Slingshot by K.L. Savage

It’s the fifth call I’ve declined from my Papa in three days, and I know ignoring him will only lead him to become angry. I know he knows where I am, but why he hasn’t come here yet, I’ll never know. If I had to guess, it would be because of Nora.

“I know, I know. Just give me a second, Little Bit,” Reaper says to his newborn daughter as he walks into the kitchen.

She’s crying at the top of her lungs.

“Sorry, she’s hungry, and Sarah is fresh out of life-saving milk right now.”

I snicker at the silly explanation. “It’s okay. I can take her while you get a bottle ready.”

“Really?” He seems so relieved. “Thank you. I’ll only be a second.”

The basement door opens when Knives climbs out, and there’s a loud scream of someone in pain.

I know who it is. I don’t even ask. I just pretend that I don’t even hear the cries for help. He didn’t help me when I cried. Why should anyone help him?

“Oh, aren’t you beautiful?” I coo at baby Hendrix.

“How do we not have any leftover milk? Oh my god, what am I going to do? What am I going to do?” Reaper begins to panic.

“Too bad your tits are so useless, Reaper. Maybe you’d actually be helpful,” Knives teases him as Reaper opens up cabinets, where breastmilk would not be.

“Don’t’ be a dick. I need milk and Sarah is out. Hendrix sucks her freaking dry, and I’ve been rubbing the nipple butter on her poor nipples every hour. She’s in tears and in pain, Knives. Don’t fucking joke.”

“Sorry, Prez.”

“Tool is your Prez right now, damn it!” Reaper roars and slams his fist on the counter, shaking the cups sitting on the counter.

The house is quiet, but Hendrix is loud. I rock her in my arms and smile. “I know, baby. Mommy and Daddy are tired, and they know you’re hungry. Can I make a suggestion?” I dare to ask.

“If you say you’re pregnant and can breastfeed, you’re my new best friend,” he says.

“Not yet.” Slingshot comes from the hallway out of nowhere and kisses my cheek. “You look so fucking good with a baby in your arms,” his hushed baritone slithers down my spine as he kisses the shell of my ear.

“A few ol’ ladies are breastfeeding, right? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind donating their milk for Hendrix, and that will give you time to go get some formula.”

“Women can do that? Other babies can drink other mother’s milk?” He sounds so surprised; it’s almost funny, and it would be if he wasn’t so desperate.

“Yeah, it’s completely safe.”

“I heard someone needs milk?” Joanna comes in with three freshly pumped bottles.

“I have some too,” Hope walks in behind Joanna.

Reaper turns around, and I swear I hear a sniffle. “Thank you.” Everyone ignores the emotion choking his throat.

It’s normal for men to become more…sensitive during this time. They become more empathetic.

I take a bottle from Joanna and rub the nipple over Hendrix’s lips, and she quickly latches on, gulping down the warm milk. “There we go. What a good girl.” I catch myself as I say those words because I swear I’m conditioned to get turned on now when I hear it.

Slingshot squeezes my shoulder, and I know we’re thinking about the same thing.

“Okay, I’ll take her and bring her to Sarah, and then I’ll run to the store. Thank you, guys. You helped out so much.”

“Reaper, don’t ever be afraid to ask. We’re family.” Joanna gives him a quick hug, and I see his eyes get misty again.

He clears his throat and nods, pulling away and wiping his eyes. “I have dust or something. Allergies have been up my ass lately.”

“Oh yeah, allergies are rough this time of year.” Knives nods with his lips pursed, not believing Reaper for a damn minute.

Reaper cradles Hendrix in the nook of his arm and feeds her while walking back to his room.

“Saving the day,” Slingshot says, tugging me up from the chair, his coarse whiskers along his jaw scratch my flushed cheek. It’s a bit sensitive from the bruising yet reassuring at the same time because it’s Slingshot. “Being the good girl I know you to be.” He smirks as he pulls away, leaving me wanting more of his appraisal. “Come on. I have a surprise for you.” When we get to the door with the stained glass, he steps behind me and wraps a silk blindfold around my eyes.

