My Kind of Love (Finding Love 1)

I step into the foyer and find Micaela screeching in fear. She drops all the shit she has in her hands and then runs into the door. Her forehead must hit the wood hard because the loud bang rings out through the house. She sways from the hit, and I try to help steady her, but she pulls away.

When she finally stops freaking out, realizing it’s only me, she does something I wasn’t expecting or prepared for. She eye-fucks the hell out of me. Her brown hair is in a disarray, and her matching brown eyes are scanning my body. Her lips, plump and juicy, are being nibbled on by her perfectly straight white teeth. She’s dressed casually in a white tank top and cut-off jean shorts. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve seen her, and holy shit has she grown up.

She mumbles some shit about my feet and dick being big, and I crack up laughing. She’s not only beautiful but fucking adorable as well.

When she realizes what she said out loud, her entire face turns a light shade of pink. Her eyes, the color of milk chocolate, meet mine, and her lips curl into a shy smile. And in that moment, something strange happens to me. My heart… it calms, like it actually beats a little slower. The racing in my head comes to a standstill, and my dick, it appreciates the view almost as much as I do.

“Kill. Me. Now. I did not ask that out loud…”

“Yes,” I tell her with a laugh. I’ve never met anyone who actually says what they’re thinking out loud without meaning to.

“What?” Her eyes go wide, and if it’s possible, her cheeks get even pinker.

“You did ask it out loud.”

“There has to be some mistake.” She shakes her head, looking embarrassed and confused and so fucking cute.

“About my dick being big, or you asking about it out loud?” It’s not like me to fuck with a woman like this, but I can’t help myself.

Her eyes widen into saucers and her face turns crimson. “About you being here!”

I bark out a laugh at how worked up she is. “I can assure you I am not a squatter. I’m not only allowed to be here, but I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Your dad.”

Her mouth gapes open and then closed. “Oh.” Her features cool as she looks around, her pouty mouth going flat into a frown. “I didn’t know.”

“It happened today. I got here earlier.”

“I guess…” She glances down at her luggage and bags that are laid out all over the floor. “I guess I should go.” She bends to pick up her luggage and I step forward. The sadness in her voice pulls at the strings in my heart. She lost her husband. I’ve heard she’s having a rough go at things lately. She must’ve come here to get away.

“Wait.” I gather her bags up for her. “It’s your family’s home. There are several rooms. I can leave in the morning.”

She shakes her head. “You were invited. I… kind of ran away.” She shrugs sheepishly.

“You’re over eighteen, right?” There’s no way I’m keeping her being here a secret from her parents if she’s going to be plastered all over the news as missing.

“Yes.” She laughs. It’s soft and sweet and does shit to my insides. “I’m twenty. I left them a note letting them know I was leaving, but I didn’t tell them where I was going. My mom told me I should get away, go somewhere to try to”—she swallows thickly—“deal with everything.” Her eyes shut, and she takes a deep breath, calming herself before she reopens them. “Anyway, I just meant I left suddenly. I didn’t actually run away.”

So, she came here to try to finally deal with her husband’s death. Marco mentioned he’s been worried about her and not sure what to do about it. I should probably text him that she’s here so he doesn’t worry, but I don’t want to go behind her back. She’s over-age and it isn’t my place to interfere.

“It’s late. Neither of us should be driving back home at this time of night. We can stay here and figure it out tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

We put away her groceries, which consist mostly of ice cream, cookies, and other sweets. She also has a gallon of milk and a bag of chips. The complete opposite to the meats and vegetables I picked up.

“I better answer that,” she says when her phone rings. “My mom.”

“All right. I took the master, but—”

“No, stay there. You’re fine.” And with that, she disappears down the hall and into a room, closing the door behind her.

Feeling restless, I stay awake most of the night watching crap TV. Micaela never comes out of her room, but through the walls, I can hear her crying. I find myself wanting to go to her, hold her and tell her it’s going to be okay. But I don’t. The last person I tried to help, I only ended up hurting when I couldn’t be the person she needed me to be.