Her 2)

“Well, it’s nice to meet you now.” I smile again, and her eyes scan over me then go kind of squinty.

“You ain’t got no problem with bikers do you?”

“Um…no…” I shake my head and my smile widens.

“Good. Not that it happens often, but my old man’s boys do sometimes show up, and when they do, things can get loud. If you have a problem, you can come over and tell me. If you don’t have a problem, you can just come over and have a beer.” She grins, and I laugh, thinking I like JJ already.

“I’ll probably take you up on that offer.”

“Good, now I gotta ask, who’s the hot guy in the truck?”

I don’t turn around. I know without looking who she’s talking about as her chin lifts behind me. “Umm…” I wonder how the hell to explain Evan to her.

“Never mind. I can see you don’t want to talk about it right now. I’ll stop by and bring tequila tomorrow. You can tell me then,” she states, inviting herself over.

“His story will probably take two bottles of tequila,” I mumble, and she smiles again, this time bigger.

“I can already tell you’re my kind of people.” She looks me over then peeks over my shoulder again. “You two fit, and from the way he’s looking over here, I’m guessing he knows that, but like you said, that’s a story for tequila, so I’ll let you go and we’ll talk about him tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I agree, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “It was nice meeting you, JJ.”

“You too, girly. Tomorrow.” She smiles then turns and flounces through half my yard and hers, heading up to her front porch. Just as she gets there, the door opens and a big, bearded man—who is not at all unattractive—steps out onto the front porch, takes her hand, and lifts his chin to me. Giving him an awkward wave, I watch JJ smile up at him and say something that has him grinning while shaking his head before dragging her through the door and closing it.

I know it right then and there—I’m going to love my new neighborhood…or I will love it once I don’t have Evan standing guard outside of my house.

Chapter 2

Evan

“You’re my Ev,” she whispers, looking down at my ring on her finger while her thighs press tight to my hips.

“Always, beautiful.”

Her gaze meets mine and she pulls back, causing her dark hair to glide softly across my chest as she sits up. My eyes drop to my hands and I watch as they move up the silky skin of her thighs, the soft curve of her waist, and then over her breasts, the weight filling my hands.

“Ev.” She slides me inside of her, and my hips surge upward, sending me deeper. My eyes move to hold hers as she lifts then falls slowly¸ so fucking slowly that I know she is going to kill me. But I wouldn’t mind dying like this, deep inside of her, surrounded by beauty.

“Fuck,” I breathe, and she smiles. She’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. Nothing better than her. Perfection. “Kiss me.” I slide one hand around her back and pull her forward, taking her mouth and tasting her on my tongue. Nothing sweeter than her, fucking nothing.

“Oh, God,” she whimpers down my throat as she convulses around me.

Blinking my eyes open, my pulse races and I wrap my hand around my cock, squeezing tight as I mutter, “Fuck,” to the ceiling while trying to catch my breath. When I first got home from Afghanistan, my dreams were the nightmares I lived there, the nightmares of losing men I considered brothers. Now my nightmares are the loss of her—June.

Rolling out of bed, I move to the small, attached bathroom, turn on the faucet, lean forward, cup the water in my palms, and splash my face, letting the cool liquid wash away the last of my dream. Resting my palms on the edge of the sink, I drop my head forward and squeeze my eyes closed, wondering how long the memories of June and me will haunt my nights. Lifting my head, looking at myself in the mirror, I stare at the man before me—knowing I’m everything my father said I am.

“Fuck!” I roar, pulling back my arm and swinging, watching the glass shatter as my fist makes contact and my image disintegrates.

Chest heaving, I drop my head again, pulling in ragged breaths.

Heading down the hall, I see Harlen coming out of his room and lift my chin.

“You heading to work?” he asks, stepping in sync with me as we move down the outside corridor of the compound toward the kitchen/cafeteria.

“Yeah,” I mutter, lifting my chin to Z when I spot him sitting at a table as we enter through the door. The large room, which used to be the lunchroom when the factory was working, now holds a few round tables near the entrance for the kitchen. An eighty-inch flat-screen TV is hung with a warn leather couch in front of it, and two pool tables are set up in the back corner. Most days, the room is packed with the men who either work or live here, most of them are transitioning from military to civilian life.