But don't worry!!! Because today is Striking Saturday and I have Lila Felix to keep me in line!!!!
“Thank goodness you’re not wearing heels again; I would’ve had to carry you around everywhere.”
She reached out two slender hands and grabbed the front of my shirt, “My mistake. I’ll have to wear heels from now on.” The blaze from her touch, sizzled through the fabric of my shirt and nestled itself against the skin of my stomach. If she ever actually touched the bare skin there, I was sure it would be the spark that lit my whole body aflame.
Both of my grotesquely huge hands cupped her calves, reminded by my eyes of how they flexed and showed off even in a field of sheep with their owner raged beyond compare. She was that brink of light in my day and my need for her presence multiplied by the second. Cami was my reprise from the forge.
“Show me where you work your magic,” she tugged once at my shirt.
“I thought you wanted to see the shop,” I teased and took her hand to help her out of the Jeep.
She was having trouble clopping through the dry parts as we’d had some rain during the night and the path from the driveway to the shop was one solid puddle, save for the spots of high and dry here and there. Someone was smart enough to outfit this girl with rubber boots. She slid on one mound and grabbed onto my back pocket for balance.
I turned and grabbed her up; it was futile to continue to watch her suffer. I crossed the threshold of my shop and propped her up on one of my chairs, an old barstool from when Mick’s was refurnished and my father couldn’t pass up the good deal. We actually bought the lot of barstools and then ended up giving them away because he couldn’t figure out what to do with all of them. My mother threw fits until he was rid of them, except the two in the shop.
“Your throne, Duchess.”
She looked confused, “What’s wrong Cami?”
“Why are you always rescuing me? I need to learn to do things by myself.” She let out a huge sigh—and I loved her defiance.
“I,” It couldn’t be helped. I let my fingers comb through the object of their desire. I’d wanted to touch her hair since I saw her and her bad manners in the bar. It was finely spun hay, the color of a perfect cream rose. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t think you can’t do it yourself. I just enjoy making things easier on you. Especially if that means getting to touch you one more time.”