“Noah—”

“—It’s okay. I have you. I won’t let anything happen to you, Natalia. You can trust me.”

The door groans open, and the crickets sing in harmony as Noah leads me outside. The night isn’t too warm; it’s perfect for spending the day out here. I trip over my own two feet since I have no idea where I’m going, and Noah catches me before I hit the ground.

“I have you. Just follow me. I won’t let you run into anything. It’s a pretty clear path, so you’re safe.”

There’s a howl in the distance, and I jump, gripping Noah’s arm. “What was that?”

“A coyote. It’s fine. They won’t bother you.”

A coyote! Oh god…

“Really, we’re safe.”

I trip again, but his hand never leaves my waist, and he helps keeps me steady. I smell something delicious and inhale, and then I hear the soft beat of country music playing in the background.

“Okay, ready? It isn’t the greatest, but I used what I could. Wow, I’m nervous. Okay, are you ready? I’m not ready.” He blows out a breath, and I grip his hand while he unties my blindfold with the other. “Surprise!” he shouts to the diamonds in the sky.

I throw my hands over my mouth in shock as I see what he set up for us—for me. The taco truck he bought is primed white for paint, and right now, it’s here for decoration, but it adds to the ambiance of the twinkling lights attached to it. In the middle is a picnic table with a buffet of tacos. And there’s a small radio sitting on top of the shelf that will be the taco truck window when it’s up and running.

“I know it isn’t a fancy restaurant, but I know you wanted to wait for your—oof—”

I quiet him by slamming against him so hard, the air is forced from his lungs. “It’s perfect. I love it. I love it so much.” I grab the back of his head and smash my lips against his. “No, this is even better because you put thought into it.” My hand lands over his heart, and I find peace knowing how strong it pumps. “Your heart is so good, Noah, so beautiful.”

His hand lays against mine and squeezes it delicately as he inhales a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, you…” he smiles, kicking the dirt, “…You just said something that reminded me a lot of what my Mom said about me on the day she died. That’s all.”

I comb my fingers through his hair and wish I could have been there for Noah when he was younger. “I’d like to hear about her sometime. She already sounds like a brilliant woman.”

“She was.” There’s a hint of forlorn in his tone, and he tugs me along the desert trail toward the picnic table.

There are a lot of small touches too. Candles lit and green plants hanging from the truck’s sides and a few potted aloe vera plants here and there so there’s more than dead bushes around us.

“I made margaritas too,” he says, picking up a glass pitcher that’s full of the delicious drink. The ice clinks into the glass as he pours them to the rim and then adds a wedge of lime on the edge.

The glass is already sweating from the heat in the air. I greedily drink half of it down.

“Damn, alright.” Slingshot tops off my glass.

“So thirsty and these are delicious.”

“Squeezed the limes myself.” He bobs his head left and right, cheery and proud as he takes a seat.

Noah grabs my plate and begins to place a few corn tortillas on there. “I’m going to give you one of everything and then there’s this spicy green salsa that’s to die for. You’re going to love it.”

“Do you have any vegetarian options?”

His hand pauses as he scoops carne asada onto the first taco.

“Vegetar…No,” he whispers in disbelief.

He really looks like he’s about to cry.

Eh, I’ll put him out of his misery. “I’m kidding. Noah, it’s a joke. I’m not. I love meat.” I realize how that sounds, but he doesn’t catch on. His eyes brew a storm. “I’m just teasing.”

“Good girls don’t joke about being vegetarians, Natalia. You nearly killed me with one word.” He finishes getting my plate ready and sets it down in front of me.

I’m not kidding when I say there have to be ten tacos on here. I can’t eat that much.

“There’s plenty more when you’re done too.”

When I’m done?

While he makes his own plate, I debate on how to tackle the mound of food in front of me. There’s cilantro and pickled red onion with fresh diced jalapenos. The salsa decorates the top, and there’s a scoop of sour cream dolloped on the edge of the plate.

