30 Hours Earlier…
February 14th; 6:00 a.m.
Washington, D.C.
The Flats at Dupont Circle Apartments
Beep, beep…beep, beep…beep, beep…beep—Aaron Hardy slapped at his wrist, shutting off the alarm. Letting his left hand hang off the edge of the couch, he washed the other over his face. The day-old growth scratched against his palm. He flicked his wrist. 6:00…he blinked…Monday…he opened and closed his eyes a couple times before forcing them open…February 14. The faint blue light from his timepiece gave him an instant headache.
Hardy pressed his head against the couch’s arm, lifting his upper body off the seat cushion, and spied darkness at the curtain’s edges. He rolled his head left. A nightlight cast a glow over the main living area, joining at his ten o’clock position with an open kitchen. A bedroom was on the other side of the wall that butted up to his sofa/makeshift bed. Around a corner, at the one o’clock position, was the bathroom.
Throwing off a Detroit Lions blanket—a Michigan resident since birth, Hardy was a diehard fan—he swung his legs, plopped bare feet on the floor and sat, bare chested and wearing gray sweatpants. Elbows on knees, he shut his eyes and rubbed his face again, ending with a massage of the temples. He sat erect, did a couple side bends and blew out the air his lungs held. Hanging his head, he glimpsed the couch to his left. This thing’s hell on my back. He managed a meager smile. The price a gentleman must pay.
Ten toes, red polish on the nails, appeared in his peripheral vision to the right. He followed them to well-toned legs, red satin shorts, a red camisole with spaghetti straps, and the most beautiful face he had ever seen—dark brown eyes, high cheekbones and a perfect complexion; tanned all year long, thanks to the woman’s parent’s mixed heritage.
She smiled. “Good morning.”
A smile slowly spread over Hardy’s face. And all is right with the world again. “Morning.” He cupped the back of her nearest thigh. “Sleep well?”
“Uh huh.”
He pulled her alongside him, gave her legs a one-handed hug and kissed the sliver of tummy peeking out from under the camisole. Sliding his hands up and down the smooth legs, he tipped his head back. She had maintained the Cheshire grin, compelling him to mimic the gesture. “What’s up?”
She brought her hands in front of her body. In them, a red-papered rectangular box, complete with a white bow and ribbon. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Hardy took the gift. “Oh that’s right. That’s today, isn’t it?” He looked up in time to see some of the shine disappear from her smile. He stood and kissed her. “I didn’t forget.” The shine returned. He turned away before coming back to her, holding out a red paper bag, an index finger curled under two loop handles. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Cruz.”
FBI Special Agent Raychel Elisa DelaCruz—Cruz to close friends, a nickname from her military days—beamed from ear to ear. She knew it was better to give than to receive; however, a large part of her loved getting gifts. And she was not embarrassed of the fact.
“So,” Hardy held up his box, “which one of us should go…”
Cruz spread apart the handles, threw aside pink tissue paper and yanked out a small, light brown teddy bear, the words ‘I LOVE YOU’ embossed on a heart on the bear’s belly.
He laughed. “…first.”
After poking her nose inside, Cruz let the bag fall to the floor. “Thank you.” She held the stuffed animal high before cradling it in the crook of her arm. “I love it.” She pointed her chin at his box. “Your turn. Open it.”
Hardy waited before motioning toward the bear. “So…you really like your bear?”
She shot another look at the brown ball of fluff. “Yes, I do. Thank you.” She glimpsed him, “What are you waiting for?” before her gaze went to his present. “It’s not going to open itself.”
After another pause, Hardy stepped toward the floor lamp. “Maybe we should turn on—”
Cruz caught him by the arm. “Quit stalling. I can’t take this anymore.” She bobbed her head at the red box. “Open it.”
He regarded his girlfriend, whom he was now going steady with since Christmas. The dim light could not hide her round eyes and white teeth. He gave a last look at the bear, let out a short sigh, “Okay,” and ripped off the ribbon and wrapping paper, a white flimsy cardboard box beneath. After opening the top and pushing aside tissue paper, he stared at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Cruz took the box, while he retrieved a Honolulu blue and silver article of clothing. He lifted the garment. “I don’t believe it.”
