Page 35 of Fresh Start
I was heaving and panting and so close to Leo that I could feel the man's breath on my face. Leo didn't react. He didn't say anything. He continued to stare at me, and I stared right back at him. You could cut the tension between us with a knife.
Leo's eyes, their dark color I’d spent so many days and nights admiring, glimmered. His breath, fresh and minty, was calling out to me, begging for a trip down memory lane.
I grabbed Leo's head and pulled the man's lips to mine. I wasn't gentle, and I didn't care. I was angry. Angry with myself for still being attracted to this man even after everything he'd said and done.
I was angry with Leo for being so stuck-up he couldn't see anywhere beyond his own nose. I was angry with my anger because I didn't do that emotion. I had erased it from my life a long, long time ago.
The kiss was not romantic. Not in the slightest. Our teeth clashed together, my tongue was forceful, and my hands were tight around Leo's nape. Leo touched both sides of my face and pressed down with his palms.
It was the messiest kiss I’d ever shared, but despite that fact, I was intoxicated. It didn't matter that all those years had gone by. It didn't matter that Leo hated me. It still felt like we’d never stopped kissing.
It might have taken me a few minutes, but I came back to my senses and realized what I was doing, even if a tad late. The damage had already been done. I pushed myself off Leo and stared at the man for a moment before I felt my legs give up.
"I've gotta go," I mumbled and ran back into my room.
I slammed the door behind me and supported myself on the back of it, reliving the monumental mistake I’d just made.
Leo's lips had left an imprint on my own. It had been left there seventeen years ago. I knew that now. Because as soon as I kissed him, the need for him re-awakened.
I fumbled with my phone, replaying the kiss over and over in my head and trying to erase it from memory. It was a pointless endeavor.
How could I have been so stupid? The man hated me. And I hated the fact that Leo hated me. How could I have done this?
No, this had all been a mistake. I shouldn't have done that. And I could only imagine how angry Leo must feel with what I’d done.
I threw my phone on the bed, opened the door, and decided to be the bigger man. I was not Dawson Eldred if I couldn't apologize for my mistakes. Every single one of them.
Even if one of them didn't feel like one, despite how hard I was trying to convince myself to the contrary.
Ten
Leo
Icouldn't believe what had just happened. Dawson had kissed me despite everything I’d said and done. I knew I’d upset him. And I also knew I shouldn't care about what had just happened.
What was more important was the fact that my meeting was being pushed back two days, which could mean one of only two things. Either they had changed their mind or the production had fallen through. Whichever of the two it was, I was fucked. I’d only given my heart and soul to make it into Hollywood. Now it seemed I was going to lose my big break before I’d had a chance to prove myself. It was as if history was repeating itself.
This shit was so frustrating. Milo had worked so hard to get me in, and now it was all up in the air again. From what Milo had said, the production team liked me and they’d watched tapes of the few independent films I’d managed to do over the years while living in the UK, and they liked the bad-boy persona that the tabloids kept brandishing me with. So what the fuck had gone wrong now? When would my luck change?
No matter how much I tried, I couldn't get my phone to work. It was crucial that I found out what this pushback meant for my career. Milo had told me not to worry, that it was all fine and that the reason for the delay was due to other commitments. But I’d been burned too many times to rest on my laurels when my chances were crumbling.
Yet, despite my anxiety levels over my career, all I kept returning to was that damn kiss. I didn't know what had made Dawson kiss me. It couldn't have been my anger, because if I knew anything, it was how unattractive I was when I was pissed.
Of course, that was assuming Dawson still found me attractive. It had been years since we’d been together in that way, and we’d both grown so much since then. Not just on the outside, but also on the inside, even if Dawson didn't believe I had.
Was it true? Did I live in the past? No, that couldn't be true. I hadn't thought of Dawson for years. I’d had my modeling and my music career and all the crap that had come with it, but I still persevered and fought for my dreams. I hadn't thought about Dawson in what felt like a lifetime.
Still, kissing him again felt like we’d never stopped.
I still remembered when I’d first set eyes on Dawson that first day at drama school. Not only because there were not many boys in our year but also because he was the only one I’d found anywhere near attractive.
Even back then, when Dawson was a scrawny, tall boy who was too cocksure of himself and who flirted with anything that moved, I was infatuated with him.
It wasn't even my fault. Dawson had been the one to approach me on the first day and introduce himself. He had decided that he and I were going to be best friends. As there were not enough boys in the class, we’d have to stick together to make our presence known.
Being an inexperienced eighteen-year-old, I hadn't known what to think of Dawson. We’d hang out a lot during class, and after, we’d discuss the future and our dreams. No subject had been too taboo to discuss but our sexuality. So, for me to admit my feelings to Dawson, it had been a rollercoaster, because I hadn't known where we stood. Two years later, and after I’d worked up the courage to admit it not only to myself but to Dawson, too, I still hadn't known where we stood.
Dawson was a free-for-all guy. He made making friends look like a piece of cake. Everyone had liked him. He was easy-going and could get along with anyone. Unlike me, who'd stuck to my guns and wasn't a big fan of people, not even on the best of days.
