The SGT at arms and his run-away

Magnetic pull

*Zac*

As I follow her inside like some damned lost puppy, I am wondering what is wrong with me… I have not really had any interest in women for a long time, first because I was married and desperately trying to make that dumpster fire work, and after Valery died I have focused on Iris.

I stop right inside the door, watching her. She moves towards the counter, light and graceful, like a gust of wind could carry her away. Basically she is the opposite of me.

A nervous smile plays on her lips as she orders a drink and a frosted cinnamon roll. I find my gaze drawn to the way she tosses her hair back, freeing her face from its shadow. Her laugh, it's like silver bells, bright and clear, cutting through the usual café chatter.

“Damn, Zac you old kinky bastard.” I mumble under my breath. Here closer up I can see she is even younger than I first thought, she can’t have seen her twentieth birthday yet. I should leave and forget her.

Her clothes are conservative, which might be part of why I first thought she was slightly older. Nothing like what most of the women I usually meet wear… granted most of those are club girls or biker chicks, so the tight and skimpy outfits kinda come with the territory.

However her demure attire doesn't stop the hungry eyes of several other men in the café from lingering on her. It twists something in me, a gnawing jealousy that I have no right to feel. A desire to toss them out on their faces or worse.

“Stop it Zac,” I mumble under my breath. I don’t do jealousy, never have and here I have no right to either.

I watch as she finds a table, a lone island in the sea of noise and people. She sits down, her attention now on the cinnamon roll before her. I swallow hard, my whole body tightening and my throat suddenly dry as she dips her finger in the frosting, bringing it to her lips.

The sight is hypnotic, mesmerizing, innocently erotic and wrong. She’s hardly more than a kid for f***s sake, too young, too innocent to draw my gaze like this. I am trying desperately to tell myself that I just want to protect her, because several other men here clearly see her youth and innocence as a turn on.

I try to pull my eyes away, to break free from the spell she’s unknowingly cast, to expel these thoughts I shouldn’t have. But it's like a magnetic pull, I can't resist. I can't tear my eyes from her. I know I should, but I don't. I just can’t.

I should leave, get on my bike and drive back to the club house. Accept the offer from one of the more than willing girls hanging around there. I should forget I ever saw her.

The noise around me has faded to a dull hum, my focus entirely on her. And suddenly I realize that I’ve walked over to stand in front of her table, it’s like the pull from a magnet.

She’s so engrossed in her cinnamon roll that she doesn't notice my approach. It isn't until I'm standing right in front of her she looks up, blinking in surprise, pink roses blooming on her cheeks.

Her eyes meet mine, and my breath hitches. To my surprise they are a warm brown, like melted chocolate, full of innocence and curiosity. They are beautiful, captivating, and I find myself drowning in them.

"Can I help you?" She asks, tilting her head slightly to the side, a soft smile gracing her lips. Her voice is gentle, sweet, matching her perfectly.

I don't reply immediately, my mind a whirl of thoughts and emotions. I'm stepping on dangerous grounds here and I f*****g know it. I'm playing with fire, but I can't seem to stop myself from getting burned.

*Willow*

Gazing up, I find myself confronted by an imposing figure, wondering what he wants from me.

He’s very tall, his shoulders wide and his biceps and chest straining the snug t-shirt. His arms are adorned with tattoos and one is coiling up the side of his neck like dark flames. He’s wearing one of those leather vests bikers wear.

Part of me realizes I should be scared, or at least worried, but for some reason I’m not. Actually I don’t even feel the usual almost crippling shyness that strangers invoke in me.

He is dangerous, and then weirdly not really.

“Your name, sweetheart” he says, “You can tell me your name.”

His eyes, hazel mirrors reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lights, warm eyes sparkling with a hint of anticipation. A hand rakes through his chaotic dark locks, an unconscious gesture that only adds to his rugged charisma.

"Willow," I confess, feeling a warm blush creep up my cheeks, "my name's Willow."

His lips curl into a slow smile, revealing an unexpected boyish charm that takes me off guard. "What a beautiful name," he muses, "Pleased to meet you, Willow. I'm Zac."

