Prompt: Rough Hands
Her date had smooth hands. She couldn't stand them. When he put his hand over hers on the dinner table, she'd almost cringed. His hands were smoother than hers were, they'd probably slide right off her body.
Not that he'd ever get that close. She decided that when he'd told her how much he made a year before they'd even ordered appetizers.
Danny had rough hands like hers. His were worn from baseball and fighting, growing up on streets that weren't always kind.
Her were roughened from working the ranch, from getting up at 5 in the morning and doing a full day's work before the sun even came up.
They were so different, but so alike. They should never have made sense together, but they did.
Twenty minutes later, her date went to the bathroom and she ran to the subway.
&
Danny was sunk deep into his couch. He was nursing a beer and cursing because the Yankees weren't on. Stupid fucking rain delay. He needed a game, he need a distraction.
He fucking needed Montana.
When he suddenly heard the buzzing of his door he wanted to ignore it, but since he had nothing else to do, he got up and answered it.
"Yeah? What do you want?"
"It's Lindsay. Let me up."
He wasn't drunk so he must be delusional.
"Lindsay who?"
"Stop being a wise ass and open the fucking door Messer. It's raining out here."
He let her in; still not sure she was really coming up. He ran to the mirror and tried to fix his hair, then cursed at his ridiculousness. He opened the door and waited for her.
She was wet; an umbrella was clutched in one hand as she pushed past him and waited for him to close the door.
"Are you okay?" he asked, she was silent, "Do you want to get changed or….I'll get you a towel."
He started to move past her, but she grabbed his arm and held him still, "Montana, what the hell?"
She let him go and when she was sure he wasn't moving she reached behind her and pulled down the zipper of her dress, letting it pool at her feet. Her underwear matched the dress and she stepped towards him in her red pumps.
"Lindsay, we should talk about…"
"I don't want to talk," she said, coming closer even as he backed away, "I don't want to talk about how this is wrong and how we haven't even spoken in months. I don't want to think about what you did or how it hurt me. All I want is your hands on me…right now."
Danny was silent. He looked around and wondered if he'd fallen asleep watching porn. This couldn't be happening. Lindsay couldn't be standing there like that and asking him to touch her. She hated him, always would, he'd accepted that in the past three months.
He was silent a long time, so long that Lindsay began to lose her bravado. Her face fell and she reached for her dress, "I, uh, I shouldn't have…I mean you've probably been with dozens of women since me and…"
He has to stop her from talking because he doesn't know what the hell to say back right now. So, he grabs the dress and pulls it away from her, "Lindsay,"' he reaches out and grabs her arms, "I've missed you, God, I've," he wrapped her arms around his neck and puts his hands on her hips to pull her closer, "Missed you so much."
Lindsay lets out a cry that's half-joy and half-despair and then his hands are on her, his rough, worn hands and she doesn't care about the past as long as she has this for a future.
"I love you, Danny, I…"
"I love you too," he said, kissing her cheek, her nose, her mouth, "Love you, love you, love…."
Their hands moved over each other as they sunk to the floor.
The road ahead would probably be rough, but so were they.