Page 10 of Devilry

Wanting to shake off the remnants of the phone call with my mother and the unconventional meeting with my roommate, I press shuffle on my playlist and start at a warm-up pace.

For as long as I can remember, running is something I’ve turned to when everything else doesn’t make sense. I don’t view it as a sport, or something I bother with competitively, but it’s my one constant. The one thing I can depend on when I need to disengage from the world, detangle my own thoughts, or, more often than not, to simply just breathe.

Brisk walking turns into running, and soon I’m gaining more speed and momentum with every step. The scenery begins to blur, the solid color of bricks meshing into a never-ending expanse of green, while the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, brightening up the sky.

My feet find their rhythm and my chest expands and contracts with the bass of the music. Subconsciously I close my eyes, basking in the now warm air that kisses my skin. Caught up in feeling, I hold my lids closed two seconds too long. Jolting out of my stupor, I fling my eyes open, acknowledging how consequential the simple slip can be. But it’s too late.

Crouched down only inches in front of me, is a man fiddling with his shoe, or more likely, redoing his laces. I want to stop. My mind tells me to stop, but that one extended blink holds my movements hostage, stunting my coordination, and making it impossible for me to avoid the body before me.

“Sorry,” I shout in warning. His head whips up, just as one of my legs leaps over him and the other knocks him in the shoulder. The bulk of his body means my lagging leg struggles to catch up with my other, and before I know it, we’re both haphazardly tumbling toward the asphalt.

My hands meet the ground first, shielding my face from the gravel. Painfully, my legs follow, one knee throbbing and the other ankle feeling strangely out of place.

Shocked, I look down to take better inventory of my body, but my eyes are momentarily distracted by the man who’s staring at me like he wants to kill me.Shit.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer. Hoping to get myself out of this situation as quickly as possible, I try to push myself up, but am welcomed with a rush of pain shooting through the leg I landed on. “Fuck. Ouch.”

“What is it?” he asks, my moment of weakness changing his expression from pissed off to concerned. “What hurts?”

“Nothing.” Avoiding his scrutiny, I keep my head down and attempt to sit up without putting any pressure on my sore foot. “I’m fine.”

The sun that was strongly bearing down on us is now blocked as he maneuvers himself into a standing position in front of me. With seemingly no plans to leave, he hovers over me with his hand stretched out in front of my face. “Stop being so stubborn and take the help.”

Embarrassed and defeated, I slip my palm into the one he holds out. The second our skin meets, his grip turns firm and unyielding.

“Put the pressure on your good leg,” he demands knowingly. On instinct, I hold him tighter to give myself leverage, but he takes it as his cue to pull me up in one swift tug.

His hands find my waist and steady me before I collide into his chest and into him, once more. Wanting the ground to swallow me whole, I bite the inside of my cheek and limp out of his touch.

With my head down, hair covering my face and eyes, I mutter for the hundredth time, “I’m sorry.”

“You should really watch where you’re going.” The earlier inflections of worry and helpfulness in his voice have disappeared, changing to a gravelly reprimand that sends a shiver running up my spine.

Wanting to get this exchange over and done with, I run my fingers through my hair, flicking it off my face, and bring my gaze up to finally meet his.

I still.

Caught completely off guard, every single part of me freezes. I stop and stare. Stop moving. Stop blinking. Stop breathing.

In the haste of my limbs flailing all around him, and my failed attempt to get away, getting a good look at the man I careened into wasn’t my number one priority.

And as steel coloured eyes drag their appreciative gaze from my face down my body, I guess it wasn’t his either. Slowly, different parts of me react to his perusal.

My mind.Confused.

My body.Intrigued.

My dick.Very interested.

With him being slightly taller than I am, I angle my head up and then let my gaze roam over him. He’s got dark colored hair, closer to black than brown. Short around the sides and heavier at the top, it’s the perfect length to run your fingers through. His face is adorned with a short, well-manicured beard that accentuates his full lips. It’s obvious running and probably other physical activities are a priority. He takes care of his appearance, his broad and muscular shoulders can attest to that. Sinewy arms peek out from the sleeves of his t-shirt, as protruding veins run up and down the length of them.

Unable to look away, I shamelessly continue my perusal, admiring the way his shorts hang off his hips. Slowly, I work my way back up his body, taking it all in.

God, he’s sexy. Herculean perfection.

“Move out of the way,” a disgruntled runner shouts, disrupting our stare off. Frantically trying to get out of his way, I forget about my sore ankle and end up right where I shouldn’t be. In his arms. Back together, toe-to-toe, even closer than before.

Trying to avoid what would be my third fall, my hands grip his shoulders for balance. I should let go. I need to let go, but the parts of my brain that control my movements refuse to cooperate.

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