Page 88 of Crash Course
While she was in the bathroom, Cruz glanced out the French doors to a courtyard surrounded by other single structure offices.
Just outside the doors, a cement patio with broken edges and deep cracks begged for a redo. "Patio is rough."
"I saw that. Ripping that up too. I’ll put in a stamped patio and some nice outdoor furniture."
Behind him, she darted across the hall into the last room. He followed and found her dead center, her gaze darting all around. "This would be my office."
She did a slow 360 turn, taking in the windows lining two of the four walls.
"Oh my!" she squealed.
Cilla squealing? Total pisser, that and Cruz couldn’t help smiling. She made him smile. Particularly when naked and on top of him.
"The natural light," she said, "is amazing. All I’ll need here is fresh paint. I’ll leave the windows bare. Maybe some shades, but no curtains. That way I can look out at the trees in the courtyard."
"It sounds like you love this place."
She raised her arms in victory. "I love this place!"
Then she marched over to him and laid a monster smacking kiss on his lips.
He stood, half-stunned for a second and then—why not?—slid his arms around her, his hands running along the soft fabric of her suit jacket and settling at the base of her spine.
She made a move to pull back—not so fast, sweetheart—but he held her there, softening the kiss, letting his lips brush hers and taking in the minty taste of her breath.
Kissing Cilla? Making love to Cilla? Nice.
Forget nice. Superb. And not in a slam-bam, let-me-get-laid-and-move-on way. This?
Different.
A fine-ass different that he was in no rush to see end.
"Mmmm," she murmured, easing back from the kiss. She held up her wrist and poked at her watch. "I love this, however, I’m on a schedule so we’ll have to pick it up later."
The lady lawyer had shit to do. She’d warned him about her schedule and times she’d be forced to walk out on him.
Somehow, knowing he’d have to do the same at some point, he didn’t mind.
Mutual understanding might be a beautiful thing.
He nodded. "I’ll look forward to it."
"Oh, me too, fella. Me too. Now, I’m calling the realtor and getting this train moving. I want to be in here in three weeks."
After Cilla finishedwith the realtor, making an offer thirty grand below asking, Cruz followed her to the courthouse, ensuring her safe arrival. Something she hadn’t argued with him over, considering the whole bullet-on-her-car episode. At the courthouse, she bid him a joyful and rushed goodbye.
The woman had fantastic energy. All fast-moving, get-shit-done energy that Cruz enjoyed.
He watched her go, waiting until she entered the courthouse before hopping back in his truck to make his way home.
Too bad Cilla had to work or he’d have treated her to a late breakfast at one of the cafés. Asheville had always been a tourist hot spot, but Cruz, as somewhat of a local, never minded the constant activity. The restaurants and culture inspired him. Settled his soul in a way wrestling and bar fights used to.
To avoid a mini-traffic jam, he made a left down a treelined street occupied by a mix of single and two-story homes. Great location right here. Walking distance to bars and restaurants. Suddenly, he envisioned strolling through Asheville with Cilla after picking her up at her new office.
What the hell was wrong with him, daydreaming about couple shit? Too many women around the Friary, that was the problem.
On his right, a glossy white realtor sign caught his eye and being nosey, he lifted his foot off the gas. House for sale. A blue Craftsman with white columns and trim. Not too big. Not too small. Damned fine house.
