yelling at my father in this very living room the last time I saw him almost fifteen years ago.
I'm on my feet, panting, no tears getting through the burning anger rising in my chest. "My future? I am thinking about my future! I'm in love with Scott and nothing will ever change that."
"You're not a little girl anymore, Gail!" Dad shoots to his feet too. "You know dating a convicted criminal will destroy any future you hope to have as a lawyer."
"It didn't destroy yours!" I yell back, glaring at him, my face likely the same shade of red as his.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know very well!"
"That's completely different, Gail. I never got involved and I sent them all on their merry way," Dad says, the veil in his temple throbbing worse than ever. "Which is what you have to do with this Scott. Right now, tonight!"
But there's no way I ever will, and the mere suggestion sends a surge of ice cold air through my chest, making my knees wobble.
"You can't tell me what to do!" I yell and run from the living room.
"Be smart about this, Gail!" he yells, just before the front door slams shut behind me.
Scott's not home when I get to his apartment, and my head's still spinning from the argument with my dad. Because he's right, only I can't accept that, not now, and the only way I can erase this knowledge is having Scott's strong arms around me, and his lips pressed against mine.
I drink two lattes in the little bakery downstairs, and eat two chocolate croissants. At ten past seven, the girl behind the counter starts giving me dirty looks, and by half past she strides right up to my table and tells me to leave, because she has to close and go home.
I pay her and go wait outside for Scott. But it's freezing, and snow is coming down in hard icy balls. It's only marginally better inside the car.
He finally parks Andrew's car behind me at half past eight, and by then my lips are blue and I'm probably halfway to getting pneumonia.
"You waited out here all this time?" he asks, his misting breath obscuring his face.
I wrap my arms around him, swallowing hard so I won't start crying. Both his arms are squeezing me tight.
"You don't have your cast anymore?" I ask.
"I got it taken off." He places his arm around my shoulders, takes my bag and leads me down the alleyway.
"On a Saturday?" I ask leaning against him.
"Yeah, it's healed enough," he mutters and follows me into the building.
His otherwise very chilly apartment feels like walking into a furnace after the hours I spent outside in the cold.
"You really should have gone inside somewhere to wait," he says, rubbing his arms up and down mine.
"I needed to see you," I whisper, shivering now.
"It didn't go that well with your dad," he says. It's a statement and not a question, but I nod anyway.
He helps me take off my jacket his eyes fixed on mine, the fire burning inside them warm enough to thaw any frost, no matter how deep.
"Better get you warmed up," he says and peels off my sweater. But his eyes are doing that just fine on their own.
He takes off his own sweater and shirt, shadows playing across crevices of his ripped stomach.
I gasp as he presses his hot chest against mine, his arms wrapped so firmly around me I wonder if he'll even be able to let go. Not that I want him to, ever.
His warmth passes into me, cold receding like clouds before a gusting spring wind. His lips are everywhere, on the top of my head, my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, my lips. I take his lip between my teeth to keep him there, meet his tongue as it forces its way into my mouth.
His nails graze my skin as he unbuttons my jeans, and I help him pull them down as his tongue finds my nipple, his hands cupping my breasts, before they find their way to my ass, and it's like I'm floating in the air.
The bed wobbles beneath me as he pulls my jeans off all the way. And then his kisses are everywhere again, tracing a path down my neck, tickling my nipples, pressing against
I'm on my feet, panting, no tears getting through the burning anger rising in my chest. "My future? I am thinking about my future! I'm in love with Scott and nothing will ever change that."
"You're not a little girl anymore, Gail!" Dad shoots to his feet too. "You know dating a convicted criminal will destroy any future you hope to have as a lawyer."
"It didn't destroy yours!" I yell back, glaring at him, my face likely the same shade of red as his.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know very well!"
"That's completely different, Gail. I never got involved and I sent them all on their merry way," Dad says, the veil in his temple throbbing worse than ever. "Which is what you have to do with this Scott. Right now, tonight!"
But there's no way I ever will, and the mere suggestion sends a surge of ice cold air through my chest, making my knees wobble.
"You can't tell me what to do!" I yell and run from the living room.
"Be smart about this, Gail!" he yells, just before the front door slams shut behind me.
Scott's not home when I get to his apartment, and my head's still spinning from the argument with my dad. Because he's right, only I can't accept that, not now, and the only way I can erase this knowledge is having Scott's strong arms around me, and his lips pressed against mine.
I drink two lattes in the little bakery downstairs, and eat two chocolate croissants. At ten past seven, the girl behind the counter starts giving me dirty looks, and by half past she strides right up to my table and tells me to leave, because she has to close and go home.
I pay her and go wait outside for Scott. But it's freezing, and snow is coming down in hard icy balls. It's only marginally better inside the car.
He finally parks Andrew's car behind me at half past eight, and by then my lips are blue and I'm probably halfway to getting pneumonia.
"You waited out here all this time?" he asks, his misting breath obscuring his face.
I wrap my arms around him, swallowing hard so I won't start crying. Both his arms are squeezing me tight.
"You don't have your cast anymore?" I ask.
"I got it taken off." He places his arm around my shoulders, takes my bag and leads me down the alleyway.
"On a Saturday?" I ask leaning against him.
"Yeah, it's healed enough," he mutters and follows me into the building.
His otherwise very chilly apartment feels like walking into a furnace after the hours I spent outside in the cold.
"You really should have gone inside somewhere to wait," he says, rubbing his arms up and down mine.
"I needed to see you," I whisper, shivering now.
"It didn't go that well with your dad," he says. It's a statement and not a question, but I nod anyway.
He helps me take off my jacket his eyes fixed on mine, the fire burning inside them warm enough to thaw any frost, no matter how deep.
"Better get you warmed up," he says and peels off my sweater. But his eyes are doing that just fine on their own.
He takes off his own sweater and shirt, shadows playing across crevices of his ripped stomach.
I gasp as he presses his hot chest against mine, his arms wrapped so firmly around me I wonder if he'll even be able to let go. Not that I want him to, ever.
His warmth passes into me, cold receding like clouds before a gusting spring wind. His lips are everywhere, on the top of my head, my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, my lips. I take his lip between my teeth to keep him there, meet his tongue as it forces its way into my mouth.
His nails graze my skin as he unbuttons my jeans, and I help him pull them down as his tongue finds my nipple, his hands cupping my breasts, before they find their way to my ass, and it's like I'm floating in the air.
The bed wobbles beneath me as he pulls my jeans off all the way. And then his kisses are everywhere again, tracing a path down my neck, tickling my nipples, pressing against
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