With a casual grace, he commandeers the chair opposite me, flipping it around and settling down, straddling it as if it were second nature. His unexpected action leaves me blinking in surprise. “Please sit… I guess.”

He chuckles, it’s a warm and enticing sound, “Well thank you darling.”

I can't help but feel a shiver of anticipation as he leans in closer, his strong tattooed arms in stark contrast to the delicate china and pastel surroundings of the cafe. His eyes are on me, a question unspoken but present in their intense gaze.

"May I ask what brought you here, Willow?" His voice is barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the soft murmur of the cafe, reaching me clear and precise. “Because I know I haven’t seen you before so you must be new to the town.”

I hesitate, a lump forming in my throat. If only he knew. How much should I reveal? I know I should tell him to leave, the sisters at the School would expect that, my family would demand it. Hell every sane fiber in me tells me to.

But today, just for today, I want to be someone else. And I want to explore why he makes me feel so at ease with him, when everything tells me I should not. "I... I needed a change," I admit, my fingers nervously playing with the edge of my napkin.

He nods, a glimmer of understanding flashing in his eyes. "Change can be a good thing," he says, his voice a soothing rhythm that instantly calms my frantic heart. "Especially when it leads you to new and exciting paths. New adventure."

His words hang heavy in the air, creating an atmosphere that's both thrilling and terrifying. I can't break his gaze, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I'm captivated, entranced, inexplicably drawn to this intriguing stranger.

A mischievous smile plays on his lips as he leans back in his chair, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "So my pretty, I bet you’ve never been on a bike, right?”

I shrug, trying to keep my cool. Is this man, this sexy biker, flirting with me? I should probably be scared, I mean he’s clearly much older and… well a biker, but, to be honest I kinda like his attention. "Can't say I have. Is it that special?"

His smile widens as he runs a hand through his hair again, his gaze twinkling with excitement. "Nothing quite like it, sweetheart. The wind in your face, the roar and vibrations of the engine beneath you, the open road stretching out in front... it's a whole new world."

Something about the way he says it, the passion in his voice, is infectious. I find myself drawn to him, intrigued by what he’s describing. It sounds the opposite of my world.

“Sounds… invigorating,” I say, then I give him a small shrug. “But I don’t exactly own a bike, so…”.

He stretches slowly, like a giant panther, “Well, I happen to own one of those, and it has plenty of space for two, if you should feel like riding… with me.”

"Maybe I’ll take you up on that," I say, a playful smile tugging at my lips. What are you doing Willow? Are you seriously flirting back? Is this flirting?

He groans softly, but when I give him a confused look he just shakes his head lightly, like he’s telling me I wouldn’t understand.

"I’d like that," he says, his voice now sincere. His eyes meet mine, and in that moment, I feel a connection. It's as if we’re the only two people in the cafe… in the whole world.

Suddenly, his phone rings, shattering the intimate bubble we have been cocooned in. He glances at the screen, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Sorry sweetheart, I have to take this," he says, his voice apologetic.

He picks up the phone, pressing it to his ear. "Talk to me, Tom," he says, his attention now split between me and the voice on the other end of the line.

I listen as he responds mostly with "yes" or "no", the conversation seemingly one-sided. I can't help but feel a pang of disappointment that our moment was interrupted.

"Okay, give me 15 minutes," he finally says, and then hangs up. He looks back at me, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry, I have to go. Club business. But maybe... maybe you will be here again tomorrow?"

"Maybe," I say, though I know I won't be. Something in me sinks at the thought. For some unexplained reason I don’t like the idea of never seeing him again.

He reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. He brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. "I look forward to seeing you again," he says, his voice filled with… I’m not sure what it is but it makes my heart beat considerably faster.

As he gets up I notice he has a limp, like his right leg is hurting him, but somehow it only serves to make him appear stronger and more masculine.

And then he’s gone, leaving me in the crowded cafe with thoughts of him and the ride he promised, knowing neither can be part of my world.