Page 14 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
After I finished organizing my room, I clumped downstairs laden with folded-up moving boxes to take them out to recycle. My shoes sounded so loud on the creaky wooden steps. I’d never be able to hide in this house—I was noticeable.
How did I ever sneak up on him earlier? He must have been focused.
And then I got another flashback of his taut ass—smooth, round, perfect, and beautiful—sexing up that woman.
My cheeks got hot thinking about it.
I liked the idea of having a guy so focused on you he couldn’t hear anything else, he didn’t know anything else. You consumed his whole world. Tyler, my ex, would almost answer the telephone while we did it if he had to. He just didn’t pay that much attention.
With him, with my family, with my life, though, it was safer if no one paid attention to me. I liked it better if I slipped by without notice.
Rounding into the living room, I found Mikey sprawled on the couch, lounging with his shirt off. He watched Star Wars at full volume, looking like Dionysus or something, ridged abs on display. I had a visceral reaction to his body like I’d slammed into a wall of air that forced all of the breath out of me.
The man had an eight-pack. Was he always going to be dressed this way?
Orundressedthis way?
And his nipples were pierced.
Jesus.
Mussed hair. His hand lay casually next to him by the remote, bulky arm sporting major tattoos, while his feet were propped up on the coffee table. Even his tanned toes were good-looking.
He noticed me immediately, leaned his head back, and smiled at me with a flash of white teeth.
I was absorbed by his baby fat cheeks, his dark and amused eyes, and I got this weird feeling, like a buzzing over my skin. I became conscious of the space between him and me, the way the air was clear and fresh, the way the room felt large and inviting. And he pulled me to him like the tractor beam on the movie he was watching. If I was being honest, there was a warmth between my legs too.
Then I started staring at his tattoos, staring at his smile, staring at his dancing eyes.
I involuntarily took a step toward him, still holding the cardboard boxes, and stopped, pressing my thighs together.
Why was I even looking at him? He had a girlfriend. Or someone. And I didn’t do that. I didn’t do any of this.
So I filed my thoughts in the file marked, “I Don’t Go There,” and willed my body to stop reacting.
“Need some help?” he asked. Without waiting for a response, he paused the television, hopped up, and came over. Before I said anything, he took the moving boxes from me, glided outside with them, and returned.
I didn’t understand how he moved so gracefully or so quickly given his size. In comparison, I reacted like a cartoon, frame by frame, in ultra-slow motion, while I watched him leap ahead at double-speed.
But I liked watching him move.
When he came back in, he didn’t go back to his prone position on the couch. Instead, he bounded up to me and cupped my face with his overlarge hand. His eyes were the darkest I’ve ever seen—so dark brown they were almost black. While I’d initially thought they were permanently amused, I was wrong. They held something else underneath, a hint of sadness.
With him standing so close, I could smell him, like Dove soap and sweat. I could feel him—his half-naked body radiated heat. If I reached out and touched him, I could feel what those abs felt like. Those little barbells in his brown nipples.
Bad idea.
He studied me for a moment too long, then released my face, gave me a chin lift, and headed back to the couch.
What was that all about?
I’d never acted this way before. I was the sensible one, who kept her head down, nose in a book, and business out of everyone else’s. I’d had a boyfriend before, but I was by no means boy-crazy. And yet, by the way I was reacting to this guy, it was like I’d completely lost my senses. Or rather, I was taken over by all of them—sight, smell, touch, sound.
I wondered what taste would be like.
He interrupted my zone-out to point to a spot on the couch where there was about six inches of couch showing under the laundry.
“Make yourself comfortable, Jess.”
