Page 29 of The Breaking Pointe
“Oh good. I almost thought I had the wrong house.” He chuckles, rattling me with the depth of it.
“No.Right one,” I utter as my eyes drop from his face, down to his feet.
We both chose sweaters, except his has a V-neck that almost lets me see the hairs that I know are on his chest from watching the fight.We are also both in denim, his jeans complementing my skirt.Like he knew exactly what I would pick—like he’s some psychic entity.“I love that color on you.Matches your hair almost perfectly,” he says, putting each of his hands in his pockets, one by one, never letting his eyes move from my face.
Looking down at my top, as if I’d forgotten what I chose to put on, I respond, “Oh yeah.I guess it kind of does.”I can’t help but smile, looking at him again.“I thought I went a little overboard with it, but it’s one of my favorites, since I—” I chime into my innocence, quickly realizing that I’m rambling. “Sorry. You probably don’t care about that.” I smile nervously, hoping I don’t get flushed in the face.
“Why would you think that?”He furrows his eyebrows before continuing.“What if I did want to hear the story about how your favorite sweater came to be?”
“You don’t have a mean bone in your body, do you?”I squint at him, stepping down from the top step, closing the door behind me.
Now I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth me being this suspicious and mean. He’s like a puppy, and I sound like a snarky bitch. Fuck my life.
He smiles again, relaxing his features.“Only when it’s called for. And that’s hardly ever.” He chuckles.
Pulling back from my attitude, I tuck some strands of hair
behind my ears and look at his car.
“Is that yours? Like, you own it?” I ask, wondering what his answer is going to be.Rental?Borrowing?I hope neither. “Uh…it is.” He looks at it before returning his gaze to me.
“Oh,”Isay,feelinginstantregret.
“Not a good answer?” he asks, raising a hand to the back of his neck, double-taking at the car once more.
Notagoodanswer?Idon’tevenhaveacar.Please.
“No, no—it’s an amazing answer,” I say, locking my fingers together in front of me.“It’s very nice,” I add, nearly whispering as I think of how idiotic I must sound.
“Nice,” he parrots.He puffs out some air through his nose, amused as he waves his eyes over my entire body once more. “Ready?” he asks, placing his hand on the small of my back as he leads us to the lot.
I follow suit, walking down the front stairs, gulping the nonexistent saliva I so desperately need.My nervous system is on the verge of eruption, and I can confidently say I haven’t felt like this in a long time.It’s almost scarier than going out with him at all.I’m still grasping the fact that I even said yes in the first place.
Watching his arm reach in front of me, the passenger door is swung open, just in time for me to approach it.I get in the car, taking an in-depth look at all the leather interior detail before I sit in the seat.Seconds later, Colton gets in the driver’s seat and starts up the car, taking us off into the city.For once, I’m riding with a man who has a sense of style, not only in cars, but clothing. He’s already behaving more like a man than the idiot who came before him.
I can tell he wants to speak the entire drive. I don’t know whatmadehimgomute,butwhileI’mtryingtogetridofmy
nerves, his are building up. His lips open to say something— so I think—only for them to close again.Over and over.That, paired with a look of grievance every time he was caught staring at me.I can’t tell if it’s good or bad, so I’m settling on it being good, for my feelings’ sake.
Horribly distracted by his inability to speak, I haven’t paid attention to where we’re heading at all.He parks us in a lot, before leading us on a train to take us to a…museum? Nothing could have led me to predict that he would bring me to a fucking museum.
I don’t mean it harshly, but if I had a list of what I thought this man wanted to do with me, it wouldn’t be looking at paintings.Although I do find it to be exciting.I haven’t been to one in years due to being submerged in work all this time. I often forget I can go do just about anything in New York, at any time.
Things that have nothing to do with following an angry man-child around who blames his tantrums on you. If peace means museum dates and silence, then it’s a trade-off I’ll gladly take.
Colton doesn’t miss anything and always thanks the staff. Even when they don’t do anything.We haven’t even put a dent in the map we’re following, and so far he has had a compliment for nearly every person who holds a door for us, gives us a flier, or provides basic, simple directions. He also knows a crazy amount of random knowledge about art that I was in no way prepared for.Almost like he’s been here a million times over.I wouldn’t judge him if he has, but it’s an abnormal amount of knowledge to have when your focal point in your career is supposedly boxing. It’s sort of sexy, though, knowing he’s got brains.
As we continue strolling through each exhibit, I become more and more comfortable. Like he’s letting me know that this is a safe space without needing to verbalize it.
“Oh, look, these are gemstones. They are different from crystals, but they have meanings, too,” I say, pointing to a giant glass exhibition of gemstones.
Leaving his side, I hurry over to it, getting excited. We’d been walking through the crystal and gemstone exhibit for over ten minutes, but each new sight is just as exciting as the last to me. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind following me around.
“So, what’s this one mean?” he asks, pointing to one as he takes the space next to me, looking down at me.
“That’s howlite.It means letting go or surrendering something meaningful.” I smile, looking at him. “Letting go of attachments.”
His reaction is delayed, one corner of his mouth raising into a lopsided smile.