I pick up the first taco and take a bite at the same time he does. “Mmm,” I say, licking my lips. “Delicious. I could eat this every day,” I say in passing.

“Really? Don’t tease me like that. I’m addicted to tacos. I couldn’t eat them for the longest time when I had cancer because of my stomach, and now it’s like I can’t get enough. I think I’m stuffing myself to the max before it comes back.”

“You think the cancer will come back?”

He nods and moves on to his fourth taco while I pick up my second. He’s a quick eater. My gosh.

“Yeah, I think so in time. I think that’s why I’m always all in with anything and everything. Tomorrow I might wake up and have to fight for my life all over again. I don’t want a second wasted.” He squeezes more lime on the tacos before folding the tortilla in half and taking another big bite.

“I’ll be here every step of the way if that happens, but I don’t think it will. I think you’ve fought all the battles you’re supposed to.”

“I like that you think so, but sometimes battles aren’t physical,” he says, taking a swig of his margarita.

“But you don’t have to battle anything alone anymore.” I reach across the picnic table for his hand, and I didn’t know there was sour cream on my finger. I trail a long line across his wrist and yank my hand away, chuckling with a mouth full of taco.

He licks the back of his hand, and he lifts it up, inspecting it. “You know what it’s missing?” he asks, confusing me since his hand is clean now.

I swallow the gulp of lemon-lime margarita, and the tequila burns the back of my throat which causes my eyes to water. “What?”

“Your wedding band.”

I wait for him to wink, to tell me he’s kidding, something to stop the hope pinging back and forth in my chest. “Don’t joke like that, Noah,” I say, scooting the third taco around on my plate. “You and I both know that won’t happen for a while. No one moves that fast.”

“I do,” he says. “I’m not kidding. Don’t doubt me. I’m already going slower than I want because you deserve a chance to run away from me. Still, I’m running toward you full speed, Natalia. Now, hush and eat your food. It’s going to get cold.”

I pick up my taco, and the citrusy scent of lime hits my nose as I bring it to my mouth. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good Girl.”

My body shivers and my skin pebbles every time. I always want to make him proud of me for him to call me that. The way he says it is what gets me the most. His voice is deep and serious; the playful edge is gone from his typical timbre.

He makes me come to life in more ways than one, and he has no idea.

Noah stands, tossing his napkin on his plate, and then finishes off his drink. The empty glass clunks against the table, and he holds out his hand while I wipe my mouth. “Dance with me.” He doesn’t ask because it isn’t a question. It’s a command.

I slide my fingers over his, and he helps me to my feet, then lifts his arms to twirl me in a circle. The song on the radio changes to something sexy yet slow, and Noah tugs me against his body, aligning his chest with mine. My breasts are pressed against his pecs, and my pelvis is aligned with his as we sway.

I like that we aren’t out in the middle of a bar right now, dancing around a hundred people. It isn’t as intimate as being out in the open desert, lights he strung by himself around us, with bright sparklers in the night sky twinkling as the night darkens.

Any one of his friends could see us right now, and Noah doesn’t care. He just wants to be with me.

With a wave of his hips, his hard cock presses against my belly, and I run my hands up my sides until I lift my hair off my neck to get cooler air against my sweaty skin. His nose glides up my neck, and his tongue flicks out to lick specific patches. His hands run down my back and glide over my ass. The width of his palm reminds me of how hard his slaps are when I don’t listen, and I moan at the memory, wanting to rebel all over again.

“Goddamn it, you are fucking gorgeous, Natalia. I’m a lucky man.”

The song switches to something slower, not sexy, but a great song to just be with him. He spins me around again until I’m pressed against his chest. It’s a song by John Mayer playing through the speakers. The cry of the guitar is gorgeous and sad all at once, yet full of hope for the future.

As he holds me close and lays his chin on top of my head while I settle my cheek against his chest, I know there’s no hope for me when it comes to Noah.

I’m completely, insanely, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him.

I want our futures together to start now because we never know what the next second can hold.