The Girl He Needs by Kristi Rose

stop staring at his form. Just thinking about wrapping myself around him and feeling those arms holding me nearly causes me to crash the bike. When he sees me, he stutters in his stride, pulls the ear buds out by yanking on the cord, and briefly opens his mouth before slamming it shut.
    I smile, glad I tied my tank into a knot that rests above my belly button because his eyes wander to my waist and follow the new vines of henna downward. McRae feels it too, this pull, I’m sure of it. Seeing the emotions flash across his face gives me pleasure. Is it as strong for him as it is for me? Is he the positive to my negative? With a flash of clarity, I know what I want. McRae. With muscles hard enough to cut a diamond. I want to experience him unfettered, unchained, with no attachments or obligations. I want it so badly I can barely breathe. For one night, I’d be willing to give his schematics a go.
    I’m not overly modest by any stretch of the imagination, not anymore that is. I like sex. I like it a lot. It’s energizing to experience the press of a man’s body against mine, to touch them and learn their shape. When with someone intimately, you learn more about them and see them in ways you never could with an arm’s length between. Like peeking into their soul. I want a glimpse into this guy’s soul. His green eyes, straight nose, and his day-old beard make me want to know him in the biblical way. I’ve never been so fucking attracted to someone in my entire life.
    When he’s got a full frontal shot, I stand to pedal once and lean forward to expose my cleavage. It’s a cheap shot, but I’m a girl on a mission now. I cruise the bike slowly past him.
    “Hi,” I say as I roll by, coming to stop at the edge of the boardwalk.
    “Hey,” he calls from behind me.
    I twist, looking at him over my shoulder. He’s stopped running, has turned to face me, and is leaning against a weathered post. One hand rests on his hip, his chest rising and falling with each deep inhalation.
    “You live around here?” he asks.
    “Yeah, right down that road.” I wave in the direction of Mrs. Cramer’s house. McRae follows my finger, which indicates the area of larger, more stately homes, and looks back, puzzled.
    I laugh. “I have an apartment over the garage.”
    He pushes off the post before walking toward me, flipping the ear bud cord over his shoulder. “So you’re settling in?”
    “For now.” I lower the bike’s kickstand then climb off and meet him half way. “Do you live around here?”
    “Yeah, about a mile up the street.” He motions behind me where older, smaller pre-war houses make up the neighborhood.
    Wow, knowing he’s close makes my pulse skip excitedly.
    “That was pretty bad ass what you did to that guy at the bar.” He leans down and reties his shoe but glances up at me. A car drives by slowly. I never saw or heard it coming until it was upon us. I’m so completely honed in on him.
    “You’ve got quick reflexes. Like a Kunoichi.” The admiration in his voice warms me. When he stands, he comes a step closer.
    “Ha, I’m hardly a female ninja, but that’s a compliment I’ll take.” I force myself to look at his face and not his chest. The last thing I want to do is openly drool over him.
    It’s obvious McRae doesn’t know what to think of me. I’ve seen him watch me, a curious and puzzled look on his face. On the ride to Daytona, I’m pretty sure he was going to kick me out of the truck until he realized I’d saved his ass with the phone call. I get that he’s having a hard time seeing through my exterior, but the quick snapshot of something more he’s had impresses him enough to pique his interest and that pleases me. Usually guys aren’t all that interested in what the inner Josie Woodmere is like. Not that I’d give them a chance to find out.
    I don’t give a rat’s ass about the tightly wound types and their haughty opinions but there’s something else about McRae that I like. Maybe