Ones Ignored

Epilouge | Flowers for my flower

I'm watching my husband— I'm sorry, soon to be husband— stand shirtless on the front porch of our house. We bought this house shortly after we got engaged a few months ago and my fiance was constantly working on it. He loved to work with his hands during his off days (in more ways than one?)

My fiance is an FBI agent. He got his first job as this title a year ago and since then he has been happy. Is that weird to say? That he hasn't been happy with his life truly until he got this job? He had been wanting to be a detective since the second year of his highschool year. He knew he wanted to be one so he studied hard— my baby is already naturally smart— to make it happen.

I get out of my car after having got home from school. After cheerleading for my team in college down here in Southern California, I decided to be a coach to middle school girls. I loved cheering but I was growing out of it, now gravitating toward giving back. I smile as I walk over to my front porch, my hands eager to touch the man I'm so proudly in love with.

Being apart from him for more than a few hours is hard and it's funny because we did long distance for our entire college experience. While he was up in Pennsylvania, I was down here cheering with my girls. Kennedy had been lucky enough to attend the same school as me but it wasn't too long later when Tina joined us as well. I loved to go out with them but getting home to call my boyfriend at night was definitely more favorable.

It wasn't the easiest with the distance but we made it work. There were no one else who got in between us so we only had to worry about the distance. It was worth it though as we are happily at home here in California. Jameson had moved back as soon as he got his degree and that gesture made me so happy.

The sun shines on his back and I shake my head knowing he didn't put on sunscreen. As I place a hand on his shoulder, I inspect his pale skin on his back. The marks of his father's abuse slowly left but not completely. He still had faint marks on his back now but I didn't love him any less. I loved him so much it was sometimes too much to be away from him.

"Flower", Jameson breathes when he turns around to look at who touched him. He places his hands on my waist and pulls me toward him, until my stomach is pressed to his face and my hands are in his hair. He smiles up at me and asks, "How was work, honey?"

I melt at his words. Seven years later and I was still phased with the way he spoke to me. His eyes are shining as he looks up at me, the dimples on the side of his cheeks coming out. He presses a kiss to my middle and I giggle.

"It was good, and you?", I reply to him, looking past his face and to the chest he was so gracing me with. Jameson was still wearing his dress pants and I found it so hot when he went into work looking so good. That's probably why he had to dress twice every morning. Once he dresses himself and the other I help him with, sneaking kisses onto his neck as he tries to get ready hurriedly.

"This case is harder than most", he replies and then squeezes my waist. Jameson knew tough cases, he has worked on a lot of them. So, he shakes his head and turns his attention back to me. "Go inside and come back ready to help me paint, woman."

"Commanding", I joke to him.

"You seem to like it in bed", he says with the world biggest grin, mischief in his eyes. My mouth falls open and I shriek, moving away from him. I can hear his chuckles from inside the house as I walk to our room and change my clothes. I settle on two articles of clothing I wouldn't mind getting dirty— a black tank top with flowly shorts that are almost too short.

Apparently to my fiance my shorts were never too short around him. I don't comment on the fact that my feminist side was screaming that I don't wear clothes for him. Could you blame a woman for wanting her man to stare at her and then lick his lips not so discreetly? It makes me feel powerful knowing I could turn him on only with what I was wearing.