She bounced a couple times on the balls of her feet. “Do you like it? It’s custom.”
“I can see that.” Hardy eyed the official Detroit Lions jersey, the number ‘1’ and his name emblazoned on the back. “This is awesome. I can’t believe you did this.”
“I’ll be honest.” She wrapped her arms around his midsection. “It was difficult to click the ‘place order’ button.” Growing up in Dalhart, Texas, she was a lifelong fan of the Dallas Cowboys. She tipped her head back to see him. “But you’re worth it.”
He dipped his head and kissed her. “Thank you. I love it…and I love you.”
“And now you know,” her eyes went to the jersey, “just how much I love you too.”
“I feel bad.” He draped the jersey over an arm and took the bear, holding it up in front of them. “All I got you was this.”
“It’s not the dollar value that counts.”
Hardy twisted the stuffed animal in different directions, stopping when a beam of light reflected back at them.
“It’s the thought that—” Cruz pulled her head away from his shoulder and stared at the twinkling light. She snatched her present and examined it from several angles. “What’s that?”
“Can I turn on the light now?”
“Please do.” When light filled the room, Cruz gasped. A hand shot to her chest. “Oh my…”
Hardy pinched the crab claw clasp and unwound a tri-color gold choker. “I had to wrap this around his neck so much I felt like I was strangling the poor guy.”
Her eyes followed the necklace. “It’s beautiful.”
He stood behind her. “I believe it’s customary for the man to put it on the first time.”
“Yes, it is.” She faced away and pulled up her long brown hair. “Wait.” She cranked her head around, a grin on her face. “You mean put it on me, right?”
Chuckling, Hardy secured the jewelry ends, “Yes, you,” before enfolding her in his arms and kissing the side of her neck. “Although,” he crossed his arms below her breasts and gently squeezed, “You never know. I might look good in women’s jewelry.”
Receiving more kisses, Cruz raised an arm behind her and played with his short, light brown hair. “Let’s not…” she cocked her head, exposing more of her neck, “…find out, okay?”
He paused, “Deal,” and moved on, his lips making their way to her shoulder.
Cruz closed her eyes. Her knees wobbly, she found herself letting his arms support more of her weight. This can’t go on. His mouth returned to her neck, just behind the ear, and her spine tingled. Or can it? She locked her knees and drew in a deep breath. We can’t do this. Pressing on his arms, she spun around and cupped the back of his neck. A quick kiss later, she whispered, “We have to get ready for work,” and kissed him again.
Hardy stood erect and grimaced.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He motioned. “Sleeping on the couch is not great for my back.” He glimpsed his watch—6:13. “It’ll go away after I get moving around.”
Cruz put hands on his chest. “I’m sorry. You can have the bed tonight.”
He grinned. “We could share.”
“We’ve talked about this.” Her fingers made their way to his square jaw, and the dimple centered on the chin. “I’m not like that.” She peered into deep blue eyes, the same ones that had taken her by surprise the first time she met him. Strong hands held fast at the small of her back. Times like these, I wish I was…I wish—
“But I’ve already seen you naked.”
She raised a finger. “That was one time.” The digit pointed toward the bathroom. “And it was through a mirror, so it only counts as half a look.”
Hardy replayed the mental video, her bare breasts reflecting off his foggy bathroom mirror. He smiled. “I don’t know, Cruz. It seemed pretty full-on to me.”
She playfully smacked his protruding pectoral muscle, her cheeks growing rosy. “Stop it. We have to go to work.” She gave him a goodbye peck, “I’ll shower first,” and scampered away.
Hardy admired her sexy and slim five-feet, eight-inch athletic figure. “Can I join you?”
Stepping into the bathroom, Cruz smiled. As a practicing Catholic, she believed in waiting until she was married to have sex. In theory, her mind was right with her beliefs. In reality, however, her body did not always want to be on board with the plan. A bible verse popped into her head: ‘The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.’ She sighed. You hit the nail on the head there, Jesus.
Before the door closed, Cruz heard Hardy: “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.” Her back to the door, she let out another, longer sigh. Oh, if you only knew how much I want it to be a ‘yes.’
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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