I’ve waited for this moment, and fantasized about this moment, and jerked-off to the idea of this moment for five years. Absolutely nothing prepares me for the reality of having this woman’s body pressed against me and her lips moving against mine.
What the hell was I supposed to be doing? Wasn’t I mad about something?
Fuuuck, now she’s sucking on my tongue, and I can’t remember my own name.
Harley whimpers into my mouth when I deepen the kiss and change angles, one arm banding tighter around her waist and the other moving up so I can run my hand up the back of her neck and clutch a handful of her soft, short, wavy blonde hair in my fist.
Her tongue swirls around mine. My goddamn knees almost give out, and I just hold on tighter and kiss her harder.
Fuck, she tastes amazing… like chocolate.
My dick is going to bust through my jeans in five seconds, and I don’t even care.
Her hands are still holding tightly to my face, and it’s the hottest thing ever that she’s making sure I stay put and this kiss doesn’t end anytime soon.
Should I move my hands? It’s too soon to grab her ass, right? Probably too soon.
Fuck, she’s doing that swirly tongue thing again. I might pass out.
Harley lets out another soft whimper in my mouth, and I gently suck and nip on her bottom lip before diving in again.
I’m definitely seeing stars now. Can you get a contact high by exchanging bodily fluids? Maybe I’m high. I mean, she does taste like the chocolate brownies she inhaled. Wait… wait a goddamn minute. Jesus Christ, what am I doing? She’s high right now!
I yank my mouth away from Harley’s and stare down at her, trying to slow my breathing.
Harley’s eyes are still closed, and staring down at her red, swollen mouth still slightly parted from that kiss is not a wise decision if I want my fucking dick to settle down. I can’t believe I just took advantage of a woman who is high as a kite on edibles. Technically, she kissed me, and I’m going to live on that spank-bank material for the rest of my life, but I shouldn’t have let it go on as long as I did. She’s going to hate herself when this shit wears off, and she’s definitely going to kick my ass.
Suddenly, a loud scream echoes around us. Harley’s eyes pop open at the sound, and I try not to cry like a little bitch when her hands drop from where they were still holding onto my face.
“Oh heavens. Fred is loose again,” Nanci says, suddenly reminding me we had a goddamn audience to that kiss, right as our obstinate, sneaky little shit of a screaming goat goes running past us on the walkway, heading toward the back of the sanctuary.
Unwrapping my tight hold on Harley, I move to her side. When her legs start to wobble, I keep one arm securely around her waist and hold her to me. The only good thing about her being incapacitated right now is that I can still keep touching her without her beating the shit out of me. I’m going to savor it for as long as I can.
Fred lets out another loud scream as he goes running past, faster than I’ve ever seen him move. Which is quite shocking, since Fred escapes from his pen and runs back to piss off the alpacas at least three times a week.
“How much pot was in those brownies?” Harley mutters, staring wide-eyed at Fred galloping and screaming down the path.
“That’s not a hallucination.” I chuckle.
Too bad the sound comes out like a squeaky choke. We’re standing here talking about a damn screaming goat, when I still haven’t recovered from that kiss. I may never recover. And Harley’s high, thinking she’s seeing things, and probably won’t even remember that kiss when it wears off.
Fuck!
“I think it’s best if I go to sleep now,” Harley states. “Don’t let me fall off the cliff. I know it’s around here somewhere.”
“I’ll get Fred before he riles up the alpacas,” Nanci reassures me as I keep my arm around Harley’s waist and start helping her walk toward the parking lot.
She rests her head on my shoulder, and I am unsuccessful in stopping myself from sniffing her hair before giving Nanci a smile in thanks as she heads off in the direction where Fred disappeared.
“Do you need help with anything?”
I pause at the corner of the otter building, forgetting my dad was even here as soon as Harley pulled my mouth against hers.
“Not from you.” I glare at him while he stands awkwardly by my open office door with his hands in his suit pants pockets.
Who the hell wears a designer, three-piece suit to an animal sanctuary? Martin Trevino, that’s who.
I couldn’t remember the last time I felt as happy as I’d been over the last week and a half. Even when I had to listen to Harley’s dad tell me in explicit detail how he guts a frog for his party boxes while we waited in the emergency room, and even when I had to put Davidson in time-out three different times for throwing temper tantrums while I taught him how to make Kraft Mac n Cheese. Talking to Harley via text, letting her get to know the real me so maybe she’ll give me a shot, and finally feeling like I don’t have to hide who I am around someone makes everything worth it.
I like cooking. I like baking. I like cleaning, and doing laundry, and organization, and I fucking love Pinterest, okay? I like being domestic, and I like taking care of people, and I don’t give a shit anymore if that makes me sound and look like a pussy. I’m finally doing what makes me happy, with a woman who makes me forget there was ever a time in my life I didn’t feel like this.
And then I walk into my office, happily texting Harley, to find my dad going through file cabinets and searching through my desk. Everything about The Backyard has been done via email or text. I haven’t seen my father since I left for the army the second time, and he hasn’t bothered to try to see me since I’ve been back home. I remembered all the times he told me to “man the fuck up,” all the times he called me a sissy for wanting to work with animals, and blackmailing me into joining the army not once but twice, and how the first time I saw him again in five years was to find him snooping through my shit. I saw red. It wasn’t until the woman currently snuggled up against my side, whose hair smells like watermelon, came into my line of sight, holding onto a tree for dear life and shouting about her legs, that I lost some of my rage.
“Dax. Pssst, hey, Dax!” Harley whispers.
My irritation about my dad asking to help immediately vanishes when I look away from him and down at her bloodshot yet still beautiful blue eyes while we walk.
“Do you have any sharp cheddar in your pocket?”
I chuckle as I shake my head at her, moving my feet faster so we can get out to the parking lot, I can get her home, and she can sleep this off.
It’s totally fine I feel like someone just punched me in the gut again when she rests her head back on my shoulder as we walk and she starts singing a song about cheese.
And if my ears are working properly, it sounds like she’s singing it to the tune of “No Scrubs” by TLC. Why does she have to be so adorable at a time like this?
“A cheese is a cheese that thinks he’s fly, and is also known as a… ched-dar,” she sings, giggling her way through it.
Even if she does remember what happened, and even if she doesn’t kick me in the balls, she’ll probably just pretend like it didn’t happen. Like she did about the night we first met at McCallahan’s.