Page 59 of The Breaking Pointe
“You think I’m artsy?”he prods, moving the corner of his mouth to the side slyly.
“Is that gonna make your head too big?Because I’malso going to say that I may or may not have been thinking things…about you. A lot,” I say, my stomach turning about from his use of words and the smoothness of his tone.
“Ah—so you missed me.Got it.”He nods with a short laugh, raising his elbow to the back of the couch.
So what if I did, does he have to rub it in? He’s attentive in a way that makes me want to be the only thing he pays attention to.
He gives me a prolonged look before saying anything else. In return, I can feel my face burning.
“You’re pretty missable yourself. Missed your pretty little face,” he says, still taking his time to examine how muchhe is making me a red-faced mess.His fingers reach up from the couch to connect with my chin, his thumb running over my skin. His thumb slowly returns to his other fingers, dragging up the rest of my cheek until his palm perfectly cups around it.
He’salwayssowarm.
Leaningmyfaceintothewarmthslightly,asmallbreath
escapes my lips.
“You gonna sing something, or just stare at me all night?” I quietly ask, my eyes wandering to his.
“I’m planning on both, actually,” he says, humming his laughter as his lips connect with my forehead before he stands up to walk over to the TV.
Of course, he’s planning on doing both. I’m still trying to figure out what’s so interesting about my face that he needs to examine it to the depths of every pore.
He grabs the remote, immediately pressing random but- tons until he reaches an old R&B playlist.I’m fully expecting himtopicksomestupidrapsong.Orhe’llsimplyplay whatever he sees and use it as background filler. Do people actually sing in these rooms?
“I’m warning you.I am like a Grammy Award winning singer,” he says, setting his beer down as he scrolls down to the Alicia Keys section.
“Grammy Award winning, huh?You saying you can out sing Alicia?” I question him mirthfully.
“That’s right.You’re about to have your little slippers knocked right off.” He nods, pressing play on the songNo One.
With that attitude, I can only assume he’s one hundred percent telling the truth about singing. And I don’t peep an ounce of fear, so he better be good.Or at least be able to hold a note— considering his incessant gassing upon himself.
“Thisisoneofmyfavoritesongs,somakeyourself comfortable,” he says, launching right into the first verse. I perch on the edge of the couch, promptly smacked in the face with his voice. His molten eyes shimmer under the purplelighting,exaggeratinghiscontagiousbeamatme—
which unfortunately is enough to make me begin to adore him.As for his singing?It’s the most awful thing I have ever heard in my life, and somehow, he’s making it the best front-row concert that I think I’ve ever been to.
His voice wavers like an adolescent animal, making him completely out of tune with every word. Each note is flailing around like a reluctant moth batting at a porch light, and all of my stifled laughing is egging him on as he continues to not hold back. Instead of being embarrassed, he throws his head back, delving into the chorus—now really giving me the show of a lifetime. My lips are almost tearing with how hard I’m beginning to smile, and him watching me is making my cheeks tighter.His theatrics make their way over to me as he adds more passion, staring in my face.
It’s endearing to see someone be able to let go, so com-pletely, and be able to embrace carelessness without second- guessing themselves.It’s as if he’s sending warmth through- out me— with a blend of admiration and amusement. This is one of those moments that I always searched for in real life but had been forced to watch through films and encompass through romance literature. Like the fictional men I dream of, he has me suspended in time with his large, brown eyes, making everything around us seem to fade away so that it’s just him, the melody, and the undeniable tension growing between us.
Despite the happiness in his expressions, there’s some- thing so sad within his eyes. Like they’ve seen unspeakable things or have been tormented in their past life.It wasn’t something I noticed the first few times we looked at each other entirely. Now, I can’t help but wonder why that could be for someone who seems to have everything that could
make them happy.
To my knowledge, at least.
His face is still planted firmly in front of mine, only his singing has subdued to nothing, and the song is nearing its end.
“You’re really tone deaf, you know,” I say softly. “Makes sense why you’re a boxer and not a singer.” I grin.
Hischeekbonesraiseashislipcurlstooneside.“Rude. I thought I sounded just like the record,” he says huskily, glancing at my lips.
Suddenly, the control I had over my body feels ripped away by his charisma, yet again. My lips inch closer to his, almost making contact before the door swings open again to stop our moment.
Colton’s hand rests on my thigh as he chooses to sit next to me now, grabbing the remote to turn the music down.
My body starts to feel hollow at the loss of possibly kissing him again.
