Off Limits(40)

"Most likely in neighborhoods where you're going to be putting that military training of yours to daily use," Hank said with a laugh, tossing his pen onto his desk, where it clattered before coming to rest on his blotter. "All right, I'm not going to tell a man not to be a man. If you need a reference or anything, give them my number."

That conversation had calmed my last fear, and the rest of the week went well. Now, on Friday night, I was in the park relaxing after work not because of lack of funds, but because when I came back to the Tower, I found a tie hanging on the doorknob of the apartment. Holding my ear to the door confirmed that Chris did have some female companion over, a quite vocal one at that. I figured tonight would be a good night to just chill out, and backed away from the door, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my evening. From the sounds of it, Chris and the lady were enjoying each other's company, and I'd need plans until at least midnight, if not morning.

Thankfully, unlike some of the guys in the shop who wore their work clothes to and from work, I used the locker room. So while my clothes weren’t exactly dressy, they wouldn't get me kicked out of an Applebee’s either.

The sun was still low on the horizon and the sky was golden when my phone rang, and I opened it up to see Abby's name on the caller ID. "Abby?"

"Hi, Dane," she said, her voice sounding a bit nervous. "How are you doing?"

"Pretty good, but the past five seconds have been the best part of my day," I replied honestly. "It's good to hear your voice again."

"You too," she said. "I know this sounds weird and all, but I was really hoping I could see you again tomorrow. Daddy won't know."

I should have said no. I knew it. I should have said that if we were going to see each other, then we had to be honest with her father, even if it meant that he would be pissed off. I should have, but I didn't. Instead, I let my lust do the talking, which said that if I had to make my way through a mile of rabid pit bulls to see this woman, I would. "Of course. I have the day off, lucky for me. What do you want to do?"

"How about you meet me at the Midtown MARTA station?" Abby asked. "And dress casual. It'll be a surprise. I'll be honest, I'm kind of making this up as I talk."

"Deal," I said, leaning back and just relishing the sound of her voice in my ear. "Abby, are you going to get in trouble for this?"

"Sometimes things are worth getting in trouble for," she said softly. "I didn't understand that before . . . but I think I do now."

"I know what you mean," I said, sitting up on the grass and watching a couple of kids throwing a Frisbee back and forth. "Abby, you're causing a lot of emotional changes in me. Some of them are pretty scary, actually."

I could hear the smile in her voice as she replied, but still, a trace of nervousness clung to her honeyed tones. "Really? Like what?"

"Like for the first time since I can remember, I think there might be a chance that I could find real happiness in life," I said. "Like maybe I'm not just a barely tolerated dog in the world, to be kicked and smacked around until I lose it and bite back. Like maybe there is someone for me, and that there might be a chance at . . . well . . .”

"At what?" she asked, her breath caught in her throat. I could tell she wanted me to say it, but I didn’t want to say it prematurely. We still had a while to go.

"At love," I finally said in a whisper. I ran my hand through my hair and laughed. "Is that too much to hope for?"

"No." Abby's answer came back at nearly the same level of whisper that I had used. "I feel the same way. I don’t know if that’s what this is, but I have hope.”



* * *



The next day, I waited outside the Midtown MARTA station when a white Chevy Camaro pulled up and Abby waved. I hurried over, jumping in on the passenger side. Looking around the interior, I ran my hand over the real leather, impressed. Maybe it was living in the Mayfair Tower, maybe it was that I had a job of my own now, but I had come to be able to appreciate the trappings of Abby's economic status without being too worried about my position relative to them. "Wow, this is a great car."

"Thanks," Abby said. I couldn't help it—I stared at her as she pulled out. She was wearing jean shorts, not quite short shorts but damn close, with what I was sure was about a mile and a half of toned, beautifully tanned leg sticking out, along with a blue tank top and her hair pulled back into a thick, braided ponytail that completed the package. I could feel blood begin to rush to my cock, and I could only sit there like an idiot. When we got to the stop light, she looked over at me and smiled shyly. "You're staring. And not wearing your seat belt."

"Sorry," I replied, jerking my eyes away and putting on my belt. "Just . . . you look beautiful today. So what is on your agenda?"

Abby's smile was contagious, and she jerked a thumb behind her. I looked and saw the folded bulge of a blanket and a picnic basket. "I guess you can tell, but I'm an outdoors-type girl, and I couldn't think of anything better than having a picnic with my boyfriend."

"Is that what we are now?” I asked. I tried to think back to the last time a girl had called me her boyfriend, and I realized it was nearly a decade prior, back when I'd just gotten out of high school. Of course, I’d had plenty of hookups since then, at least before Iraq, but never had I been someone's boyfriend. “Are you sure about that? I’m not the most popular guy around here.”