Free I Speak...Love (A Different Road #3) by Annalisa Nicole

jeans.
    “Did you want to put on some shoes? I mean you don’t have to, you can go barefoot if you want, I don’t mind,” he says, pulling me out of my stare.
    “Shoes,” I say, walking toward my generic, bargain store cheap, fake, canvas shoes that refuse to stay tied even if I double knot them.
    Stupid shoes . . . stupid shoelaces.
    I slip my toes into my shoes, then cram my feet into them as I take a few steps until they’re all the way on my feet. I don’t even bother lacing them. Why bother? I grab my purse off the counter, then follow Stephen out of my house, locking the door behind me. I follow him down the driveway to his car parked on the street. He walks around to the passenger side and opens the door for me. I quickly look down at my filthy dirty clothes feeling unworthy to get inside. I was laying on the ground and pretty much rolling around in the dirt like a dog taking photos earlier. As discrete as I can, I wipe some of the dirt off my shorts, then I slip into the seat. He closes the door, then he walks around to the driver’s side and gets in. His seat molds perfectly to his body, and it looks like it was custom made specifically for each muscle on his backside. He starts the car with the push of a button and it roars to life.
    Instead of silence and dwelling on my loss, Stephen gives me a sideways glance, then he turns up the volume to an eighties satellite radio station. His hand rests on the gear shift and taps in rhythm as a new song begins. As Axl Rose from Guns N’ Roses starts to belt out the lyrics to Paradise City his hand moves to my upper thigh. Stephen starts to sing and man, he’s killing it. Then, as if his thumb and forefinger are a pick and my thigh his guitar, he starts strumming in rhythm to the song on my leg. With each gentle flick, it sends chills up and down my leg. As Slash revs up, Stephen’s fingers travel up and down my thigh, and the farther up he goes, the chills multiply and spread over the rest of my body. He gives one last flick as the song ends, then his hand stays relaxed on my thigh. It was a long song, and it was nearly seven minutes of the best time in my life. I’ve never felt something so sensual before.
    Stephen pulls into a drive-through, and I’m not even sure what I order, then he drives to an overlook and parks the car. The sun is almost set, and the moon is huge and bright in the sky in front of us. My immediate instinct is to take a picture, then the crushing realization that I don’t own a camera anymore devastates me all over again.
    He hands me my food, then I place it in my lap and unwrap my cheeseburger. I take my time and smooth the wrapper out over my legs while Stephen unwraps his. I look at him and wait for him to take the first bite. He gives me his famous sideways glance, then he concedes and takes a bite. I take a tiny bite of mine and remember many days of going hungry. Food is always something I’ve been very protective of. Not just for myself, but for the littler ones who didn’t get enough. It didn’t matter how hungry I was, I always made sure the younger foster kids had food before I did. There were days I would give half of my food to the little kids, only to have the other half of my food stolen by the older kids. That’s when I learned to hoard and steal food. I think that’s why I cook so much extra for clients than I need to. I always want to make sure people have enough food. Even if they do have enough, I always have this hope that maybe they share their extra with someone else that needs it. No one should go hungry. He takes another bite of his burger, then after he swallows, he looks at me.
    “How did your camera get broken?” he asks.
    I swallow my food hard in my throat, then I look at him. I wipe my mouth with a napkin, then take a deep breath.
    “I bought it that way,” I answer.
    “You bought a camera that was already broken?” he asks to clarify.
    “It’s all I could afford, but once I saw it, I knew it was