Page 18 of Counterfeit Boyfriend
8Gwen
At first Iwas opposed to the idea of taking off Evan’s hoodie because it was dang cozy, not to mention smelled like the scrumptious new cologne he’d been wearing the past two days. But at the moment, it was the cool breeze coming off the water that had me clutching it tighter.
“It’s seventy-two degrees,” Evan said, plenty of mocking in his voice as he spread his arms wide, like he wanted to soak in the cool ocean air. The tall grass swayed around the knees of his jeans, the blue sky making a perfect backdrop to bring out his eyes and accentuate his hotness. “How can you be cold?”
“I’m more of an eighty and above girl. But look, I totally unzipped to account for the weather.” Full disclosure: I was considering re-zipping.
Evan wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we neared the lighthouse, and happiness buoyed me up, leaving me light and floaty. Four hours in the car without seeing any sights, and this was already the best road trip ever.
When Evan asked about why I’d moved to North Carolina, a pinch of disappointment went through me. Not just because opening up that can of worms meant talking about my douchehole ex, but also because I’d told him before that I’d moved here with my boyfriend for college. I hadn’t gone into all the nitty gritty, I-want-to-bleach-my-eyeballs details, but I’d mentioned it.
Admittedly, I shouldn’t be surprised. A lot of times I got caught up in talking, and I wasn’t always sure how well he was listening. Distraction constantly got the best of him, but everything was so different now. When I talked, he looked at me so intently, and he seemed to be listening just as intently. It was unnerving and amazing at the time.
“What?” he asked, and I realized I was staring at him like a lovestruck fool. Accurate, but I should probably play it at least a little cool.
Or not. Why bother when it was so fun to put more of myself out there? Especially when he’d been so amazing about my earlier confession. “I’m just having a really good time with you.”
He curled me closer, adding another layer of warmth that traveled right down to my core. “Right back at you.”
We paused at the plaque with all the facts about the lighthouse. Most of the information I’d read before. About the year it was erected—1802 was the original, but the current tower was 1870—and how they’d moved it in 1999.
“How’d they move an entire lighthouse?” Evan asked.
“Very carefully,” I answered, and then received a look that a smartass answer like that deserved. “Come on. We’ve got two-hundred and fifty-seven steps. I’ll tell you about it on the way up.”
“I think I’d rather know it’s steadybeforewe get halfway up there.”
“Halfway? Now you’re underestimating how fast I can talk. By halfway you’ll be able to compose a research paper from all my spewed facts.” I tugged on his hand and he finally relented and followed me into the tall brick structure with a barbershop swirl, only in black instead of red.
The spiral staircase inside was narrow enough that going side by side wasn’t an option.
My thighs began burning from the exertion as I climbed, and so did my lungs, reminding me that I wasn’t in as good a shape as I would prefer. But then I remembered that being in shape for this would mean those hellish stair-climbers at the gym and things like running, and that was a lot of training. Put in that perspective, suffering ten to fifteen minutes as opposed to daily grind sessions seemed like the better option.
Since I’d now gone longer than usual without talking, I started in on the fun facts. “This stretch of shore is home to more than six-hundred shipwrecks. The rough waves and unpredictable currents shift the sandbars around the Hatteras Islands, and one of those old-timey sea captains who’d sailed all around the globe claimed you should do yourself a favor and avoid it completely.”
“Oh, now you tell me,” Evan said, and I laughed.
“Were you planning on boating past here in the near future?”
“Well, not anymore.”
I told him the few other facts I knew, about how lightning once struck the lighthouse and formed cracks in the masonry, and how they’d moved it to avoid the encroaching sea.
Slightly breathless—okay, significantly breathless—I stepped out onto the deck, and what little oxygen I had left caught in my throat at the amazing view.
Green trees morphed into marshy areas that dotted the coast, and the Atlantic stretched out forever, meeting the pale-blue skyline in the distance.
The wind blew harder up here, and I tipped my face to the sun and let the breeze have its way with my hair.
Then I stepped forward, gripped the iron rail, and peered way, way down at the ground, around twelve-stories below.
It took me a moment to catch my name, thrown at me but boomeranged back by the wind before I could fully grip it. I glanced over my shoulder at Evan, who remained near the brick wall of the lighthouse.
“Why don’t you come back over here by me?” he asked.
“Because you can see so much better from here.” I tipped onto my toes, leaning against the rail. A tug on the back of my jacket returned me to flat on my feet. I looked down at Evan’s long fingers and the way they clutched the fabric, then ran my gaze up to his face, noticing the firm set of his jaw. “Are you afraid of heights?”
“No.”
