Free Freedom by S. A. Wolfe

too good. I don’t want to stop touching her, feeling her heightened passion each time my hand or mouth moves across her skin, tasting and smelling with basic animal instinct.
    “Dylan.” Her voice is soft but insistent.
    I stop kissing her and bury my face in her neck. “Damn.”
    Her legs drop their hold on my waist, and I remove my hands from her. We languish in that awkward moment when you both know you have crossed a line.
    “That was…” she begins, trailing off.
    “Sorry, I’ll never do that again,” I say hoarsely.
    “I was going to say that was great.” She looks at me with disappointment. “Seriously, I know a great kiss when I get one and that was a great kiss.”
    “Hell, don’t say things like that.” I put another foot of space between us. “Don’t encourage me to lead you on. I don’t want to be a prick. Not to you.”
    She gives another one of her light-hearted laughs and covers her mouth. “You’re actually sweet and funny. Don’t worry about me. No one can hurt me unless I let them, and I’m not that kind of woman.”
    “What about Rocky, your Italian stud? You cried over him.”
    “I didn’t cry because we broke up. I wanted the break up. I cried because the thought of having to deal with Robert again is too much for me to handle.”
    “Then it’s good we’re not going to let this go any further. I’m not worse than Rocky, but I’ve got a shitload of baggage that no one deserves to get stuck holding.”
    “His name is Robert, and I think you are better than him.”
    “I’m damaged goods, Emma.”
    She groans and gives an exaggerated eye roll. Her perfect eyebrows scrunch up for a second before she shakes her head then grabs my wrists, gripping them tightly to maneuver me closer to her.
    “I hate when people use that corny line.”
    “It’s true. There’s no other way to describe me.”
    “Dylan, why do people who think they are damaged goods believe they are protecting others by shutting them out?”
    “It’s the way we’re wired—poorly—or maybe we’re just different. I can’t change that.”
    “If we were all wired the same way, life would be very boring.”
    “Except, sometimes my mind is stuck in high gear. It’s fucked up. My brain doesn’t always let me downshift to a lower gear. Sometimes, it’s like a never-ending race, and I don’t know where the finish line is. This may be impossible for me to explain to you.”
    “Well, that does sound difficult,” she says softly. “But I’m no angel, either. I’ve certainly made my mistakes. Doesn’t youth allow a certain degree of bad behavior before we grow up and evolve into full-fledged, tax-paying adults who put real tables in their formal dining rooms instead of old pool tables?” She smiles and then laughs.
    Her witty quip tugs a stubborn grin out of me. It doesn’t last long, though. I have to give her a dose of my reality. “I can’t be involved with anyone, Emma.”
    “Oh, you mean it doesn’t work?” she says, pointing to my groin.
    “It works fine, thank you.”
    “Yeah, I thought so. Your special someone made an appearance when I kissed you.”
    “I would hope so. It’s been a long time.”
    Why do I keep giving her personal information like that?
    “So what do you want to do now?” she asks. “Watch TV? Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets? Do you want to kiss again?”
    She’s definitely flirting with me, and I like it.
    “No to all of the above. I get up early to go running, so I need to get some sleep.”
    “It’s barely ten o’clock. Isn’t there a fun local bar we can go to?”
    “I don’t drink.”
    “Oh, come on. You’re going to bed this early on a Friday night?”
    “You’re welcome to watch TV, but I have to sleep.”
    “Boy, all that exercise and pumping weights makes you a tired grump. I guess I’ll read a book or visit some chat rooms with perverts. That’ll be entertaining for a few hours, I suppose.”
    “Goodnight, Emma.” As I head out of the