Page 68 of Lotus

Her gaze flicks to my mouth, the gesture fleeting, and yet, it clamps around my heart and pins me in place while I fight the urge to kiss her.Raccoon be damned.

That urge only intensifies when Sydney’s hand moves from the animal’s head to mine, gliding a piece of hair off my forehead and curling it around her finger before she draws back. Her touch has my skin buzzing, my eyes fluttering closed, and I know I can’t be imagining this heady charge in the air, wafting around us like magic. Even Athena is wiggling about, her limbs restless.

Sydney’s lips connect with the top of my head in a sweet kiss, her palm pressing to the side of my face, her floral scent, like rosebuds and wildflowers, devouring me.

“You’re an amazing man, Oliver Lynch,” she breathes into my hair.

The swell of her breasts are entirely too close to my face, to my mouth, and my inhibitions feel scattered. On instinct, I lift my chin in an attempt to capture her lips with mine, when Athena crawls up my chest, onto my shoulder, and encircles her little arms around my neck.

This essentially severs the mood, causing Sydney to jump back, startled, and I wince when Athena’s claws pierce my skin.Rascal.

A timid laugh releases beside me as Sydney rises from the hard floor. Her jittery cough, fidgeting hands, and the way her eyes refuse to focus on me, leads me to believe she was aware of my intentions.

It’s the flush of her skin that tells me our intentions may have been aligned.

“I’m going to grab a blanket from your room,” Sydney says, her voice shaky. “Athena looks cold.”

She’s out of the bathroom before I can respond, and I let out a long, splintered breath. I redirect the paws from my neck, lowering them until the animal is clutching the center of my shirt instead of my skin. My fingers trail down her soft fur as my head falls back against the tiled wall. “I need your wisdom, Athena. What is happening between myself and the girl next door?”

The raccoon replies by pressing a sharp claw, a nail like a dagger, right to my heart.

Touché.

S I X T E E N

“EXCUSE ME, CAN YOU HELP ME FIND A BOOK?”

A sweet, lilting voice captures my attention, and I lift my head from the stacks, connecting with eyes like chocolate. Her hair falls over her shoulders in sheaths of dark satin, her expression sincere. “Oh, hello. Yes, of course.”

We stare at each other for a few beats, her smile blooming. “Do you need the title?”

I blink, then duck my head, wondering why I’m acting so foolish. Usually, I try to avoid the patrons and keep myself busy amongst the shelves, sorting and alphabetizing. “Please,” I respond through an embarrassed chuckle. Her hands are curled around a stroller bar, housing a baby who appears to be fast asleep.

“Of Mice and Men,” she replies with a soft grin. “My friend insists I need to read it, and she gave her copy to someone else.”

My gaze shifts to the left, spotting a petite blonde, her hair a similar color to Gabe’s, with her nose in a book. I glance back to the woman in front of me. “I’ve read that one. It’s quite depressing,” I say, folding my arms, attempting to make conversation.

“Pain pays the income of each precious thing,” replies the blonde friend, her gaze friendly as it sweeps up to me.

A knowing chuckle slips out. “Shakespeare buff?”

She snaps the book closed and sets it back on the shelf, sauntering over to us with a wink. “English teacher.”

“That’s very admirable.” I look back and forth between the two women, both captivating in their own right. There is something about each of them that speaks to me on a different level, a level that goes beyond their physical beauty. Their eyes hold stories, tortured and raw, and I’ve seen those eyes before.

I see them every day, reflecting back at me in the bathroom mirror.

Fearing the silence is bordering on uncomfortable, I clear the tickle in my throat and nod my head over my shoulder. “This way.”

The women follow, baby stroller in tow, and I try not to eavesdrop on their whispered chatter behind me. We arrive at the appropriate shelving unit, and I pluck a copy of her requested book from the sea of novels. She takes it, a pleasant smile still fixed across her face. “Here you are. You can check out with Melanie at the main counter,” I explain, pointing over her shoulder.

“Thank you. I really appreciate your help, Oliver.”

Frowning, I glance down at my invisible nametag that does not exist. “Pardon?”

She tucks a section of shiny hair behind one ear, bashfulness coloring her cheeks. “Sorry. That sounded a little foreboding.”

The friend snickers, her ponytail bobbing as she shakes her head. “Faulty delivery. Definitely creepy.”

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