Page 48 of Soft Flannel Hank

“I don’t want to go to my car,” she whispered.

“Why not?” He could barely breathe.

Esther lifted her face to look at him. “Because I want to stay with you.”

Hank felt his guts rearranging themselves, churning madly within that same abdominal space he was breathing into with such focus only moments before.

“Why?” he croaked.

She tilted her head to the side slightly. “Because you said you’ll keep me safe.” A half smile turned one corner of her mouth upward. Hesitant, but there. “And I believe you.”

He didn’t speak. Hecouldn’tspeak. But as he watched her face fall slowly, insecurity creeping into her features, it occurred to him that his silence could be taken as rejection. Or judgment. Not the bone-deep shock that it was.Goddammit, say something. You’ve been talking all damn day. Now all of a sudden you can’t?

She dropped her hand, and Hank fought the urge to snatch it back and press it against his heartbeat again. “Unless your offer no longer stands, in which case, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Esther turned, as if to walk away, and Hank said, “Wait.” The word, meant to be a request, sounded far more like a command than he intended. He took a deep breath in and released it with a heavy sigh. “You can stay.”

Her face lit up with a brilliant smile, and Hank felt the world grind to a halt around them when she did. As he walked her down the hall to his daughter’s room, as he showed her the empty dresser and where the towels were kept, as he cleared off a shelf in the medicine cabinet for her toiletries and a corner of the tub shower for her shampoo, Hank began to realize what a monumentally stupid idea it had been to offer her sanctuary.

Not because she didn’t need it. Not because she didn’t deserve it. Not because he couldn’t actually keep her safe.

She walked past him and closed the bathroom door with a smile, two towels cradled in her arms, the scent of coconut lingering in the air between them. Hank realized that he could get entirely too used to that smell, which was the very last thing he could afford.

10

Esther opened her eyes and felt confused panic for a split second when she didn’t recognize her surroundings. But only for that brief moment before she remembered. She was in Hank’s daughter’s bedroom. Anna was her name, he’d told her.

The room looked different in the daylight. The dark band posters looked more out of place against what she could now see was pink unicorn wallpaper. She smiled, imagining Hank painstakingly hanging it. It was faded, but twenty years would do that to wallpaper. People. Everything, really.

She stretched, groaning at the stiffness in her neck and shoulders, her jaw. She’d been clenching her teeth again while she slept. It wasn’t a wonder, really, given the crushing amount of stress she’d been carrying for months.

But this morning felt different. She felt safe and relaxed for the first time in a very, very long time, and it had everything to do with Hank.

A silly smile crossed her lips as she thought of him. Of the set of his jaw, the way his hands functioned almost like a tail in terms of broadcasting his mood. When he was nervous or panicky, he rubbed them against his thighs. When he was angry or tense, he clenched them into tight fists at his side. Yet he always touched her like he was holding a small bird—all gentleness and care.

She wondered what it would feel like if those hands weren’t as gentle. If he let her experience some of the power they contained. She remembered him grabbing her wrist and pulling her out of her fall, yanking her into his chest. But in this fantasy, he didn’t just stare down at her. No. He growled low in his throat before diving down and kissing her senseless. Fantasy Hank thrust his hands into her curls, pulling slightly. Not enough to hurt but just enough to let her brain know that he could. He gripped her ass hard as he dragged her against him.

Esther remembered a lesson from her anthropology class in college about how population always increased with societal stability. Not only because of the sustainable access to resources, but also that when people weren’t fighting for their very survival, their brains had more space for things like arousal. She could attest to that. She’d felt absolutely nothing stirring below the waist since leaving Savannah. That is, until she saw Hank from across the diner and he lit her up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

And now she was in his house. Surrounded by the smell of him. Irish Spring soap. Coffee. Fabric softener. She remembered the way he stood in the hallway and watched her as she closed the door to the bathroom. She’d held his gaze until the door was shut. He’d looked frozen in the hallway, his broad chest filling his flannel and his thick thighs testing the structural integrity of his jeans.

Hank Dove was sexy as fuck.

She’d thought it in the diner. She’d thought it when he was under her.In her. And though her brain and body had been entirely too tired to do anything about it last night, now, in the hazy early morning light, her libido came screaming awake.

It felt different than her magic did. The magic she carried was a warm current most of the time, gently coursing through her body. But what she felt now was a rolling boil of desire and need.

She slid her hand into her underwear and felt her soaking slit. Dipping her fingers low and gathering some of that wetness, she began to make tight circles around her clit. She was almost disappointed when she felt the orgasm start to rise immediately, her body primed for it. It had beenwaytoo long.She gasped without a sound as the sensation washed over her, tingling in her skull and radiating downward.

Feeling better and worse all at the same time, Esther got out of the twin bed and grabbed her flannel pajama shorts from where she’d dropped them on the floor next to the bed. She pulled them on and went to the bathroom to wash her hands. She wondered if Hank was awake. His bedroom door was closed, but that didn’t mean anything. She piled her hair on top of her head in a messy bun that could barely contain it. As she opened the bathroom door, Esther heard noise coming from downstairs.

She stepped back to check her reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under her eyes were deep enough to prevent glare at a ballgame, and there was no helping it. But other than that, Esther thought she looked quite pretty.

Esther padded down the stairs in her wool socks, smelling fresh coffee and hearing the sound of a creaking wood chair. As she crossed the threshold of the kitchen, she said breezily, “Can I do anything to help with breakfast?”

Hank looked up from his phone from where he sat at the table, leaning on his forearms. His cheeks turned pink above his beard. He looked absolutely mortified.

“I don’t usually… I normally just… I’ve got these protein bars. But I can try to make you something if you want.”