8 Mile & Rion by K.S. Adkins Read Free Book Online

smile.
    But that smile had to wait because we had four accounts to collect from first. Surprisingly enough it went quickly and thing happened. In all my years of collecting, I’d never seen ever client make arrangements to come in this week and pay. No bullshit, no con job and no running out the back door either. I can only chalk it up to the giant standing next to me with his arms over his chest. One client tried back peddling and all he said was ‘figure it out by Friday or I come back alone’ and that was that. I know a lot of our client base personally, but I’ve also been away for a bit and I don’t know many of our newer clients. This afternoon I feel confident in saying we, or rather he, made an impression.
    Now we’re back in my tiny apartment and he keeps staring at me. It’s throwing me off. A man taken shouldn’t be watching every move I make and it messes with me because he doesn’t act taken. If he was taken where was she? Why wasn’t he living with her? Why wasn’t she by her man’s side? Oh hell, what do I know? I was raised with bookies and criminals, not exactly the most honest humans around and horrible with dating tips.
    When he comes up behind me, I startle and drop the chicken, but in one quick move, he catches the pan setting it on the counter. He’s so close I can smell him. It takes all my effort not to lean in and lick his neck. He wants to be needed and noticed just like I do, and I don’t know what to do about it. “Tomorrow,” he says, brushing my shoulder and dammit, he needs to not do that. “What time do we start?”
    “After lunch,” I tell him moving away to the safety of my tiny dining room. “Got a few things to do, but I’ll be back to go with you.” After he nods, no smile, no emotion, I set the table to catch my breath. “Okay,” I say, motioning to Loyal to take a seat, which he does without fanfare, “so how many years did you give the Marines?”
    “Seventeen,” he says, tearing into his chicken.
    “Seventeen? Did you sign up right out of high school?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What did you do for them?”
    “Raids and hostage rescues,” he says going for the vegetables.
    Totally thrown, I find it hard to swallow my dinner. “I didn’t know they did that,” I whisper.
    “Not supposed to,” he says, in way of explanation.
    “You were good at it,” I tell him, staring at his massive forearms wondering what the ink stood for and wishing his calloused hands were all over me. Okay whoa. “I mean, I assume you were good at it.”
    “I was.”
    “How long ago were you last active?”
    “Last job was a few weeks ago,” he says looking up at me and my words died in my mouth. “But they officially cut me loose last Monday.”
    “I lost my dad last Monday,” I whisper back to him, never losing eye contact. “I guess we’ve both suffered a loss recently.”
    “Yours was bigger than mine,” he says, standing up and taking his plate to the sink ending the conversation.
    Putting my hands in my lap, I didn’t know what to do now. Grief so heavy hits me and reality crashes in once again. I don’t know if I thought if I turned the business around that God would give him back to me as thanks but, it was then that I truly felt his loss.
    Senior was really gone.
    “Tell me about him,” he says taking my plate to the sink and begins the process of washing our dishes. I found that I really wanted to tell him about my dad. I wanted anyone who’d listen to know he was the best. So that’s what I did. Never once did his eyes glaze over or did he check his phone or look uncomfortable. In fact, he looked relaxed and when I was done, I noticed we had made it from the kitchen to my couch and my feet were in his lap with his hands covering them. He seemed as confused by it as I was. Now it was awkward because we were still strangers and for some reason I like his presence when I shouldn’t.
    As good as it felt to talk about him and to have someone listen, I had to