Page 67 of Bloom: Part 1

And in that world, I could think. Of last night. Of Bloom. Of how naïve yet responsive he had been in bed. Sleeping with him was even better than I’d thought. I’d always known he would be amazing in bed. He was too wild, aggressive, and expressive to be anything else, but the connection I’d felt to him last night had been startling.

And terrifying because I was in too deep. Despite my medical background and knowing he wasn’t in danger, last night when he’d been locked inside his head, unable to vocalize his thoughts, I’d been scared for him. His parents had done a number onhim. With all the tragedy he’d experienced in his young life, how could I have so selfishly dragged him into my mess?

I knew Bloom. After sleeping with him, there was no going back. He’d already acted territorial, and he would only get worse.

What if one day I had to disappear without a trace? How could I leave him behind?

I sank deeper into the water, welcoming the numbing cold that engulfed me whole. The silence beneath was comforting—a temporary refuge from the storm brewing inside me. But as soon as I resurfaced, the reality hit me again with an overwhelming intensity. I might unintentionally become one of the people who hurt him most.

With renewed vigor, I plunged back into my strokes, going as fast as possible. My arms grew heavy, my muscles burning with exertion, but I didn’t slow down. With every sharp turn, the water slapped against my face, the shock of cold serving as a stark reminder of what was at stake. I couldn’t run from it, couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist.

I have no business getting involved with him.

Gasping for breath, I swam toward the edge and gripped it as if it were my anchor.

“Wow, you’re an amazing swimmer.”

I wiped the water from my eyes. Bloom, wearing one of my long-sleeve shirts with only half the buttons done, sat on the edge a few feet away, his legs dangling over the water but not touching it. He looked relaxed, a mischievous smile on his lips. He leaned back, face tilted, and his black locks tumbling down his back. The sun framed his face with an ethereal light. For a moment, I forgot everything else.

He’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.

And he’s mine.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

I blinked and inched over to him, swimming between his legs. He was calm this morning. Last night I’d been worried that I was too rough with him, but the time we’d spent in the hot tub seemed to have soothed his achy muscles. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“How beautiful you are.”

Bloom sat up straight, his eyes shifting, uncertain. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“How beautiful?”

I smiled at his childishness. “It’s not enough for me to tell you you’re beautiful?”

He shook his head. “You know what I want to hear.”

“That mind of yours is too complex for me to know that. Why don’t you tell me?”

“I want you to tell me that I’m more beautiful than—”

I groaned. “Don’t even say it.”

“Nicholas.”

He spat the name out like it was poison on his tongue. His gaze bore into mine, dark and demanding.

“Yes, you are more beautiful than Nicholas. Without a doubt.”

“Tell me more.”

I laughed. “Bloom, what is it you want from me?”

“Tell me I’m the most beautiful guy you’ve ever slept with.”

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