“You do,” I say, wagging my finger towards him. “Should I bring up the girl with the word KARMA tattooed on a certain body part?”
“Hey, how did you know about that?”
“Linc,” Graham and I say together.
We all laugh, the ease of the family now extending to me. I’ve never felt anything like this. So accepted and incorporated into everything they do. They respect me, maybe even love me, and I adore them right back. All of them.
“Your last date was the girl you broke up with before you went overseas, right?” Graham asks.
Ford’s face falls. He stands and goes to a cabinet in search of a glass. Graham and I exchange a look and he waves me off.
“It’s time to move on,” Graham presses. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but someone needs to fucking say it.”
“Lincoln said it yesterday,” Ford sighs, his back to us.
“Well, as much as it hurts to admit, Linc was right.”
Ford glances at me, his eyes meeting mine. “She has to like comedies and running. I don’t trust a woman that won’t eat a hamburger, and if she takes longer than a half hour to get ready, I’m out.”
“Deal.”
He doesn’t look sure about it, but seems to accept the idea. “We can start looking next year.”
“Damn you,” I laugh, moving to Graham’s lap. “Why are you so hardheaded?”
“I’m not,” Ford says. “Dating isn’t something that really interests me right now.”
“Because of her?” Graham says, squeezing my thigh in another warning. Ford nods, a small, barely noticeable movement of his head, and Graham exhales. “Okay. We’ll drop it,” Graham says.
Ford stands and heads towards the garage door. “I’m going to check on Trigger. Your neighbor, Paul, was walking his dog on the golf course and volunteered to take Trigger too.”
I nearly choke on my water at the thought of Paul walking his dog. Graham pats me on the back.
“We’ll wait to eat with you,” Graham tells him as we both ignore the curious look Ford tosses our way. The door swings shut behind him as I regain my composure.
“I’m sure he won’t ask me why you just shot water out of your nose at the mention of Paul’s name.” Graham rolls his eyes. “Should I tell him the truth or just say it was awkward timing?”
“Don’t tell him you fucked me while he was twenty yards away!” I giggle. “That makes me seem like some kind of exhibitionist.”
“I think you just might be. You liked it an awful lot that night.”
I cuddle into my man, breathing in the scent of his cologne. “When do I not like it with you?”
Looking at him, I watch his face light up. He kisses my nose, then bumps me off his lap.
“Hey,” I protest.
“I can’t take it anymore.” He grabs a white towel out of a drawer and begins cleaning up the kitchen.
Drawing one leg under me, I watch my man in action. He wipes up my spills, brushes off the counters, sweeps up t
he messy floor. The amazing thing is, he does it without a word. I also know he won’t mention it later.
Graham lets me be me. He’s never asked me to change who I am despite all my idiosyncrasies that I know drive him nuts.
He certainly touches my body in every imaginable and even unimaginable way . . . but he also caresses those harder to reach areas like my mind. My heart. My soul.
Every day I spend with him, I feel more like the person I was meant to be. It’s like he holds my hand, guiding me but without pressure. Offering support but not instructions. Giving me space to figure things out while giving me a soft spot to land when things go awry.