Page 5 of Between Now and Forever
The only thing hurt is my ego.
I tug the fabric to cover my essential bits. Funnily enough, I imagined removing layers of clothes in front of him just a few moments ago.Oh, the irony.
My breathing is hard and loud. I wiggle against the leaves in a futile attempt to be modest—to hide everything hidable, but all it does is make it difficult to listen for footsteps.
I have to get out of here. How can I get through the foliage without... “Eek!”
A set of warm hazel eyes peers at me from above.
My hand flattens against my chest, as if the pressure will stop my heart from rattling against my rib cage. The other squeezes the towel at my hip in a death grip.
He’s even more handsome up close.
Sunlight hits the side of his cheek, casting shadows across his high cheekbones. His eyes twinkle. His full lips are pressed together as he takes me in, as if he can’t decide whether to laugh or to be concerned.
“Um ...hi,” I say, although it sounds more like a question than a greeting. I flash him a weak smile. “Guess you saw that, huh?”
“It was a little hard to miss.”
“In my head, I had all of my personal parts covered and landed with the grace of a ballerina. That’s what you saw, too, right?”
I hold my breath while he runs a large hand over his jaw.
“Yeah,” he says, dropping his hand to his side. “You were practically an Olympian.”
“Ugh. Couldn’t you just have lied to me?”
He balks. “What do you mean?”
“You could’ve just said,‘Absolutely.’Or,‘It happened so fast I don’t remember what you looked like.’” I sigh, nestling my head against the leaves. “But you had to take it too far. Now I know you’re lying.”
“But didn’t you just ask me why I couldn’t have just lied to you?”
“Never mind,” I say, groaning. “Guess I might as well introduce myself. I’m Gabrielle Solomon. It’s nice to meet you ... sort of.”
He nods, wearing a confused, maybe even startled, look. A lock of tobacco-colored hair falls across his forehead.
The air is filled with the scent of his cologne. It’s spicy and woody with notes of oud, something I can pick out thanks to my job at a department store fragrance counter in college. A hint of citrus comes from nowhere, finishing the scent with a sweet kiss.
I pause, giving him space to introduce himself. But it becomes apparent rather quickly that I can wait all day. He’s not saying anything more.
My brows pull together. “A nod? That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“What do you mean?”
“Again,what do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Hello? Introduce yourself. Ask if I’m hurt?” I frown. “You know, you’re really botching an opportunity to be a hero.”
He smirks. “That would imply that I wanted to be one.”
It’s notjustthe smirk that liquefies my insides. It’s the smirk, combined with his confident and slightly detached tone, that obliterates my ability to respond.
I’ve had a penchant for the cocky, broody type since elementary school. Levi Kellan sat beside me in class. He rarely looked my way and always had his face stuck in a book. He was casually cool, even as a fifth grader. I was in love.
Levi broke my heart in eighth grade by telling my best friend he wasunavailablewhen she asked if he liked me. He didn’t say he wasn’t interested, nor did he have a girlfriend. He was just mysteriouslyunavailable.
