30. 🍸 Planter's Punch

**KEKE**

I keep my head on his shoulder, watching his sculpted stomach rise and fall with his even breathing. Without me staring at him, it will be easier for him to tell me what he needs to say.
And easier to keep my reactions hidden.
He starts out with a deep breath. His belly expanding with the weight of his burden under my hand. After another long exhale, he says, “I left my home in Oklahoma, when I was fifteen. A guy named Sarge who ran a shelter… eventually took me in. I never went to college. I did however get my GED and joined the Marines when I turned eighteen. Sarge was a Marine, and I wanted to be like him. It was the best decision I’d ever made. The Marines helped a troubled teen like me find focus and make something of his life.”
I wait for him to tell me why he left home and what he meant by, “eventually”. The long silence grows between us like a barrier made of sandbags—gritty and weighted.
Hoping to break down his reluctance to talk about his past, I open with something we both share.
Our love of cars.
“My dad was also in the military,” I begin, “He was a mechanic for the Army for almost twenty years. I guess that’s why I like classic so much. When he got out, he started working for a garage not too far from where we lived. He was always working on Firebirds, Mustangs, and Corvettes. The beauty of them appealed to me. I believe there is nothing better than Detroit metal.”
Justice laughs, the deep rumble warms my insides and makes me smile. “I like to hear you laugh, Justice.”
“I’ll make it a point of doing so more often,” he says, his deep dimples on display. He traces a finger over the back of my knuckles, his tone soft. “Now finish your story.”
His distracting bulge under the sheet grabs my attention for a moment, until he nudges me to do what he asked. “Uh… well, from the age of eight, I’d drop by my dad’s job on the way home from school so I could watch him work. When I showed an interest in learning, he started to teach me. There was this one time—”
I break off when Justice belts out a laugh so hard, his belly constricts under my hand.
“What’s so funny?” I say, anger slowly beginning to boil in my chest at being laughed at.
He lifts his hand from mine to pull the end of my braid. “I can just picture you as a little girl with smudges of oil on your face and a wrench in your hand.” He tilts my face up and breathes against my mouth. “Fucking adorable.”
A second later, his lips sear into mine, his kiss hungry and intense.
Still under the influence when we break apart, I fault his expertise in tonsil hockey for making me blurt out, “Why did you leave home?”
Justice sucks in a breath. His arm turns into a board around my shoulder.
Damn. My. Mouth.
I’m worse than Cam.
What I know of Justice is he doesn’t like people prying into his business. He’s shot me down more than a few times for sticking my nose where it didn’t concern me. Despite his assurances, I shouldn’t think he’s elevated me to the rank of someone special just because we had sex.
If he had, he would have told me why he was on the streets. Why he has a hard time letting me in.
And why he can’t let go of a married woman.
I squirm in embarrassment, waiting for him to say something biting to put me firmly in my place, knowing that if he does, we’re over before we’ve gotten started.
His reaction is the opposite of what I feared. With his eyes twinkling, he says, “You know, if someone told me I’d willingly tell my life story to some woman, I would have laughed in their face.”
I look up at him in mock anger. “Oh? So, I’m some woman, am I?”
“You’re my woman, okay?”
At my gasp of surprise, he says, “Look, Keke, I know we have to share information to grow into something.” Justice lets out a weight-of-the-world sigh, rocking a leg back and forth under the sheet. “It’s just hard for me to do so. I’ve never been in a relationship. One-night-fucks were more my style and there was little to any conversation involved.” He tilts my head up and looks into my eyes. In them I can see his sincerity. “Trust me when I say I want us to work. You just have to let me tell my story in my own time. Can you be patient? Will you do that for me?”
He asked the question of the year.
The century, even.
I too have secrets difficult to divulge. How do I tell Justice how I got shot, and that after two infections, I was in and out of the hospital for over a year? It’s not something to blurt out at the most ideal of times. I’m not about to push Justice to reveal his secrets when I still have some of my own.
One of which, I won’t be able to hide for much longer.
When we were in the shower, he wanted to wash my legs. I wasn’t ready for him to see my wound, so I quickly sank to my knees and put his freshly washed dick in my mouth, giving my tongue and tonsils one hell of a work out. That dazed him enough to keep his attention off my scar.
Wanting to chase off the uncertainty in the room, I tell him, “Please don’t worry about it, Justice, I can wait until you’re comfortable enough...”
He plays with my fingers, looping his in and out of mine. “That’s just the thing. I want to tell you everything I went through. It’s just that... maybe... maybe I’ve told no one because… I don’t like being judged.”
I sit up. His eyes rise from our entwined hands to meet my determined gaze. Now is the time to tell him... or rather show him my scar.
He’ll understand, I know it.
“I get where you are coming from, Justice.” I pull the sheet so it exposes my hip, turning so he can get a good look at the back of my leg.
His short intake of breath lets me know when he sees my wound.
Sees the most vulnerable part of me.
“I got shot when I was fifteen. Lilli as well. Two guys, one of whom Lilli had rebuffed, were robbing the store we usually went to. When the shooter saw us, he shot Lilli and then me. I had so many infections, the wound didn’t heal properly, that’s why it looks so bad…”
I trail off as Justice presses a finger near the scar, his mouth turned down into a heavy frown. His thick, spiky lashes hide the expression in his hooded turquoise eyes.
This can’t be a good reaction.
And it’s not.
“Damn, Keke. That’s... um. Damn.”
All I hear is the disgust pouring from his mouth like acid from a battery. My insides turn to ice and my breath hitches. I rise from the bed, grab my shirt from the floor, and head to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
Under the strong recessed lighting, I examine my body.
My breasts are large.
My defined arms are strong.
My stomach is round.
My thighs are thicc and my ass is poppin’—or so many have told me.
I have stretch marks, which I couldn’t give a damn about.
My scar though...
I hate it.
I hate how it’s a forever reminder of that day. I hate how it destroyed who I was. I hate how it took me years to become comfortable enough with myself to love me again.
And now...
I’m back in that dark place.
Unworthy of trust. Unworthy of love. Fearful. Anxious.
How did I let a man tear me down again?
I should have trusted my instincts and left Justice Stone alone.